Page 17 of One Hundred Humbugs

Ruby laughed to herself as she plated up her culinary masterpiece, struck by the absurdity of it all. She peered out the kitchen window, searching for signs of life in the yard. Becket’s tent was still zipped up, but she noticed movement inside. The goats were in their temporary pen at the far end of the yard, near where the grass gave way to scattered trees.

“Hope you’re ready for a real treat, Becket,” she called out as she headed to the porch, balancing two plates. “We’re having a five-star breakfast of beans à la tin and artisanal preserved meat product!”

She set the plates down on the small porch table and settled into a chair, scanning the yard. Just as she was about to take a bite, Becket emerged from his tent, stretching and running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Morning, Ruby!” he called out, his joy visible even from a distance. “Wow, breakfast service too? You’re spoiling me.” He glanced at the goat pen and then back at Ruby with a grin. “Give me two minutes to let these guys out, and I’ll join you.”

Ruby watched, amused, as Becket made his way to the goat pen. As soon as he unlatched the gate, the goats eagerly pushed their way out, spreading across the yard withenthusiasm. One exuberant goat pranced around Becket, bleating happily.

“You know,” Becket called out between laughs as he made sure all the goats were out, “I think these guys are more excited about their breakfast than we are about ours!”

True to his word, he was soon bounding up the porch steps, out of breath but still smiling. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he took in the breakfast spread.

“Well, this looks ... interesting,” he said, settling into the chair across from her. “I appreciate the effort. Beats my usual granola bar on the go.”

As they ate, Ruby relaxed into easy conversation with Becket. There was something comforting about his presence, a steadiness that made her feel grounded despite the chaos of her current situation. They watched the goats grazing in the yard, some venturing toward the edge of the wooded area, which sat within the fenced property, in search of tasty leaves and shrubs.

The day passed in a blur of dust and discoveries. Ruby unearthed more of Uncle Peter’s eclectic collection—vintage cameras that looked like they belonged in a museum, a box full of novelty shot glasses from every state, including ones Uncle Peter had definitely never visited, and enough books to stock a small library.

Every so often, she’d peek out the window, catching glimpses of Becket as he kept an eye on the goats, occasionally straightening a patch of fencing or clearing debris. Once, she could have sworn she saw him doing a little dance with one of the goats near the edge of the wooded area, twirling it around like a furry dance partner. The sight made her laugh out loud, a sound that seemed foreign in the quiet house.

As the afternoon wore on, Ruby took more and morebreaks to chat with Becket. She told him about her life in Chicago, the soul-crushing corporate job she’d left behind, and the freelance career that had promised freedom but delivered mostly stress and unpaid invoices.

A knock at the door broke Ruby’s focus. She got up and opened it to find Becket standing there, water bottle in hand.

“Mind if I refill this?” he asked, nodding toward the kitchen.

“You don’t have to ask, you can just come in,” she said, stepping aside to let him through.

He smiled and headed for the sink. “Thanks,” he said, as he refilled the bottle and glanced out the window at the goats. Ruby returned to the kitchen table, her fingers moving through the clutter in the open box.

Her hand brushed against something cool and smooth. “What’s this?” she muttered, pulling out an old mason jar. Her eyes widened as she unscrewed the lid and poured out the contents. Coins clattered onto the floor, along with a few crumpled bills.

“Well, would you look at that,” Becket said, glancing over as he screwed the cap back onto his bottle. “Looks like your uncle left you a little treasure after all.”

Ruby counted, her heart racing. It wasn’t a fortune by any means, but it was enough for a decent grocery run. Maybe even a nice dinner out. She looked up at Becket, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Hey, what do you say we treat ourselves to dinner in town? I heard there’s a place called Maisey’s that’s supposed to be good.”

Becket’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to?—”

“I’m not,” Ruby interrupted with a grin. “Uncle Peter is.Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I could use a break from all this dust.”

Before they left, Ruby and Becket stepped outside to check on the goats. The animals grazed, content and unaware of the world beyond the fence.

“They should be fine,” Becket said, giving the fence a once-over. “I’ll check on them when we get back.”

Satisfied, they walked into town. Twenty minutes later, they entered Maisey’s Diner. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, and the aroma of coffee and home-cooked food filled the air. The diner looked like it hadn’t changed much since the 1950s, with its red vinyl booths and chrome-edged tables. A few heads turned to look at the newcomers, curiosity in their gazes.

A thin woman with a neatly styled bob approached them, wiping her hands on an apron tied snugly around her waist. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“Well, hello there! Don’t think I’ve seen you two around before. I’m Maisey, and this here’s my place. What brings you to Aspen Cove?”

“Hi, I’m Ruby Whitaker,” she said. “I inherited my Uncle Peter’s house?—”

“Peter Whitaker’s niece!” Maisey exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Well, I’ll be! Your uncle was a regular here. It’s so good to meet you, honey.” She turned to Becket.

“Becket Shepherd,” he introduced himself with a nod. “I’m helping Ruby with some landscaping.”

“With goats,” Ruby added, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

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