Page 20 of Doctorshipped
“We definitely do mean to intrude,” Memaw adds. “We’re here to check you out and to see for ourselves what you’re like. Then we’ll go and report to everyone else, and thereby satisfy their curiosity. Not that they won’t come calling themselves. They will. But, we’ll have been here first and that counts for something. We’re also here to give you food. That’s only neighborly.”
“Thank you,” Fiona says, her eyes soft and warm like she actually means it. And, she probably does.
“My dad probably has to get back to work. But, I could get us all tea. Aunt Hazel and I made iced tea this morning.”
“Oh, tea? I’d love some,” Mabel says, making her way toward the dining room.
“I’d love some too,” Esther says, following Mabel.
“Make it three,” Memaw says, turning to wink at me.
I swallow a grumble. It feels like a lump going down. I grab my phone from Fiona and end the call with my dad. Then I turn and walk toward my office.
“So, I heard your dad hired Jayme to be your tutor,” I hear Esther say as I enter my office.
I slide the doors shut and pull up my notes app. I write myself a reminder:purchase a sign that says CLOSED to hang on the front door.
8
JAYME
Shannon comes into the kitchen looking beautiful and groggy as she does every morning. We’re a month away from her wedding. Four weeks until I need to find another home. We gave our notice yesterday to the couple who owns our house. I guess I had secretly hoped they would tell me they loved me living here so much they were going to cut the rent in half just to keep me.
They didn’t say that. So I need to start house-hunting today. And I need to write twenty-five fortunes, and get at least three chapters written on my novel. Then I have to contact a lawyer about the audiobook contract for my series of vampire books:Blood at First Sight.
But, the biggest thing on my mind—the pressing event that woke me in the wee hours of the morning and refused to let me go back to sleep—is that I have to show up to Grant’s home to tutor Fiona. Which explains why I’m baking. Not for him. I’m not baking him anything. Trust me. I’m baking because baking relaxes me. If I bring baked goods to his home today it will be for Fiona and Hazel. Not for Grant. He doesn’t get any of this warm, cinnamony goodness. Though, maybe he could use something hot and delicious to help him see there’s more to smile about in this world than his daughter.
“Wow,” Shannon says. “It smells amazing in here. And also, what time did you wake up in order to make all this?”
“Um. Five? Or four?”
“Four? As in a.m.?”
“Yes.”
“That hurts me just to say it. I can’t even. What’s got you stressed, sweet friend?”
“Stressed? I’m not stressed.”
I spin around looking for my potholders. The timer dings over the oven. I turn it off and pull the cinnamon crunch muffins out and set them next to the sous vide egg bites I baked. Then I turn to the pan on the stove and rotate the breakfast sausage.
Shannon gestures to the breakfast items. “This … is a sign of stress.”
“It’s a sign that I wanted to give you a nutritious and delicious breakfast this morning. A little change from the smoothie.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining. You can cook me breakfast any way you like, any day you like. But I know you. This much flurry in our kitchen means you’ve got a heavy weight on your heart. So, spill it. Over soda.”
Shannon stands and grabs a Diet Dr Pepper out of the fridge. I think it’s odd, drinking soda this early in the morning, but it’s her daily habit so I keep my lips zipped.
I press the top of the french press down, turn the heat off from under the sausages, and push the button on the frother to froth the milk for my homemade café au lait. Okay. I may be stressed.
“He called my life cobbled,” I say, breathing out an exasperated breath and feeling the unexpected swell of tears from behind my eyes.
“Who did?” Shannon asks.
Shannon’s eyebrows fold inward and her eyes warm as she looks at me. I shake my head and blink to clear the welling emotions.
Shannon pulls two plates down from the cabinet and starts divvying food onto each from the myriad of choices I have spread all over the counter. Fruit salad, egg bites, muffins, a few links of sausage each. Yep. She was right—stress baking.
