“Got fired at the lumberyard,” Richard said. “Bunch of judgmental assholes.”
Hopper sighed. “So, how are you paying rent?”
“Not sure yet.” His dad looked at him. “You could come home and rent your old room.”
“Oh, it’s so busy this time of year,” Mom said. “Ed’s still recovering from surgery.”
Richard flailed a hand toward me. “Your son is here now.”
“Just for a few days,” I said. “I live in Chicago.”
He grunted. “Figures.”
I wasn’t really sure what he meant. Hopper sighed. “I can help you with rent this month. We can talk more about it later. Let’s just enjoy Thanksgiving, okay? Noel worked hard on all this food.”
“Is that why it all tastes different?” Richard said. “I thought Maggie was pulling one over on me.”
My mom laughed good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Noel’s a chef in Chicago,” Hopper added.
He sounded just as impressed as he had in the kitchen.
It wasn’t like I neededHopperto tell me I was good at what I did. I had diners, sous chefs, and food critics to tell me that over the years.
My stupid heart warmed anyway.
I hadn’t come here to get all sappy about the farm boy next door, though. I needed to remember that regardless of Hopper’s relationship with his dad—or his compliments to the chef—that he was still the guy who’d moved in and taken my place while I was gone.
CHAPTER 8
HOPPER
I cutmyself a generous piece of pumpkin pie for breakfast. Then, I added a turkey leg for good measure. It was going to be a busy day at the farm. There was a chance I’d have no time to stop for lunch.
Black Friday was no joke. Business might not be what it once was, but it would still be our busiest day of the year. Now that Thanksgiving was over, everyone wanted to get their tree up and start fa-la-la’ing their way toward Christmas.
Maggie joined me for a cup of coffee. “Did you get your dad home okay last night?”
I nodded, exhaustion weighing me down. I’d driven him back to town after he’d started falling asleep in the recliner. Maggie had offered to fix up a room for him, but I didn’t want my dad staying over. What if he got it into his head to do it more often? I owed the Grisolds enough without burdening them with my father’s problems, too.
It’d been late, and I couldn’t handle the idea of facing Noel—I’d rather eat nails than see pity in his eyes—so I’d slept in my old bed and driven back over this morning. Not that I should care so much what Maggie and Ed’s son thought of me. I barely knew him anymore.
Even when I did, he’d never been friendly. More like a cornered cat hissing and clawing at everything within his reach. I wasn’t stupid. I’d kept my distance after I got scratched a time or two.
Besides, he belonged in the city, preparing his delicious recipes. Soon enough, he’d be back there.
I ripped a piece of turkey off the leg, suddenly in a shit mood. So, of course, Noel came into the kitchen, looking adorable in a sweater embroidered with dancing Christmas trees.
He was whistling as he poured a mug of coffee.
“Why the hell are you so happy?” I grumbled.
He glanced over. “No reason. Guess I’m happy to be spending some time at home.” He came over and ducked down to kiss Maggie’s cheek. “With my wonderful mother.”
She chuckled, reaching up to pat his arm. “We love having you, hon.”
His eyes met mine, twinkling. “And Hopper loves my food.”
