Page 9 of The Rookie
Jillian steers me by the shoulders toward the breakfast table. “Sit. Eat something.” She places a mug of coffee in front of me.
I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head with a firm look. “You’ve done enough already. Besides, we can’t spoil these boys too much, or they’ll never leave my house and go off and find themselves wives.”
At this, Matt, who’s seated beside me, chuckles. “I’m not in the market for a wife, Mom.”
“And how could you be when they all leave your bed after one night?” Austen says with an eye roll.
Matt grins and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Plenty of satisfied customers, though.”
“For goodness’ sake, behave, boys,” Jillian says, handing me a clean plate.
I fill it with two strips of bacon and a blueberry scone.
“A truly satisfied customer would be arepeatcustomer,” Grandpa Al says from one end of the table.
When it dawns on me that he’s teasing his grandson about basically being a hit-it-and-quit-it player, inappropriate laughter bursts from my lips.
Jillian pats my shoulder. “Don’t encourage him, dear.”
I press my lips together.
Finished with his breakfast, Graham pushes his empty plate away and leans his elbows on the table. “If you morons are done arguing, we have things to discuss. There’s lots on the agenda today.”
“Yes, boss,” Matt says with a groan.
I nibble on my scone and listen to the day’s plans.
“The Polaris needs spark plugs, and the shed needs re-roofing before the snow flies. Plus, I need help with the beer-brewing process today.”
“The beer’s not ready,” Matt says. “So, what do you need help with?”
“Someone’s got to babysit the fermentation process, and I can’t be in two places at once,” Graham says gruffly.
Logan looks up from his plate. “I’ll help out. Wherever you need me.”
I venture a look in his direction. I know I don’t belong here, but I won’t do well with being ignored all day either. “Can I speak to you after breakfast?”
He meets my eyes for the first time today, and a shock of awareness buzzes through me. “Sure. Once I help Austen in the garage.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod.
After a few minutes sorting out who will be working where today, the guys rise from the table, clearing plates and pausing to lean over to give their mom a quick peek on the cheek, thanking her for breakfast. Even Graham.
“Thanks for feeding us, Mom,” he says, stacking his plate with the others by the sink.
“You need more coffee?” she asks.
“I’d better not.”
Once they’ve left out the back door, the house goes quiet. Grandpa Al retires to the living room and settles into his recliner with a newspaper.
I busy myself by rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher while Jillian cleans her cast iron skillet. Now that we’re alone, I recognize that this is my opportunity.
“Jillian?”
“Hmm?” She wipes the skillet dry and places it in a cabinet.
“I know we just met and all, but I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about the passing of your husband last summer.”
