I’d incorporate the classics, of course. Turkey. Yams. Stuffing. But I’d put my twist on them and add a few interesting dishes to liven up the meal. Plus, I had to think about good options for Dad. I wanted him to enjoy his Thanksgiving meal, not mourn everything he couldn’t have.
Mashed turnips might be good if I could find some at the market. They would add a nice peppery flavor that would be more exciting than cauliflower.
I opened the web browser on my phone, researching heart-healthy ingredients, until we made it to town.
Hopper pulled to a stop. “Can you put the phone away for two minutes and help me unload these trees, or were you just putting on a good front for your mom?”
I lowered the phone. “Sorry. I didn’t realize we were here. I was just looking up some recipes.”
“You mean the great Noel Grisold doesn’t invent every dish from scratch?”
“I’d like to invent you from scratch,” I muttered as I opened my door and hopped out onto the packed snow.
My foot slipped, and I nearly fell on my ass, but I hung on to the door, flailing one arm until I caught my balance.
Whew. Close one.
I looked up to see Hopper smirking at me. Yeah, close one. I almost looked like a fool in front of Hopper Kelly.
With as much dignity as I could muster, I carefully walked over to the end of the trailer.
“I’ll take the base and most of the weight,” Hopper said. “You just hold the end up.”
I wanted to snark about being able to carry my weight, but after my near fall just getting out of the truck, I kept my yap shut and nodded.
Hopper grabbed hold of the rope used to bind the branches and hauled the Douglas fir out of the trailer. He made it look so damn easy. I caught the end, though I could tell he didn’t really need my help, and we walked the tree over to the sidewalk.
Together, we propped the tree against the outside wall.
Halfway through, I decided we were wasting time and climbed into the trailer to help move trees toward the end. Hopper grabbed each one and hauled it over to the store single-handedly.
With ease.
It wasn’t sexy at all.
I wasn’t fantasizing about pinning all that size and strength beneath me, of making him melt into the mattress for me. Taming that ass to take my dick over and over…
“Ready for the farmer’s market?” Hopper waved a hand in front of my face. “Noel? You in there?”
I blinked out of the fantasy. “Huh?”
“I know you’re not used to hard work. Warn me if you’re about to faint.”
I huffed, face hot despite the cold temperature outside. “Why? Are you going to catch me?”
“No.” He grinned. “I just don’t want to miss the show.”
“Asshole.”
I climbed out of the trailer, and we walked around the corner to the farmer’s market. It was smaller than the one in Chicago, but there were tables piled high with carrots, beets, cabbages, and sweet potatoes and yams.
“Where do we start?” Hopper asked. “Do you have a list?”
“Just follow me,” I said, heading for the turnips on display.
“You just want me to trail you like a puppy?” Hopper sounded put out. “If you gave me a list, we could divide it up and save time.”
“I don’t have a list. I’m going to create recipes around the best ingredients I find.” I smiled sweetly. “But don’t worry, you still have a very important job.”
