Page 232 of Story of My Life
“How is your brother?” I asked as I followed her across the low threshold.
“Which one?” she teased. “By the way, you can put that on the counter.”
I blinked and dropped the tote unceremoniously on the floor. I had counters. And tile. And a pantry door. And a glassed-in breakfast nook.
“Holy… It’s done!”
“Surprise,” she said, spinning in a celebratory circle.
The cabinets were a stately navy with gold hardware. The counters—there were so many of them—gleamed a classy white with gray veining that complemented the textured backsplash.
“I had twelve inches of counter space in my apartment,” I said, folding over the island and stretching my arms out to either side. There were barstools at the island—six of them with rustic white legs and bowed driftwood seats.
“Yeah, you’re definitely going to have to learn to cook.” Laura produced two wineglasses from the cabinet next to the beveragefridge. “Mom already scheduled you for a meatloaf lesson next week.”
“But how…”
The glass-front cabinets held a rainbow of dishes for entertaining. I snapped a picture of them and fired it off to my mother. I’d been making an effort there and was pleasantly surprised by the results.
“The boys pulled a couple of all-nighters and called in reinforcements.”
“Where are they? Why aren’t they gloating about how good this place looks?” It looked like a kitchen from a magazine. The perfect kitchen in the perfect house, and I was the one who got to live here.
“They had something to take care of. They should be back soon,” she promised and began laying out assorted cheeses, crackers, and meats on the table in the breakfast nook.
I clamped my hand over my heart as I surveyed the space. “This is too much.”
If this was Cam’s grand gesture, I was going to pounce on the man and rip his pants off the second he showed his face.
“So how was New York?” Laura asked, pouring a glass of wine and shoving it at me.
I took it with me to the pantry door. “It was…great. Zoey got me a new deal with a new publisher—oh my God. This is bigger than my entire kitchen in Manhattan,” I squealed. “Wait. Why is Cam’s air fryer in here? Did he donate it to me? And where did this hand mixer come from?”
“Pantry fairies maybe?”
I backed out of the pantry and pointed at her. “What do you know? What’s going on?”
She shrugged innocently just as the doorbell rang. “Might want to get that.”
I took my wine and half jogged the length of the hall. “Oh my gosh, look at the curtains!” I exclaimed as I went.
I yanked open the front door, expecting to see a smug Cam. Instead I was met with Darius’s high-beam grin.
“Hazel, my favorite lady who’s not my mother! You remember Sylvia from Silver Haven, right?”
I blinked. “Yes! Of course. I owe you so many apologies. I’m sorry about endangering your residents on that pontoon boat.”
“No apologies necessary,” Sylvia insisted.
“Can we come in?” Darius asked.
I felt dizzy in the kind of delirious merry-go-round way. “Uh, sure. It looks like my house is done. Laura’s in the kitchen with cheese and wine.”
“You had me at cheese,” Sylvia said.
I led the way.
“Hey, Mr. Mayor. Nice to see you again, Syl.”
