Page 99 of This Time Around
Allie nodded. “A co-worker drove to Cannon Beach this morning. Dug up her limit in the first twenty minutes, but her dinner plans fell through at the last second. She said they’d go to waste if I didn’t take them, so I couldn’t say no.”
“You know the way to my heart.” Jack kissed her once more, then scooped up the daisies and wine and headed toward the kitchen. He had the flowers in water and the top off the wine before Allie could get the glasses out. While he filled them up, Allie pulled crisp, fragrant bread slices out from under the broiler and began rubbing each one with a clove of garlic.
“That smells amazing,” Jack said as his lips brushed her neck, making Allie shiver.
“It’s that bruschetta my grandma used to make,” she said. “I remember you liked it.”
“Loved it. I can’t believe you remembered.” He reached out to grab half a cherry tomato from the bowl in front of her, and Allie gave his hand a playful smack.
It felt good to be here with him in this kitchen where so many of her happiest memories lived. If they’d gotten married sixteen years ago, would Jack have ended up laced through all of those stories in Allie’s mind? Would he have carved the Thanksgiving turkey with her father or helped Paige make pumpkin pie at the massive granite island?
No, dummy. Paige wouldn’t have existed if you guys had gotten married.
The thought gave her pause, but Allie pushed it out of her mind as she ladled the tomato basil mixture onto each piece of toast. “Want to enjoy these in the living room with a glass of wine before I put the razor clams in?”
“Perfect. I let Paige choose the wine, by the way. We decided it’s bumpy with notes of kumquat and parakeet droppings.”
Allie laughed. “I can’t believe a ten-year-old has heard of kumquat.”
“Are you kidding? She loves them.”
“I’m impressed you’ve raised such an adventurous eater.”
“We have this tradition we call Fear Factor Friday,” he said, scooping up both wineglasses as Allie picked up the tray of bruschetta and led the way to the couch. “Every Friday, we try some experimental new food that maybe sounds a little weird or scary.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, like stuffed grape leaves or carpaccio or whole Dungeness crab that we clean ourselves.”
“What a cool idea.” Allie set the plate down on the coffee table and Jack handed her a glass of wine before seating himself on the sofa.
“I think it’s a big part of the reason she’s never been a picky eater,” he said. “From the time she was really little, I had her tasting things like artichoke and escargot and gazpacho—stuff that would make most kids turn up their noses.”
“But you made it a game.” Allie took a bite out of a piece of bruschetta. “Very smart.”
“Thanks. Not everything’s been a hit. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the frog legs or the fried chicken liver.”
“You win some, you lose some.”
Jack laughed and popped a bite of bruschetta in his mouth. “True enough.”
“You’ve turned out to be a pretty awesome dad.”
Pride shimmered in his eyes. “Thank you.”
Allie finished off the bruschetta and took a sip of wine. She felt nervous all of a sudden, and it had nothing to do with Jack’s hand on her bare knee.
“So,” she said, dusting crumbs off her shirt as she struggled to keep her tone casual. “Speaking of parents, did I tell you I visited my mom last weekend?”
“You did, but we never got a chance to talk about it. How’s she doing?”
“Good. She’s good.” Allie cleared her throat. “I finally got a chance to ask her about the money.”
Jack picked up another piece of bruschetta and didn’t say anything. Allie watched him chew slowly, and she wondered if this was his way of buying himself some time, of not blurting out the first thing he thought. He was still touching her knee, so that seemed like a good sign.
“And did she know about the money?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” Allie said. “She did.”
