Page 14 of Stuff My Turkey
"Please," Earl said, eyeing the spread with approval. "Nothing like a country breakfast to start the day right."
We settled around the table, the Vickerys on one side, Heath and I on the other—a united front. I reached for my fork, ready to dig into my cheese-laden eggs, when Earl cleared his throat loudly.
He gave Heath a pointed look. "Aren't you going to say grace, son?"
I froze, fork hovering mid-air. Grace? The only grace I knew was my mother's college roommate, and I was pretty sure that wasn't what Earl meant.
"Of course," Heath said smoothly, setting down his napkin.
We all bowed our heads as Heath spoke. "Lord, we thank you for this bounty and the hands that prepared it. Guide us through this day with clear minds and honest hearts. Amen."
"Amen," the Vickerys echoed.
Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out. "And a special thank you to the sweet little pigs who gave their lives so that others at this table might enjoy these delicious breakfast meats."
Dead silence.
I peeked up to see Dottie's hand fly to her pearl necklace, clutching it like I'd suggested we sacrifice her to a volcano. Earl's face had turned an interesting shade of purple. Beside me, Heath made a choking sound as he attempted to drink his coffee and suppress laughter simultaneously.
"I beg your pardon?" Dottie finally managed.
"Farm to table awareness," I said, smiling weakly. "Acknowledging the source."
Earl muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "damned libs" before stabbing a sausage link with unnecessary vigor.
Heath, bless him, jumped in to save me. "Honey's very conscious about ethical farming practices. It's one of the things that drew me to her."
He placed his hand over mine on the table, squeezing gently. His touch radiated heat through my skin, making my breath catch in a way Knox's never had.
"Is that so?" Dottie's pinched expression suggested she found this trait about as appealing as finding a roach in her cornflakes.
"Absolutely," Heath continued, his thumb absently stroking my knuckles in a way that made it hard to concentrate. "She keeps me honest about our operation. Challenges me to think beyond how things have always been done."
I stared at him, genuinely surprised. Was he actually defending my ridiculous outburst?
"Well," Earl said gruffly, "innovation is necessary in this business, I suppose. Though some traditions are worth preserving."
The rest of breakfast passed in strained small talk about the weather and local gossip. When we finished eating, I stood to clear the plates, eager to escape the tension.
"Let me help you with that, dear," Dottie insisted, gathering silverware.
In the kitchen, I fumbled with the unfamiliar cabinet layout, opening three doors before finding where the plates belonged. Dottie watched with hawk-like intensity.
"Not quite familiar with Heath's kitchen yet?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp.
"I'm usually here on weekends," I lied, remembering our cover story. "Still learning my way around."
"Mmm." She handed me a glass to dry. "How old are you now, dear?"
"Twenty-nine," I replied, caught off guard by the direct question.
"Ah—I figured you were coming up on thirty or thereabouts," she said, clicking her tongue. "Biological clock's ticking. I was already married with our fourth son on the way when I was your age."
I bit my tongue, reminding myself I was supposed to be making a good impression. "Different times."
"Some things never change," she said firmly. "A woman's biological clock, for one. I assume you'll quit working once you become a mother?"
The plate I was drying nearly slipped from my hands. "I... haven't really thought about it."
