Page 64 of Salty Pickle

Lucy never picks up a call but later, she texts me that she’s fine and sorry she scared the housekeeper.

I unlock the door, opening it carefully in case the goat is close and might try to escape. I’ve learned my lesson on that.

I hear nothing.

But I smell many things.

Something sweet baking. Something else, too, richer, more savory.

Did Maggie come back? She doesn’t normally cook for me.

I walk through the living room. The goat is asleep under the fine mist on the balcony. One of my metal bowls is out there, serving as a food dish. The Dutch oven is in use for water.

I pass the dining room table and turn into the kitchen. Lucy’s there, her hair tied up, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven.

“You’re home!” She sets the tray on the side of the stove not taken up by pots. Two things are cooking.

“You’re being domestic.”

“I so rarely get to cook in a proper kitchen. I only have a propane stove in my yurt. This is a real treat.”

She stares down at her oven mitts as she places them on the counter. “I really am sorry I scared your housekeeper away.”

“The goat charged her?”

“I didn’t realize she had come in. I’m so sorry, Court. I should have kept Matilda on the balcony.”

“It’s all right. We’ll arrange it better next time.”

Her gaze meets mine at the “next time.” And she’s right. She won’t be here long enough for a next time.

Although she might be back if the baby turns out to be mine.

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, Uncle Sherman’s words weighing on me. Be a credit to the Pickle name.

“Did Devin find a new farm for us?” Lucy asks.

I drop my arm. If Lucy wants to go to a farm, then surely sending her is the right thing. It has to be hard on her goat to sit on a balcony.

“We were pretty overwhelmed with an issue at work, but he’s hoping to comb through what’s available after this farming event that has everything booked.”

“Oh.” She picks up a spatula and moves the cookies to a plate. “What’s happening at work?”

I loosen my tie. “Just some employee reviews. I’m going to change.”

“Okay! I made peanut butter cookies, and I’ve got some potatoes on to boil for a casserole with leeks and mushrooms.”

I bought leeks? I don’t even know what they are. “That sounds good.”

“What do you normally eat?” she asks.

I shrug, sliding off my suit jacket. “Whatever takeout sounds good.”

She nods. “I thought so. This will be better.”

Will it? I guess I’ll find out. If it’s a total bust, I’ll make an excuse and grab a slice at Luciano’s Pizzeria up the street.

I take one more glance at her as I head down the hall. She’s wearing the yellow dress and the shoes I got her all cleaned up from yesterday’s mishap. Her neck is long and exposed with her hair up. The warmth of the kitchen gives her a rosy glow.

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