Page 29 of The Rookie
She hands me a mixing bowl containing clarified butter and a small silicone basting brush. “Brush the garlic knots with melted butter, would you?”
I’m almost relieved when she puts me to work, which she inevitably does, like I’m part of the family and not an uninvited guest.
“Absolutely.”
I accept the supplies and brush the top of each golden garlic knot with a generous amount of butter. The kitchen smells amazing, and Jillian hums to herself as she slices a ham. It’s cozy and inviting, and I begin to relax the slightest bit.
I’m going to keep a low profile, eat a homecooked meal that I’ve been invited to (it would be rude not to), apologize to Logan, and figure out what in the world to do next.
Easy peasy. Right?
So, why exactly is my stomach still twisted into an intricate knot?
• • •
“Can we, um, talk?” Logan stammers when he finds me still hiding in the kitchen twenty minutes later, where I’ve just removed the garlic knots from the hot oven.
“Sure thing,” I say with a grin.
I smile when I’m nervous. It’s one of those weird traits I must have inherited from my father, because Mom never did it. I set the oven mitts on the counter, but Jillian interrupts us by handing Logan a platter of sliced ham.
“Can it wait?” she asks. “Dinner’s ready.”
He gives his mom an uncertain look, but accepts the platter. “Sure.”
She nods. “Better to eat while it’s hot. My cooking’s notthatgood.”
But she’s wrong. Her cooking is incredible.
Logan dutifully carries the platter of sliced ham to the dining room, following Jillian, who’s balancing a basket with the garlic knots and a large bowl of smashed red potatoes in her arms. Everything is placed onto the table as the family finds their way into the dining room.
I know it’s cowardly, but I wait for Logan to choose a seat, and then I make sure I’m not sitting by him. Instead, I take the empty chair next to Grandpa Al. After I help myself to potatoes and green beans from Jillian’s garden, and some of that yummy ham, I listen attentively to all of Al’s stories, which isn’t too difficult because Grandpa Al is a hoot.
I can feel Logan’s gaze on me during dinner, but I don’t dare glance his way. I wonder if he’s remembering my assault last night…
“And then in seventy-four, I met Lou, the cantankerous old fart,” Al says, chuckling to himself and spearing another slice of ham with his fork. “Helped him fix up that Mustang.”
After we eat, I volunteer to stay to help wash the dishes, hoping Logan will be gone by then. But he comes and finds me in the kitchen with my hands submerged in soapy dishwater.
“This isn’t your job,” he says with a scowl, and before I can say anything, he orders Matt to come into the kitchen and take over for me. Matt nudges me aside and takes my spot at the sink without any protest, so I dry my hands on a cloth dish towel printed with cheery pineapples.
If only my mood were as bright and cheery right now. My stomach is still in a knot, and I’ve barely kept my hands from shaking.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to your cabin,” Logan says, his voice low.
I guess we’re going to have that chat now.My stomach gives a painful little twist.
I thank Jillian for dinner, and squeeze Grandpa Al’s wrinkled hand before following Logan to the door.
Logan walks me back to my cabin, then gets the fire roaring again. We both take off our coats and boots. Since he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, and there’s that familiar scowl back on his handsome face, I make myself busy.
“I’ll get us some wine,” I call over my shoulder on my way to the kitchenette. I’d picked up a bottle of wine when we were in town, seems like a might fine time to open it.
When I return with two glasses of red wine, Logan is standing in the center of the living room, looking uncomfortable.
“Let’s sit,” I say. As awkward as this is, I know the only thing to do is to launch into a rambling apology, so that’s exactly what I do. “Listen, I’m just going to say some things. First, I’m truly sorry about last night.”
Logan’s eyes widen as he watches me.
