Page 45 of The Rookie
Grandpa Al’s satisfied smile is as wide as a country mile. “Deal.”
Well, if I accomplish nothing else today, at least I made an old man smile.
We bring the eggs back to the house, where Logan has disappeared and Jillian has already moved on from breakfast and brought out her stand mixer to start baking bread.
“Want to lend me a hand, Summer? If you’re not in too much of a rush to get to the airport, that is.” She gives Grandpa Al a wink, and it’s never been clearer that there’s a full-family effort taking place to keep me here.
But for some reason, I don’t mind. It feels good to be wanted, to be part of a family, even if it’s not mine. I feel at home here. And that thought is as troubling as it is comforting.
“I’ve never made bread before,” I say, swapping out my coat for an apron. “But I’m ready to learn, if you’ll teach me.”
“Oh, sugar.” Jillian squeezes my arm, her rosy cheeks lifting as she smiles. “I’ll teach you anything if it means keeping you around another day.”
My heart gives a little squeeze at her kind words. To feel needed, wanted ... well, it’s a very powerful thing. Back in Boston, I’ll be alone much of the time in my little apartment. And while that’s never bothered me before, the idea of it now doesn’t sit well.
While Grandpa Al settles back into his chair, Jillian flips on the radio. Before long, I’m up to my elbows in flour, learning to knead breadthe right way, as Jillian keeps saying. I can’t help but laugh at the idea that there’s a wrong way to knead bread that would end with the oven exploding or something worse.
As we work, Jillian treats me to plenty of family gossip about her sons.
According to her, Austen hasn’t been on a date since last year; meanwhile, Matt hasn’t brought the same girl home twice since he moved back to Lost Haven. When she tells me about her secret tally of Matt’s one-night stands that she keeps on the side of the fridge, I have to stop kneading dough just to laugh. And sure enough, there are a whole bunch of tick marks on a scrap of paper.
By the time the bread is in the oven and I’m ready to wash up, I’m wishing I promised Grandpa Al two days instead of just one to mull over my next move.
Yes, being here has brought many awkward moments, but it’s also brought some of the sweetest memories I’ve made in forever. I’ve been so busy with work the past year that I can’t remember when I last had this much time to justbe. To bake, to laugh, to spend time around a bonfire, sipping whiskey and swapping stories. It’s a life so unlike anything I’ve ever known, and it’s given me nothing but a whirlwind of confusing emotions that I shouldn’t be feeling.
“The oil leak in the mower’s all fixed!” a familiar voice shouts from the door to the garage.
Moments later, Logan is standing in the kitchen, his jeans and hands smeared with sooty oil. When he spots me, there’s a twinkle in his blue eyes that makes my heart pound a little faster.
“You’re still here.”
“Of course I’m still here. I wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”
The slightest hint of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. God, this man. He shouldn’t make me feel this way, but he does.
“Glad to hear it, Summer.”
The sound of my name on his lips sends heat climbing up my spine. It takes me right back to last night, the way he moaned my name while I ...
My phone buzzes in my pocket, a welcome interruption to a very inappropriate train of thought. It’s a text from Les, asking how things are going.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, untying my apron before reaching for my coat. “I think I need to make a work call.”
“Hurry back,” Jillian says with a grin.
Smiling, I slip into my boots and head outside for a bit of privacy.
Les picks up on the second ring, his familiar gritty voice cutting right to the chase. “How’s Colorado?” he says instead of hello. He’s never been one to mince words.
I hesitate, but only for a second. I know I can be honest with Les.
“It’s complicated,” I say, pacing up and down the gravel path. “But I think I’m making slow progress with Logan.”
“Slow?” he huffs out. “You’ve been there several days now, Summer. Are you telling me you still haven’t convinced him to do counseling?”
“No. No.” Frowning, I backtrack. “He’s agreed to counseling. But the counseling itself is slow moving. I’ve definitely seen some of where his anger issues come from, but I don’t think we’ve gotten to the heart of the—”
“Summer.” Les interrupts, his voice stern. “I appreciate your dedication to your work, but if you’ve helped him at all, just sign off on the papers. It’ll be okay. I know you did the best you could.”
