Page 47 of A Recipe Called Home

“What do you mean?” Jules tried to keep her tone light. She knew her best friend wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings, but the comment felt like an accusation.

“You know what I mean. Jules, you’ve always been a hyper independent person, it’s one of the many things I love about you. But you also use it as a shield. Ever since you and Miles broke up years ago, you’ve been afraid to let anyone else in. So instead, you’ve thrown yourself into being successful, building your career, and checking all the other boxes you can on your own.”

Winnie took Jules’ hand across the center console. “But you’re not alone and you don’t have to go through life alone. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was never a huge fan of Luke. But you have to be honest, you had one foot out the door your entire relationship.”

A lump formed in Jules’ throat. She was quiet for a long minute before giving a silent nod. Winnie was right.

“If you’re asking me, I think you already know in your heart what you want to do. You’re just too afraid to admit it because then you’ll have to give up a little control. You’ll have to depend on others, and your future won’t be certain.”

“You mean I should write a cookbook?” Jules joked, attempting to divert the conversation.

“No. I mean, sure. If that’s what you want. But what I’m talking about is letting go of your old life and embracing something new. Whatever you decide to do, whether it’s going back to D.C. or staying in Riverbend, I think you deserve to find out what makes you happy and then do that. Because I know it’s not writing for power-hungry white men who can’t keep it in their pants,” she said, cracking a smile.

Jules had to concede she had a point. It’s possible that while she’d been trying to prove she could make it on her own, she inadvertently closed herself off to other possibilities, other versions of her life that would be just as fulfilling, if not more. But could she learn to trust more than just herself? History had taught her otherwise.

On one hand, Jules had learned the importance of self-reliance a young age, with her flighty mother and absent father to thank for that. But on the other hand, she’d been raised by one of the most fierce and loyal women she knew. It was because of Rosa and Grandpa Lou Jules even had the opportunity to dream of a better life. They’d sacrificed for her. Given so much of themselves to ensure she had a bright future. Jules always thought she owed it to them to do the expected thing: go to college, graduate, and get a safe, steady job. To dream even bigger was to risk it all.

But now, her thoughts slid into place. Maybe, just maybe, she owed it to her grandparents to do the risky thing. What if she’d been wrong this entire time? Didn’t Grandma Rosa have her own dreams of owning a restaurant and being a chef when she was a young woman? She, too, likely thought that the reasons for not pursuing her dreams were valid. What if the best way to honor all her grandparents’ work was to take a chance on herself?

The thoughts were too big for her tired brain to make sense of this late at night, so she resigned to deal with them tomorrow when she was functioning at full capacity again.

Tucked in her twin-sized bed, Jules read a text from Emily thanking her for taking Winnie out for the day. She said they’d both needed it. What Emily didn’t realize was that Jules needed it just as much.

Surprisingly, Jules slept through the night and woke up with the sunrise, feeling refreshed and clear headed for the first time in days. Big decisions still loomed in the distance, but this morning they seemed less scary and more manageable.

Deciding to capitalize on her early start, Jules lugged a heavy bin of dirty clothes she’d been neglecting to wash to the basement washer and dryer. Doing laundry was the worst sort of chore in Jules’ book. If she could never do another load again in her entire life, she’d die happy, but, alas, she was running out of clean clothes to wear.

She hadn't been down to the basement much since she’d been back, and it looked like her grandma didn't made it down too often, either.

The couch that had been there for decades still had a Christmas throw blanket hanging off one arm and the big box TV sitting on a rickety old stand had a thick layer of dust coating the top.

In high school, Jules would spend hours down here lying on the couch and watching reruns of Law & Order or talking on the house phone with Miles. To the left of the tidy living area was a large wooden door that was closed, concealing her grandpa’s woodshop he used to spend hours in. She doubted anyone had been in there in the past two years.

Pushing the heavy door open, a cloud of dust filled her nostrils before she could reach in and flick the light switch on the wall. It still smelled the same: a mixture of earthy pine and sawdust that littered the floor. When she was around five or six, her grandfather took her down here for the first time and showed her the large tools he used. He explained how he used his table and jigsaw, showed her the dozens of chisels that hung on the wall over a large working desk and his old planer machine. He told her about how dangerous they could be but also showed her how they could help him turn a piece of wood into something special. Throughout the years, he often convinced her to help him work on whatever project he had going at the time. Between cooking with grandma Rosa and crafting something out of nothing with her grandpa Lou, Jules’ love for creativity bore its way into her soul.

Jules looked around the cavernous room. Illuminated only by a single hanging light bulb and a tiny window, the morning rays caught on the dust specks floating in the air. Her eyes caught on the bottom stair of the concrete staircase that led to the outside of the house. An abandoned piece of wood was propped the corner. Jules picked it up, dusting it to reveal an engraving of loopy script in the corner. “For Rosa, my love,” it read. It was one of Grandpa Lou’s cutting boards. He loved to make them to give away as gifts, polishing the boards until they almost shone. This one looked dull, though, as if he hadn’t finished it.

Jules knew just what to do. After finding some sandpaper and wax sealant, she polished the board, revealing the herringbone design he’d used in constructing it. It was a beautiful cutting board, fit for display in her grandma’s kitchen.

Jules rushed upstairs to grab the book she bought as a gift last night and wrapped them both in silvery wrapping paper she found in the hallway closet. She hadn’t planned to make such a fuss about the book, but now it seemed appropriate. Along with the wrapped gifts, Jules tucked a card under the ribbon she used to tie them together. The handwritten note simply thanked her grandma for being more than just a grandparent. She was her best friend, mentor, and mother all in one. The urge to ensure her grandma knew that felt urgent, like she couldn’t wait another day. Jules didn’t get the chance to thank her grandfather, and she would not make that mistake again.

Energy coursed through her veins as she sat back on the floor of her bedroom, admiring the gift set in front of her. She’d give it to her tonight after cooking a special meal for the two of them.

Jules got dressed and made her way back down to the kitchen. It was still early but she could hear Rosa stir upstairs. A low fog stretched across the front lawn as she looked out the window with a cup of tea warming her hands. She didn’t need caffeine, feeling as awake as if she’d already had two shots of espresso. Grandma Rosa startled her as she came into the kitchen. “Are you going to answer that?”

Confused, Jules looked back with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Your phone is ringing,” her grandma said, pointing to the table.

Chapter 17

Juleshadn’thearditat all. She’d been in her own little world and zoned it out. Now, though, she could hear it ringing and saw Miles’ name flash across the screen. Jules picked it up.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Grandma Rosa said, backing out of the room.

“Good morning?” Jules answered.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you so early. I hope I didn’t wake you,” Miles said in his morning voice that was so sexy a thrill swirled low in her belly. She did her best to ignore it. He’d only be calling this early if it were important.

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