Page 10 of The Naughty List

“Can I borrow that?” I ask, looking down at her pen.

When she hands it to me, I write “hayride to the caribou” on the list of things that need to stay.

“Can I offer you some advice?” Clara looks uneasy as Tony puts the first plate of food down in front of us.

“Of course,” I smile.

Something tells me she would have given it to me whether I said yes or not.

“Be patient with Elliott,” she says. “Brighton would be so mad if he knew I told you this, but over the summer, he had a heart attack. He’s okay now, but it really shook up the boys. Especially Elliott. So, if he seems overprotective of the farm, it’s really just him being overprotective of his parents. I don’t think he means to be acting the way he does.”

I want to be sympathetic. Of course, I feel terrible for Brighton, but the things Elliott said to me last night and the way he all but stalked me around the farm today is not acceptable. He’s a grown man. If he can’t rein in his emotions, that’s his problem, not mine.

Of course, I don’t say that to Clara. Lunch has been going well and it would be nice to have at least one person in my corner in this town.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say just as Tony returns with the rest of our food. “This all looks so good. I don’t even know where to start!”

“The arancini,” Tony and Clara both say at the same time.

With my decision made for me, I pull one of the fried rice balls onto my plate. For the rest of our lunch, Clara doesn’t bring up Elliott again. We talk a little bit more about the festival, but somehow we end up talking about her relationship with Bennett and how I’m a newly single auntie guardian of a ten-year-old boy who wants nothing to do with me.

By the time Clara snatches the check, absolutely refusing to let me pay for lunch, she knows more about my life than some people that have been a part of it for years.

“Oh, I assumed today,” she starts, stepping down from the stool. “But I bring coffee back to the farm every day. Is the iced eggnog latte okay or do you want something else tomorrow?”

I open my mouth to tell her that she doesn’t need to bring me coffee. There will always be a part of me that wonders what someone’s hidden agenda is when they’re being nice to me. But it’s coffee. My weakness.

“Surprise me.”

NINE

ELLIOT

I might betwenty-five years old but am I not above walking into my mama’s kitchen for breakfast. As if my mom doesn’t do enough around the farm, she wakes up at four every morning to help Janet - our very well paid farm chef - cook breakfast for the farmhands. Typically, it’s some kind of breakfast sandwich. Except for Wednesdays.

Wednesdays are our Sundays. It’s the one day during the week the farm is closed to the public. Janet always goes all out for Wednesday breakfasts because it’s the one day during the week no one is rushing out of the bunkhouse.

I waited until almost nine thirty to come up to the main house in the hopes the rush would be over and I could put in a request for strawberry and Nutella crepes. I don’t know what kind of magic is sprinkled in the powdered sugar she adds to it, but there is nothing on this earth that tastes as good as Janet’s strawberry and Nutella crepes. I’ve been to five star brunch spots in Boston that don’t even come close.

Letting myself in the back door that leads right to the kitchen, I prepare myself to give the biggest puppy dog eyes Janet has ever seen. It’s pitiful, but I’m not above making myself look like a fool if it means I get a plate of crepes.

My stomach drops when I push the door open and see Tillie Carole standing at the island chatting it up with my mom, Janet, Clara, and Clara’s best friend Noelle. The snappy, unamused tone she uses when she speaks to me is nowhere to be found. Her bright green eyes sparkle like gemstones as she laughs, she actually laughs, at something Noelle says. I didn’t even know the woman was capable of finding anything funny. Let alone laughable.

She’s been here for a day. Technically half a day since she left the farm at noon yesterday and she’s already sitting in the main house kitchen, drinking coffee with my mother. Janet is the only farm employee that ever comes into the main house and that’s because she works in the kitchen. What the hell is happening right now?

“Good morning, ladies,” I say, as I approach the island.

Everyone says something back except Tillie. She just narrows her emerald eyes into a glare and continues sipping her coffee. If she wasn’t the very bane of my existence, I could easily see myself rolling around the sheets with her for a night or two. Even with her scowl, there’s no denying Tillie Carole is a goddamn smoke show.

“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be in Hawaii right now?” I ask Noelle.

Over this past weekend, Noelle celebrated her birthday by having a sexy Santa themed party. I was invited but decided to pass on seeing Bennett dressed up like Stripper Claus. Instead, on the way to the farm Sunday, I detoured and met our little crew for brunch.

Most of us grew up right here in Blue Spruce Hills. Noelle was Clara’s college roommate, but she fit in with the rest of us almost instantly. Last I knew her fiancé and her were supposed to have left for Hawaii on Monday.

“Sure am,” Noelle answers with a roll of her eyes. “But Michael had to go and tell me he wants to put a baby inside me and now I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

I’m not the most brilliant man on this planet, but I’m smart enough to know when to leave well enough alone. I don’t doubt this can of worms had been opened before I got here, but I sure as hell don’t want to be a part of the conversation going forward.

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