Page 32 of Baby, It's You
Mrs. Sonjia pulls back from our hug, still holding onto my arms.
“That he did. He didn’t tell me how handsome this young gentleman is, though.” Her tan skin is covered in freckles that crinkle on her nose as she laughs. “A creativeandeasy on the eyes.” She says it like a statement as she looks quizzically at Olive.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Your house is amazing, Mrs. Sonjia.”
“It’s special, isn’t it?” She continues to smile. “Conner built it for me.”
“Mr. Ray,” Olive clues me in.
“That’s incredible.” I look around in awe. “I never even knew there were houses on this side of Jewel Mountain.”
“We are the only ones,” Mrs. Sonjia explains. “Follow me inside, I just finished baking a loaf.”
Olive looks at me and smiles in an “I told you so” way, and I hold back a laugh.
Mrs. Sonjia guides us in through the front door of the cabin and the scent of freshly baked bread consumes the space.
“It smells amazing,” Olive tells her.
“Thank you, I made a lavender and herb sourdough today.”
She takes us to the kitchen and points to a natural wood table that is next to a huge window. “Sit,” she commands.
We both comply and she slices the bread, then brings us each a plate. Mrs. Sonjia turns to the fridge and pulls out a little blue tray with butter and sits it in front of us as well.
She stares at both of us then, waiting expectantly. “Well, go on. Eat it while it’s hot,” she encourages.
Olive reaches out and cuts off a huge chunk of the butter with her knife. She drops the butter on top of her bread and then takes a bite without even spreading it.
I stare at her in shock.
She feels my eyes on her and freezes before she takes another bite. “What?”
I chuckle. “Youreallylike butter. I’ve never seen someone put that much on toast in my life.”
Olive shrugs. “Life’s too short to not eat copious amounts of what you like.”
“I think there’s a little bread on your butter,” I snort.
“Oh, be quiet!” She playfully shoves me. “Eat.”
Both women are staring at me now, so I lean forward and take a bite of the bread. It’s crunchy on the outside, warm and soft on the inside, and has a savory kick of herbs at the end.
I smile up at Mrs. Sonjia. “This tastes incredible.”
Olive nods next to me as she shovels more bread into her own mouth. “It’s delicious,” she agrees, her words almostunintelligible from the large bite she's chewing on. Then I watch her slice off another chunk of the butter and plop it onto my bread this time.
“Try it. Sonjia makes it.”
I look up at Mrs. Sonjia in shock. “You make butter, too?”
“And honey,” Olive adds. “Which is why we’re here.” She glances at the oven clock. “Speaking of, we have to get started because I need to get back to the bar before Tripp comes in.”
I completely forgot the fact that I don’t have unlimited time to spend with Olive today. I wish I did; our interactions feel so natural, like we have known each other for years.
I toss the piece of bread with the insane amount of butter into my mouth and give Olive a thumbs-up. The butter is delicious, she’s right. But I’m not used to eating it in a layer thicker than icing on a cupcake. I swallow it quickly, apologizing to my arteries, and try to hold in a small cough.
Mrs. Sonjia hands me a glass of ice-cold water, then asks, “Where would you guys like to film?”
