Bronte laughed. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.” She popped her arm around Erin’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “It’ll just be bittersweet to let go of my hold on this place, you know?”
“No one’s asking you to do that,” I said. “The farm is for the family. All of us. That won’t change.”
Erin added, “And no one denies you’ve done an incredible job with the cottages, Bron. You’ve got everything running like clockwork.” She reached over and tapped the red cover. “You’ve got abinder. Now, you just have to find that one perfect person to run the cottages who loves this place as much as we do…”
“Yeah…” Bronte said slowly, glancing at me, her eyebrow lifting. “I wonder who that could be…”
12
That Thoughtful Gesture in Spring
Erin
I pottered around thekitchen like I’d lived in the Wolcott homestead for years.
“What’s left…?” I muttered, running my index finger down my list. “Breakfast muffins, done. Callan’s lunch, done. Cookies…” I glanced over my shoulder at Matilda and grimaced.
She stood on the stool by the sink, stirring a wooden spoon in the big mixing bowl with the same steely determination she applied to most of her life. More flour was on her than in the bowl.
“Cook, cook, cook,” she sang.
At least she was having fun.
The cottage almost felt like home, but the cute-as-a-button kitchen was as tiny as a button, too. The oddest things about the separation popped fresh tears into my eyes. Cooking in that small space was one of them. I missed having my own house.The shock of losing the life I’d built only made the world inside the old brick walls of the cottage feel even more lonely.
So, when the first hint of dawn woke in a hazy purple sky, I’d clasped Matilda’s hand in mine, and we’d stolen up the hillside, snuck the key from the pot of mint by the back door, and gotten to work. A smile had been stuck on my face ever since. Being busy reminded me of the days when Lila was here beside me. It had been her kitchen then. She’d sip a cup of tea. I’d complain about there being no decent coffee within ten miles. We’d laugh. Time had felt endless.
Heavy footsteps heading for the kitchen snapped me back to the present.
“Mim.” Callan was up, and he sounded pissed off. “You know I don’t mind you coming over, but…”
His broad shoulders crowded the doorway. Sunblock was smeared in a white line across his forehead, but his hands froze midair as if he’d forgotten how to rub it in. He stared at the mess in the kitchen.
“Sorry!” I grabbed a dish towel and swiped up the avalanche of flour that had spilled over the countertop. “I thought I’d have time to clean before you got up. Here.” I slid over the plate of breakfast muffins. “Grab one.”
Matilda beamed up at him. “They yummy!” She made a point of showing him how good she could stir the big spoon. “We cooking!”
“You don’t say?” Reaching for a muffin, Callan cocked his head at me with a wry grin.
“I really am sorry,” I said.
“Quit apologizing. I told you. You’re welcome anytime. I guess I just thought no one got up earlier than me.”
“Matilda’s body clock is tuned to daybreak.”
“Yeah?” He grinned at her. “We might make a little farmer out of you yet.” He bit a hunk out of the muffin and groaned.
My eyes blew wide open. I clenched the dish towel as I mopped up more flour. Another groan rumbling in his chest sent me into a cleaning frenzy. This wasCallan. The boy next door. My last genuine friend. He was off limits from whatever rampaging desire had reawakened in my body—no matter how sexy he sounded when he made those noises.
“Bloody hell, these are good,” Callan said. “What’s in them?”
“Bacon!” Matilda said.
“And peppers,” I added. “Some green onions…and about a ton of cheese…”
“Girls, they’re incredible.”
I grinned like a giddy fool. A few more compliments like that might erase the months Jeremy ignored me. “If you think that’s good…” I reached for the blue cooler on the countertop. “For you.”
