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When the seniors begin to filter out of the room, I feel a large, warm hand on my hip. “Hey…” Harry whispers by my ear, his arm coming around me as he plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Hi.” I smile up at him, admiring the playful twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re so pretty it hurts.”
My heart flutters a bit. “You just say that so you can make out with me.”
His hand slides up and down the curve of my ass. “That’s cute. We both know I don’t have to lie to you to get you to make out with me." He scrunches up his nose.
I twist my lips to the side, surrendering to my identity as the Harry Westbrook groupie-in-chief. “Can’t argue with you there.”
He chuckles. “Are you almost finished around here?”
“I just have to tidy up a bit.” I glance around at the leftover snacks on the table in the corner.
Harry nods. “I have to go drive Grammy back to Honey Hill. And she has to pass by the bakery for a bit before going home. Plus, she asked me to run out to the pharmacy to fill a prescription for her. I might be gone for a while.”
“Oh…” I feel my face fall. “That sucks.”
He’s so right about us moving in together. We need to do that ASAP. I miss himwaytoo much on the nights when he’s not with me. We need to live together. We need to make it official.
We just need to clear all the ‘other stuff’ out of the way first.
His hand squeezes my waist. “Come with me…”
“Really?”
“Of course.” He grins. “We’ll take my car. Then we’ll drive back here and get yours on the way home.”
I grin, loving that he wants to include me. He wants to be close to me as much as I want to be close to him. “Sounds like a plan.”
Working together, we pack up the leftovers and bring them to the kitchen. Then we wipe down the tables and flick off the lights.
Soon, we’re all in Harry’s car, heading across the bridge.
On the ride, Harry chats with his grandma, but mostly lets her do the talking. I don’t mind. I’m just content to be here with the two of them and witness how easily the banter flows back and forth. Harry’s most recent game gets rehashed. Grammy and Harry find common distaste for the biasedSports Broadcast Networkannouncers. Seriously, who can’t pronounceWestbrookcorrectly? Then Grammy gets to talking about her spotty cable coverage.
Harry drops us off at the Wildberry Bakery and hurries off to get to the pharmacy before closing. When I help Grammy walk inside the bakery, her granddaughters are in the middle of closing shop.
I offer Maya and Ruby a hand with clean up, but they promise me that they’ve got it all under control. Instead, they invite me to help myself to the baked goods left over from the day. I eagerly take my pick of treats, piling them up on a little plate.
“Oh my god. What is this?” I mumble around a mouthful of the most divine hunk of carbs I’ve ever tasted.
“Cinnamon sugar bread,” Grammy tells me proudly as she ambles up to me with a mug of hot chocolate in her outstretched hand. “A classic, but a favorite. Never underestimate the beauty of simplicity. Tradition. Comfort.”
The way she says it, I have a feeling she’s talking about more than just the bakery menu items.
She gives me a soft stare. “Come with me, dearie.”
With her arm in the crook of my elbow, she guides me into the kitchen. She starts naming off ingredients and I obediently grab them from the pantry, lining them up on a table in front of the window overlooking the dark street.
“Isn’t this one of your super secret recipes?” I ask warily. I remember Harry telling me how coveted Mrs. Westbrook’s recipes are around town.
She nods. “I protect these recipes for family,” she tells me softly. “And you’re family now, Nadia. Your children with Harry will be the next generation of Westbrooks, dearie. That’s why I’m entrusting this recipe to you. So that you can pass it along to your future children some day.”
When she says that, my heart fills with the warmest feeling. I almost want to cry.
I manage to hold myself together, though. She’s patient with my lack of kitchen skills, kindly repeating the steps until I’ve got it down. I take detailed notes on my phone as we go. I don’t take this lightly.
