And it’s not just me who’s paying attention. We’ve walked into the village to hang out with my school friends a few times and I see the way the other lads check her out. She doesn’t seem to notice or take note of any of them, but I always end up wanting to hit my best mates. I like it better when it’s just me and Avi. These summers are for us.
“Jameson?” Mum’s voice comes from behind me.
She’s still taller than me, but Dad says I’ll pass her up in a few years with the way I’m growing. We have the same shade of flaming red hair, but hers is wilder than mine… except when I first wake up in the morning.
Her smile is warm when she asks, “Is Avonlea out there?”
I nod, feeling my cheeks heat against the rims of my glasses.
She leans around me and takes in the same sight I didn’t want to pull my eyes away from. “She’s a bonny lass, isn’t she?” she asks, mischief glinting in her hazel eyes.
I groan. “Mum, stop.” I give her a little push with my shoulder to get her away from the window.
She chuckles, tipping my chin up with her finger, and I’m reminded why it’s impossible to stay annoyed with her. “I was just saying…”
I turn away when she bounces her eyebrows at me, feeling embarrassment flood my entire body.
“Angus is about to get started on the bread for dinner, why don’t you go ask her if she wants to come in and help him?” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Aye, okay,” I say, glad for an excuse to get away from this conversation.
The back door creaks when I open it and Avi’s eyes fly open. Her gaze lands on me, and even though she’s hanging upside down, she smiles. Mum’s not wrong, she is bonny. Even if I’m not supposed to think that because she’s my best friend… it’s still true.
“Hello,” she says, continuing to sway back and forth. There’s a book on her stomach, held between her hands, like she had every intention of reading but decided not to.
“Hi.” My voice breaks on the word and I glance down. I really wish it would stop doing that. Mum and Dad said it will soon, and then my voice will be completely different. Lower. Growing up is weird. “Do you wanna come in and bake bread with Grandad?”
She sits up fast and dismounts the tire with more grace than I’ve ever displayed. “Aye!” she shouts.
I’ve never had that kind of excitement for working in the kitchen, but with her mum being a chef, I guess it makes sense. This summer she’s really taken to working with Grandad in ours. He calls her his little duckling because she trails after him to all the different workstations. She loves it, especially when the inn has a busy service and there’s plenty to do.
“What are you going to do while we bake?” she asks, pushing past me into the kitchen and rolling her long sleeves up her arms to wash her hands.
I shrug. “Watch, I guess. I have my notebook,” I say, setting it on the desk and rubbing my fingers over my initials. “Maybe I’ll write you a story to read next time you’re hanging in the swing.”
She looks over her shoulder, hair catching in her eyelashes, and hits me with a smile that brings that heat back to my cheeks. “What kind of story?”
“I don’t know… What kind of story do you want?”
“A love story,” she says, her eyes softening. “Like in the fairytales.”
I grimace. That is not what I had in mind.
She laughs. “Okay fine, write me whatever you want. I’ll read it.”
“Okay,” I agree, relieved I don’t have to write her some silly love story.
“What are we reading?” Grandad asks, stepping inside and reaching for his apron.
“Jamie’s going to write me a story.” Avi’s brown eyes are bright and she sounds as excited as she did about cooking.
I wonder if I made a terrible mistake here. She loves to read, at least as much as I do. What if I let her down? What if the story is horrible?
I bite my lip, and Grandad must see my hesitation. “You know if you write it with your heart, you’ll never go astray.” He winks at me, and I wish I understood what he meant by that. “Well, Avonlea, let’s get started then.”
Over the next hour, they focus on the dough for the bread before turning their attention to the sticky toffee pudding for tonight’s dessert. The smell of butter and sugar caramelizing is heavenly and I can’t wait to sneak a piece later… Not that I’ll have to be too sneaky. Mum almost always lets me have dessert so long as my chores are done, and it’s summer, so I don’t even have homework to finish first.
While they’ve been working—him showing her each step of his process while the other kitchen staff flit around them—I’ve been poring over the notebook in front of me.
