“Well,” she says with a friendly shrug, “I’m not going to try and stop you, but I will feed you first. What would you like?”
I hold up my coffee cup. “Got all I need right here. But I did promise to make pancakes for Junie, so what if I take over for you?”
Jo shakes her head, throwing in a dramatic eye roll. “Coffee won’t get you through fifteen minutes of picking. I put some clothes in the dresser drawers in there. I’ll start pancakes, along with some eggs and bacon, while you get dressed. You’re welcome to shower, but you’ll be dirty before you know it. We’re working in the groves.”
I open my mouth to insist on making the pancakes at least, then change my mind and push away from the counter. “Righto. Cheers.” I’m reluctant to leave Jo, but even more reluctant to have Cal find me looking like I do.
I walk to my room—scratch that—theguestroom. No need for me to move in just yet.
If only. The last time anybody waited on me—took care of me the way Jo has the last twelve hours—was before I left Hollywood. And that’s because they were on salary. It’s been even longer since my mum made me brekkie. To tell the truth, I don’t remember her ever making brekkie. We had cooks for that. She did eat with us most mornings, though, when her calendar wasn’t booked.
Malcolm never had time for brekkie with us.
Once in the guest room, I run my hand over the scratched and sun-faded chest of drawers. I reckon it’s been in the Holloway family for generations. Or maybe Jo-Joe found it at asecond-hand store. Wherever it came from, it’s full of more than just Cassidy’s old clothes. It’s holding stories I wish I knew.
As long as they’re Holloway stories. I got a taste for them last night, and Jo whet my appetite even more this morning. I’m hungry to understand how they stay a family. How they work things out instead of cutting people out of their lives. Archie and I are good at patching things up with Dex and Rhys when things go bad, but we chose them as family. Why bother with the people you didn’t choose if they’re jerks?
That’s a mystery I don’t have time to solve. I pull faded jeans from the middle drawer and slip them on.
Cassidy is taller than I am, but our waist size is close. They’re a little loose, but nothing a bit of rope can’t fix. I’m sure the Holloways have plenty of that around. Cal, at least, has some in the back of his truck.
I roll the hems and find a worn T-shirt with a logo advertising The World’s Oldest Continuous Rodeo in Arizona, and if I needed one more reminder that I’ve left Hollywood in the rearview, this would do it. I knot it on one side, then slip on my trainers and head back to the kitchen where the smell of bacon mingles with eggs.
Jo’s at the stove with her back to me when I walk back in the kitchen.
“All ready. Put me to work,” I tell her.
She smiles over her shoulder at me, then points to canisters of flour and sugar. “Pancake recipe is right there if you want to mix up the batter.”
I go around the counter and pick up the handwritten recipe card. “Smells great in here.”
“My sister’s not the only one who knows how to cook. Fact is, I’m the one who taught her everything she knows. Named her, too.” Jo hands me a carton of eggs.
I measure flour and dump it in the mixing bowl, then turn and face Jo. After three years of working for Flo, I’m ready to finally have a burning question answered. “You’re the reason she’s named Flamingo?”
Jo flips some bacon while she talks. “Sally Flamingo, to be specific. I was five when Mom told me she was pregnant. I was so upset about getting a sibling she said I could name the baby. I chose Flamingo. She was so sure she was having a boy that she promised she’d use it if I got a sister.”
“And she kept her promise?” My mum promised me lots of things—like that she’d visit me in America—and she didn’t keep most of them.
“Sort of. When Flo turned out to be a girl, Mom said she’d need a human name too, so people would know she was a girl and not a bird, so we settled on Sally.” Jo cracks eggs in a bowl while she talks until she’s used up the entire dozen.
I’m worried she’s counting on me to eat them all. But I’m not about to interrupt her story. “So why does she go by Flo instead of Sally?”
Jo pours the eggs in a frying pan on the stove, then faces me again. “Fact is, she looked more like a flamingo than a Sally, all pink and long-legged with white, wispy hair that stuck out all over. Not to mention her nose. Poor thing.” Jo grimaces. “I never called her anything but Flamingo, and it stuck. At least until our younger brother came along. He could say Flo, but not Flamingo, so she got a nickname, but most people around here know she’s Flamingo.”
“Junie calls her Fingo. Maybe that one will stick next.”
Jo laughs. “Hmm. I think Junie’s the only one who can get away with that.”
“She cringes every time Junie says it.” I laugh too, something I’ve wanted to do every time Junie’s yelledFingo!
“Frankie!” Junie calls from somewhere outside the kitchen.
Speak of the Tassie devil, and the Tassie devil will appear.
I walk toward the hallway just in time for Junie to launch herself at me. She throws her arms around my waist, claiming me again, which both warms me and freaks me out.
What am I supposed to do with this kid? What am I supposed to do with this kid’sdad? I’m in no position to get attached to anybody when I’m likely ditching Serenity Cove.
