He clears his throat as if to backpedal. “You’re right. He’s going on thirty-something, which is definitely the age of a grown man. But I will say he still has the heart and spirit of a young man.”
My brow pinches, and I lean forward. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you invite George to dinner tonight? It would’ve been perfectly fine if you did. His mom and dad too.”
We're interrupted by Miss Jenny setting plates loaded with delicious food onto the table. “Hiya, Ralph. How are you this evening? You look good.”
“Jenny,” he grins, reaching out and squeezing her hand.
I watch as they make small talk, their genuine friendship fully displayed. There is nothing pretentious or gossipy about them. They’re just two old friends who obviously care for one another.
“Well, y’all enjoy your supper. Tell your server when you’re ready for some of my strawberry cake. I know it’s your favorite, Ralph. I made it fresh today.” She winks and squeezes his shoulder.
“You’re my angel,” he replies cheekily.
I continue to watch him. He rubs his hands together with glee before he picks up his fork and takes a big bite of pulled pork. I’ve never seen a man so excited about food.
“Mmmm,” he groans, eyes rolling with pleasure. When he notices me staring, he wipes his lips with the tip of his napkin. “I know, I know. I never answered your questions.”
I pick up my fork and stab a bite of salmon covered in a creamy lemon-dill sauce. It’s delicious.
“Oh, I figured if you wanted to answer me, you would.”
Mr. Jamison takes another big bite, narrows his eyes, and points his fork at me. “There’s something about you I like, Miss Adler. Therefore, I’ve decided I’m going to tell you the truth about everything.”
“Everything? Is that so?” I kid.
There’s something I like about him too.
Chapter Five
George
Boots by the locked front door. Kitty kibble for Frankie. Teeth flossed and brushed. Face washed. Lights out.
I run through my nighttime routine, internally checking off each item. It leaves me with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. I like having the same regimen and am anxious when it changes.
Exhausted from the long workday, I climb into bed and yawn.
Meow
My lips turn into a gigantic smile, and I roll over to my side, patting the empty space beside me. “Come here, Frankie.” My voice is hoarse and low as I lean on my elbow with my head against my hand.
The tortoiseshell cat hops onto the mattress and settles in the crook of my arm and chest. My feline companion calms me in the darkness. I like her soft, warm fur and green marble eyes. I absentmindedly stroke her with my fingertips, the immediatepurring sound whirring in the still air reminding me of a sound machine.
I love my one-bedroom cottage behind the old barn, a comfortable, safe haven all my own. During the week, I eat most of my meals with my grandfather at the big house. Pop’s caretaker, Miss Betty Lou, is an excellent cook and keeps us well-fed.
On the weekends, I’m on my own for supper. I often experiment in my tiny kitchen, concocting the most surprising meals while Frankie keeps me company. It helps that there is always a bounty of fresh produce growing right outside my front door, and some of the vegetables are regular staples in my diet.
My eyelids grow heavy, and I blink back sleep, my mind shifting to colorful snapshots of the day. Things had started out ordinary with my usual farming chores and loading the truck with produce and flowers ready to sell at the roadside stand.
The day ended on a high note when Betty Lou made my favorite supper using green peppers I’d picked that morning. I couldn’t remember why Pop hadn’t joined me to eat and hoped he wouldn’t be too cross when he learned I’d pigged out and eaten what would have been his portion.
Still, as good as those peppers were, with fresh herbs in a meaty, cheesy concoction oozing over the bright green fleshy sides, they weren’t the highlight of my day. Nope. That honor belonged to a young woman who stopped by the stand.
A pretty gal named Madison.
