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“I’m going to the market to buy pickles in anticipation of salt cravings. Do you want to come?”
I’m still looking at the screen when those pesky three dots show up again, and this time the message is from Tim Ferris. The look on my face causes Anna to rush back to my side.
CHAPTERTEN
JAMIE
Sammy and I spent last night eating pizza and playing board games. One of these days she’s going to consider herself too grown up for our favorite pastime, so I’ve decided to cram in as many game nights as I can. Tonight, I’m going to suggest a Monopoly marathon.
Sammy walks into the kitchen while I dredge thick slices of french bread into a bowl of beaten eggs. “Morning.” She plops down at the kitchen table and lays her head on it.
“Still tired? Why don’t you go back to bed for a while?”
“Can’t. We have two brides coming in before lunch.” She sounds more like a weary salesperson who’s been hawking her wares for decades, rather than a twelve-year-old on her second day of work. It makes me smile.
“I thought I’d drop you off and then find us a realtor. What do you think about that?”
She grunts in what I’m guessing is approval. “Tell them I want a pool.”
“Forget a pool. You have a whole lake here.”
“You can’t swim in a lake in the winter.”
“You can’t swim in a pool in the winter, either, unless it’s an indoor pool.”
Sammy sits up. “So?”
“So, I doubt there are many houses with indoor pools here and even if there were, no. We’ll ski, skate, and sled in the winter, and we’ll do water sports on the lake in the summer.”
I lift the bread out of the egg mixture and put it onto a hot frying pan. The satisfying sizzle causes my mouth to water. “Do you want bacon or sausage?” I ask.
“Mmm, bacon.” She stands up and walks over to the island. “I’ll make the maple butter.”
For the next several minutes, we work quietly preparing our morning feast. Sammy and I are both breakfast people.
Once we sit down at the table, I tell her, “I wouldn’t mind an outdoor hot tub though.”
“Yes! Then I can have all my friends over in the winter for make-out parties just like they have in all those high school movies.”
My eyes pop open in horror. “Samantha …”
She flutters her lashes innocently. “Dad …”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
Laughter fills the room. “Of course I’m joking. I’m not going to tell you about my make-out parties before I’ve even had them.”
“Sammy …”
“Kidding. Where’s your sense of humor this morning?” While my daughter and I regularly tease each other, this is the first time the topic has included her kissing boys. Sammy is twelve. That’s not old enough for make-out sessions, is it?
I finish chewing the bite in my mouth before asking, “Kids aren’t kissing already, are they?”
Now it’s her turn to look uncomfortable. “Some are.”
“Who?”
“Taylor, Ellie, Kaili, Hallie, Jillian …”
