Page 92 of The Lost Book of First Loves

“I even had enough energy for a small hike today. Beck and I walked up to the old homestead site.”

“Yay! That uphill walk couldn’t have been easy.”

June made a face. “You don’t have to pretend to be excited that I managed it. I know it’s pretty pathetic for someone who had been training to run a marathon a month ago.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t pretending, June. I’m thrilled at your progress. You died in front of me, remember? The fact that you’re here right now feels like a miracle to me.”

She hadn’t meant that to sound quite so dramatic. Fortunately, Beck stepped in to ease any awkwardness.

“I brought along a Greek salad. Hope that is okay,” he said.

“That should be perfect. I made lemon-tarragon chicken. Why don’t we eat out here? It’s a nice evening.”

“Good idea,” Ali said. “I’ll grab some plates and silverware. It’s the least I can do since I didn’t bring any food.”

Inside the cabin, she found that June had already set the table for two. She again wondered if she was intruding on an intimate evening.

It seemed weird to think of them together, but not completely out of the realm of possibility.

She should make some excuse and back out now. The idea was wildly tempting, but she knew that would only delay the inevitable.

She had to tell June before the secret between them swelled to ridiculous proportions.

She grabbed another plate and silverware and carried all of the dishes to the small teak table on the patio where her dad would sometimes work when the mood struck him.

“This looks delicious,” Beck said when June had removed several chicken breast tenderloins from the grill and carried them on a serving plate to the table.

Ali wasn’t hungry, but she had to admit he was right.

“Thanks. I hope it is. I don’t cook very often in Seattle, but this is one of my few specialties. You marinate it for at least anhour in lemon juice, olive oil, tarragon, minced garlic and a little ground black pepper. Grilling makes it relatively heart-healthy. I grilled extra so I can add it to salads throughout the week.”

“Yum,” Ali said. Despite claiming she wasn’t hungry, she ended up taking a small tenderloin and some of the salad Beck had brought.

“I don’t have anything to drink but water, I’m afraid,” June said.

“That’s fine with me,” Beck answered.

“Did you check the wine cabinet? Dad usually kept a few bottles here at the cabin, but maybe Grandma took them up to the house.”

June smiled ruefully. “I didn’t feel right raiding your dad’s wine collection.”

“You can have anything you want,” Ali assured her.

It’s as much yours as it is mine, she thought.

“I’ll grab some.”

She hurried back into the cabin and went to the small wine rack in her dad’s office. He usually only had a glass or two a week, but he did like to collect it. She would have to figure out what she was going to do with it all now.

While she was far from a good sommelier, she found a nice California Chardonnay she thought would go well with the chicken.

She grabbed three glasses and carried all of it out to the patio. “I should have asked if your doctor said you can have alcohol,” she suddenly remembered.

“He said it’s fine in moderation. I’ll try half a glass tonight and see how things go.”

Ali poured for all of them with a flourish and then sat back down at the table.

“So how long are you and Xander staying at Hidden Lake?” Beck asked.

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