Page 63 of Fighting

Overwhelmed by the emotion such simple gestures elicit, all I can do is nod.

In a low voice just for my ears, he says, “Looking good, Chef.”

When he steps back, I feel light enough to do a silly twirl like I did in the front yard this morning. Was that only a handful of hours ago? It feels like a lifetime since then.

Once we’re both standing at the station, Gran explains the basic construction of the Irish apple cake’s layers. “The foundation is a cinnamon spice cake. You’ll need to peel and thinly slice apples for the middle layer, then a crumb topping will finish it before baking. Some folks make a vanilla crème anglaise to drizzle, while others prefer good old-fashioned vanilla ice cream. Either way, you can’t go wrong.”

Giving a conspiratorial wink, she adds, “It’s even better with a tea and whiskey.”

As Mateo peels apples over the sink, Gran explains the steps for sifting, mixing, and combining the dry and wet ingredients to me. Mateo returns to my side with the apples in a large bowl of water for us to slice. My first few cuts are a bit messy, and he reaches around from behind me to lay a hand over mine, guiding the process.

I blush when Gran and I make eye contact, but she simply sighs, her eyes going unfocused. “Seeing you two makes me miss my JP.”

“Would you tell us about him?” Mateo asks, his hand on mine as he guides me to slice the apples. His hold is secure, as if he’s sure of himself despite the prying eyes.

“Ah, James Patrick was a good man. His family connected us to the Morgan and Hendrix clans—way back in the days when those know-nothings were trying to stop us Irish Catholics from moving. The three families built their enterprise hoping that having a corner of property between us would allow our extended families to move across the pond. It was safer over here. The Hendrix farmhouse became The Featherweight. Our town history was written within those walls regularly. These men have been leading this town around in circles for a good hundred and fifty years, you know.”

I’m desperately trying to focus on her words, but every time Mateo breathes, his front presses a little closer to my back, distracting me again.

“And now it’s River, Grant, and Jimmy. So those are pretty dizzying circles,” Mateo says.

“Grant and Jimmy?” Gran laughs so hard she breaks into a coughing fit.

Mateo steps away, and the air around me cools. He sweeps over to her with a glass of water and a stool, easing her to sit and helping her catch her breath. The gentle kindness he shows her does something to my already overactive lady parts.

After several small sips of water, Gran clears her throat and straightens. “All right, I’ll get on with it. No, dear children, Grant and Jimmy do not have any sort of say in anything. River? I think Betty did sign her votes over to him when he officially bought the business after John got sick.”

“What do you mean? And honestly, I need to know. Why was Lily treated worse than Grant whenheblew up their marriage?” I bite my lip, worried the question was too aggressive, but Gran’s eyes twinkle.

“Oh, yes. You’re one of that crew. Well, I have good news and bad news for your friend. She was definitely given a raw deal, but some of that was in her head. Grant, however, hasstillnot earned Glenn’s trust, and a little birdie suggested he’s not as in charge as he pretends.”

Heart stuttering, I dart a look at Mateo, who’s zeroed in on the tiny informant.

Brow furrowed, I ask about my friend again. “But what about the whole ‘she’s going to sit in the stocks’ thing? They even made her do it last spring, and it had been ten years!”

Setting her glass of water down with a clank against the island, Gran laughs so hard she needs to wrap her arms around her middle. “Is that what you all thought happened?” She’s wheezing, and pauses to sip some more water, nearly spewing.

“All right. Lily, first of all, was supposed to volunteer for the stock photos at the next festival because some team made it to finals. After all that time, there was no way we’d let them hold her to this. But then she and River were dancing around each other. When he told Betty he was going to do this ‘for her,’ we couldn’t get past the grand gesture of it all. Then she went to Jimmy, and we realized that the boy was never going to tell her all the things he needed to unless we locked them in a room together—or, I guess, that bench. Anyhow, I’m pretty sure that all happened to amuse Nicole, Betty, Pru, and me more than anything. Those two kids have been in love since they met.”

My heart rate is erratic. This is all hilarious and a little horrible. I could easily see Delia and myself being these kinds of old ladies. Oh, I cannot wait to tell her and Lily.

As I start to imagine the schemes we could concoct once we’re the elders, I realize the conversation has continued between Mateo and Gran. I missed what Mateo asked, but I catch up with her reply.

“The Hendrix, Kelly, and Morgan clans all hold seats on a board created long ago. They must vote together about any major changes to the partnership, including letting the Morgans out of it. While Grant and Jimmy like to think they’re the voting parties, the leadership team will not approve them.”

“Gran, who votes from your two families?” Mateo asks tentatively.

She barks out a laugh. “Well, as the first woman to be the voting party…” She does the sign of the cross and whispers, “Thanks to my love trusting me to be our decision-maker, I’ve said without a daughter or granddaughter, I will die before giving my vote to a man.”

The room erupts with laughter, and Mateo and I make eye contact, realizing that Satan is being played.

We return to our baking station, and she instructs us on how to set the layers up to bake, then drops the dish into the preheated oven. I should be happy right now. I have good news for Lily, good news for the town, and good news for me—I don’t have to pretend to like Mateo. Although, I don’t know if I’m pretending anymore. I’m just so nervous that I can’t trust my own eyes and ears again.

When I moved home from Boston, I made myself a promise. The idea of love blinded me once before, so I was going to be wiser. Focus on my clients, my family, and myself. I don’t need a partner. I’m fine on my own.Right?I want that confident inner voice to agree, but she’s quiet.

With our lesson wrapped up, Gran washes up. While she’s humming and rinsing the items we dirtied, the back door opens with a creak of the hinges and Liam returns.

“All right, my favorite grandson,” Gran says, drying her hands. “I’m going to take my afternoon nap. You enjoy your visit with your friends.” She pats his cheek and takes off toward the stairs. In the doorway, she turns back. “Was lovely spending time with you two.”

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