Page 11 of Reclaimed Roots

I killed the engine and hopped out of the truck, stomach growling in anticipation. Sure enough, the moment I opened the front door, the smell of fresh-baked bread and hearty soup was like a warm hug.

"Mom? I'm home!"

"In the kitchen, honey!"

I followed the sound of her voice, my boots clomping across the hardwood floors. The kitchen was bright and airy.Sunlight streamed through the windows to light up the cozy space.

Being surrounded by the comfort of home instantly eased some of the tension that had been weighing on my shoulders. Emotions, simmering beneath the surface since Natalie left, were constantly threatening to boil over now she'd rolled back into town.

Mom stood at the counter, kneading a mound of dough with strong, sure strokes of her hands. She glanced up as I entered, her warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled.

"There's my hardworking boy. Lunch is just about ready."

I leaned down to drop a kiss on her cheek. "Smells amazing, as always."

"Well, aren't you just a sweet-talker today!" She swatted me with the dish towel slung over her shoulder. "Go wash up and grab your dad from the office. I'll have everything on the table in five."

I did as she asked, traipsing through the mudroom to the little home office just off the kitchen. Dad was hunched over the desk, squinting at something on the computer screen.

"Hey, Pops. Mom says it's time to eat."

He glanced up, smiling as he caught sight of me. "There's my guy. Give me one sec to finish this hand."

"Shouldn't you be doing something productive? Not playing online euchre at noon on a weekday?"

"Why the hell would I do that? I didn't raise three boys just so I could work myself into an early grave."

I snorted, shaking my head. "Fair enough. Though I'm pretty sure you'd go stir-crazy if you actually retired."

Leaning against the desk, I fiddled with a paperweight shaped like an apple. The smooth, cool surface prompted a flood of memories—childhood summers spent in this very office. Dad teaching us the ins and outs of the business while Elliot listened earnestly, Chase goofed around, and I tried my best to pay attention while constantly glancing out of the window, hoping to spot Natalie.

I wandered over to the window that looked out over the side yard and gardens. A flash of movement caught my eye. Elliot was striding across the lawn, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He must have been working out in the east grove all morning.

"Ah-ha! Another win!" Dad pushed away from the desk and stretched his arms over his head with a groan. "These old bones aren't what they used to be."

I shot him a look. "You're not even sixty yet, old man. Quit your bellyaching."

He chuckled, reaching out to clap me on the shoulder as we headed for the kitchen. "Smart ass. Must be your mother's influence."

We returned to find a loaded basket of bread on the table and Mom ladling out steaming bowls of creamy vegetable soup. My mouth watered. There are few things better than Mom's home cooking when you're feeling like shit.

"This looks incredible, honey," Dad said, bending down to peck Mom's cheek. "You spoil us."

"Oh, hush. It's just a simple lunch. Now sit, both of you, before it gets cold."

We settled around the rustic farmhouse table. Elliot joined us a few moments later, stomping in from outside, breathing heavily and gleaming with sweat.

"Damn, it's a scorcher out there today," he said, sinking into the chair beside me. "Could fry an egg on the hood of the truck."

"Language," Mom chided, trying and failing to look stern. She knew better than anyone what kind of mouths her boys had on them. We had gotten them from her. Our mother put on a good show, but we all knew the truth. She was a foul-mouthed firecracker.

Our conversation settled into its usual rhythm as we ate, a comfortable stream of good-natured banter and reruns of the same old jokes we'd been telling for years. But my thoughts kept drifting back to Natalie. Her presence in Sable Point was dredging up a whole host of shit. I could pretend I'd dealt with these feelings long ago, that I was over her. But it would have been a lie.

I took a bite of the crusty bread and chewed a little too forcefully. Ordinary moments like this used to feel so comfortable and grounding. Now every tiny thing triggered a memory of Natalie and the life we almost had together.

Mom taught Natalie to make bread. It had been one of their favorite things to do together. Nat's first attempt had been delicious but misshapen. When she set it on the kitchen table, Chase was the first to pipe up that the loaf looked like apair of boobs. The entire table had burst into laughter, and Natalie laughed right along with us.

"Jasper? You still with us?" Mom asked.

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