Page 41 of A Recipe Called Home

It sounded intriguing, but she wasn’t sure if jumping into another job right away was wise. Not to mention, it was a role that would ensure she lived and breathed all that was D.C. But it wasWaPo, after all.

“Could you send me the job description and give me a day or two to think it over?” she asked.

“Of course. If you are interested, the next step would be a chat with our editor, who is eager to meet you,” Benjamin informed her.

The editor of theWashington Postwanted to meether? It felt surreal. She needed time to think things through, so Jules told him she’d follow up with him before Thursday.

To clear her head and get her blood flowing again after a night of dead-to-the-world sleep, Jules threw on her tennis shoes and hopped out the front door for a quick run. She usually avoided running as exercise, but she needed to move and feel the blood rush through her veins. Plus, she didn’t have access to a fancy gym here like the one in her apartment building in D.C. This would have to do.

Deciding to head towards Main Street, she eased into a slow pace that might leave her able to reach downtown and back. Overhead, the sun beamed through large white fluffy clouds that gave her cover every few minutes, making the temperature mild and pleasant.

As she ran by the ‘50s and ‘60s rambler-style houses in her grandma’s neighborhood, she could smell the fresh scent of cut grass. The street was quiet except for the chirp of birds in the trees, but no one was outside, thankfully. Jules didn’t feel like talking. She’d neglected to put on any makeup or even brush her hair.

As she ran, the anxiety that pressed against her throat after her conversation with Benjamin eased, replaced by deepening breaths growing in rhythm with her steady steps. She passed the downtown shops, including the new coffee shop, John’s, and Nicholson’s hardware, deciding to turn around at the end of the business district to grab coffee on her way back.

The young maple trees lining main street were showing signs of fall as their leaves had turned a bright yellow at the tips. In just a few short weeks, the trees would be an array of yellows, vibrant reds, and deep purples before littering the ground, giving the town the unmistakable aroma of autumn that Jules knew so well. She realized she wanted to see the change. Fall was never quite the same anywhere else.

Looping around the ornate early nineteenth-century bank at the end of Main Street, Jules made her way back to the coffee shop, entering under the hand-painted sign reading “Drips” over the red and white striped awning. A few customers queued at the register, but the line moved quickly.

Iced vanilla latte in hand, Jules took a few minutes to sip while reading the assortment of fliers hanging from the community bulletin board in the back of the cozy shop. One flier promoted a sketch comedy show for that Saturday in Wicker Park, a part of Chicago she was familiar with.

Winnie loved comedy shows. They used to watch Saturday Night Live together every weekend growing up and took trips into Chicago to see Second City shows once they were old enough.

An idea formed; maybe her and Winnie could go into the city Saturday to see the show? They could make a whole day of it.

“That’s perfect,” Jules said to herself, snapping a picture of the flier.

Friday night was the one and only nightOur Townwould run, so it could also be a celebration of sorts. Not to mention, it would give Emily almost a full day to herself. Jules called Winnie to lay out her plan. She was in.

Taking her time to walk back to her grandma’s, Jules noticed all the renovated houses she passed. The area looked the same as how she remembered it from years ago, only now it felt like someone had given it a good scrub and fresh coat of paint, leaving it glistening and new. Riverbend looked more like a historic suburb now, rather than the small farming town where she grew up. The improvements left her feeling proud but also nostalgic for the past. Everything seemed like it was changing, even the place that had been the one constant in her life.

Before turning back onto her street, her phone chirped with a text. It was Miles.

Chapter 15

I’m playing at the Golden Kernel tonight, if you want to stop by. No pressure.

At the sight of his name on her phone, Jules’ body went warm. A part of her desperately wanted to see him but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.

Ultimately, desire outweighed her better judgement and she convinced herself it would be fine. For one, she had no plans and wasn’t cooking for the ladies at The Landing. And two, she wanted to see how Roxy and Jax were doing. She had to be close to popping by now!

She rewrote her text a few times before sending it, not wanting to come off too eager.

Thanks! I’ll swing by for a bit.

Jules cursed the butterflies in her stomach as she walked through the front door of her grandma’s house. Her body was betraying her mind, and she needed to get a hold on that fast. Friends. That’s all she could offer right now.

The rest of the day was a blur as a slew of repairmen that she’d hired came to fix the various things around the house that needed tending. Between greeting them and playing defense from her grandmother’s incessant hovering and snide comments, she lost track of time before noticing the microwave clock read six p.m. She wanted to be there when Miles’ set started.

Hurrying upstairs to change, she gathered her hair in a sleek ponytail. The dark auburn color was dulling, most likely because she’d missed her regular six-week touch-up at the beginning of the month. Maybe she would let it keep growing out to her natural color. She wondered if she had any greys yet as she made her way out the door. It would have to do for now.

The gastropub was quiet when she arrived, with only a handful of people scattered around the bar, and Miles was already on stage, preparing his sound equipment. As she slid into an empty bar stool, he gave her a tight smile, which she thought was odd. Maybe he was in a hurry and wanted to start on time.

Her stomach growled, so she ordered some food and a drink, a welcome distraction. A few moments later, Jax came over to say hello.

“Where’s Roxy?” Jules asked as he wiped off the bar top with a wet rag.

“She’s at home, resting. She might come later, but her back has been killing her.”

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