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So is Alicia Mills, her sister. Alicia’s husband, Tyler, is there, too. A bearded man who I remember seeing at the bar last night.
I grin at Ridge when lunch consists of a heaping pan of tater tot hotdish, pasta salad, bread, and apple pie with vanilla ice cream and caramel drizzled on the top for dessert.
Growing up in Wisconsin, I’m no stranger to Midwestern fare and its carb overload, but I can’t even remember the last time I had a good home-cooked meal.
“I would’ve stepped it up a notch if I knew we were having company,” Amy says, eyeballing Ridge. “I mean, the famous kind.”
“Lady, you did all right. Can’t say I miss the food back home that much outside the occasional California burrito craving.” Ridge winks at her and she almost dies.
“Smells amazing,” I say. “I love hotdish.”
“It grows on a man,” Ridge says. “I’ve had it at the diner a few times now.”
“Amy’s is ten times better,” Jess tells us, smiling as he takes a seat.
“I’m excited you could join us. Honestly, you seem so…normal. Uh, sorry!” Amy swallows loudly, her brown eyes sparkling. “I’ve just never met a real live actor before. Jess said somebody famous moved to Dallas, but he wouldn’t tell me who. When he came home last night and told me what happened at the bar, I nearly beat him to a pulp with the pillow!”
“Sure did,” Jess says, wrapping an arm around his wife. “And I didn’t call because you were having a girls’ night out, sipping wine and binge-watching that Queen Elizabeth show.”
“We could’ve watched that later if we knew!” Amy and Alicia both say at the same time.
Everyone laughs, then Amy explains, “Our son and daughter are at the in-laws’ house for the weekend. The new season just came out this week.” Looking at me, she asks, “So I hear you’re a fancy-schmancy interior designer? You must’ve worked on some jaw-dropping homes.”
“Oh, I just got started, actually. And I’m from Milwaukee, not L.A. It’s what I went to school for,” I say, nervously downplaying my skills. Definitely not wanting anyone to think I’m the savant Ridge made me sound like last night.
“I love this old house,” Amy says, glancing around her kitchen. “That’s one thing about small towns, everybody’s place is just a little unique, whether it’s a fifty-year-old ranch or a brand-new duplex.”
“I love variety, too,” I tell her, trying not to gush over piping hot bites of cheesy potato goodness. “The repurposing, turning odds and ends into reusables or decorative items. It gives a place character.”
“Me, too, but I’m terrible at it.” Amy points at the kitchen through the open archway separating the dining room. “See that old desk? I’d love to make that spot into a real coffee bar.”
There’s a drip machine and cups sitting on it. As usual, I can instantly visualize something grander.
A rustic touch and a few additions like new cups, a grinder, and a French Press could make it come alive without much work.
“It’s a cute spot,” I tell her. “Tons of potential.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s been like that for a year. I’ve tried, but nothing works.”
“She also has a tailgate sitting on the back porch that she wants to turn into a bench, and a steering wheel and hub caps, and—”
“Shhh,” Amy tells Jess teasingly, her eyes wide as she presses a finger to her lips. “You’re making me sound like a junk collector, honey.”
“Then you’re talking to the right person,” Ridge says, nodding toward me. “Grace turns junk into gold. I’ve seen what she does with a few random boxes of farm stuff from storage.”
I smile politely at him, but my mind is still on the coffee bar.
Oof.
That’s what happens when I get a vision. It won’t go away until I do something about it.
“What kind of tailgate?” I ask Amy.
“Oh, it’s an old one off my dad’s old pickup. Same vehicle I learned to drive a gazillion years ago. So did Alicia here. When Dad was parting it out, I took the tailgate, steering wheel, and hubcaps. Figured I’d make a little memory out of them someday.”
“You and me both! I got the license plates, the hood, and the front grill,” Alicia chimes in with a cheery smile. “Sisters to the end.”
More friendly, easy laughter, and the conversation rolls along as we eat, Ridge already reaching for seconds. But even as I listen, my eyes keep glancing back toward that old desk.
When the meal is over and I’m so full I might need Ridge to carry me home, Jess asks him if he has time for a quick beer, saying the dealership is only open until noon on Saturdays.
Ridge looks at me.
“Sure, we’re in no hurry to get back,” I say. “I’ll help with the dishes.”
“No, you won’t.” Amy gives me a dead-serious look. “Company doesn’t lift a finger in this house.”
