Page 53 of Love Off-Limits
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best,” Tyler said.
“What are we talking about?” I asked, looking from Dad to Tyler and then back again. They’d been talking aboutsomething,that much was clear.
“Nothing that ought to concern you just yet,” Dad said, winking at Tyler.
Wait,winking?Actual winking?
Tyler grimaced and gave his head a slight shake.
Dad shifted and reached for my hand. “How are you, Livie?”
I forced a smile, hoping it looked natural. “I’m good. Really good.”
Mom walked over and propped her hand on the back of Tyler’s chair. “Y’all, I need some helpers. What do you say, Tyler? Want to learn how to make soap?”
He looked at me, his eyebrows raised.
I shrugged. It had been a while since I’d helped mom in her soap kitchen, and I’d always loved it. Still, I didn’t want Tyler to feel obligated. “It’s your day off. If you have other things—”
“I don’t,” he said, cutting me off. “I’d love to help.”
“Perfect.” Mom looked at me as if to sayI told you so. “I’ve got to run over to the house and get the lavender I picked this morning.” She crossed the room an d leaned over Dad’s lap to scratch Penelope’s ears. “Will this baby doll be all right with you, Ray?”
Dad snuggled Penelope closer and nodded.
“You need anything from the house?” she asked as she stood back up.
“A sandwich,” Dad said, his tone even.
Mom frowned. “A sandwich? It’s barely nine a.m.”
He shrugged. “Put sausage on it.”
She leaned down again, this time to kiss Dad. She hovered over him, her gaze locked on his. “Raymond Hawthorne, you are going to be the death of me.”
He grinned, his smile still a touch lopsided. “I love you, too.”
“Anyone else want a breakfast sandwich?” Mom asked.
Tyler’s stomach growled in response, and his eyes went wide. “I’m actually fine—”
Mom waved his excuses away. “Sounds like I’m bringing breakfast for the four of us.”
“You should probably bring Tyler two,” I said to Mom.
“You’ll get things started while I’m gone? We’ll just do a small batch today.”
I nodded, and she waved over her shoulder as she headed out the door.
“You won’t be sorry,” I said to Tyler as I motioned for him to follow me to the kitchen. “Anything mom makes is delicious.”
Tyler leaned against the counter in the kitchen while I gathered the tools we needed to start the soap. I pulled an enormous pot off the storage shelf beneath the island, then headed to the pantry where I retrieved the different oils that Mom usually included. The pantry was as big as the kitchen; the left half was used as storage, holding the various oils that went into the soap, as well as the lye and other ingredients she used for color and scent. The other half of the pantry was where the soap sat to cure once it was finished.
“Wow,” Tyler said from the doorway of the pantry. He looked over shelf after shelf of soap in various stages of curing. “This is unbelievable.” He reached for one of the bars on the shelf closest to the door.
“Don’t touch that!” I said, stopping him.
He paused, his hand hovering over the soap, his eyebrows raised.
