Page 50 of Love Off-Limits
Something flickered behind her eyes that said there was more to the story than what she was telling me. I put the milk jugs down on the stamped concrete walkway and pushed my hands into my pockets. “Give me an example.”
“Of what?”
“One of your crazy ideas.”
She bit her lip, studying me for a long moment. “Okay. I’d love to see us expand the kitchen into an actual restaurant, open it to guests year-round instead of only using it to cater events. It would require a lot of expansion, because the catering kitchen stays plenty busy as it is, but I think people would come for the farm-to-table experience. And Lennox would be perfect for that kind of cooking. He and I have already talked about it. If I can get the idea off the ground, he’s in.” Her face was more alive than I’d ever seen it. “You should see Lennox’s sample menu. It’s the stuff dreams are made of.”
“I actually have a lot of dreams about food, so I believe you.”
She smiled softly, but then her expression clouded. “The timing isn’t right, I guess. And Perry—he’s in charge now.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure he’ll ever be on board.”
Back at the wedding, she’d told me about Perry filling in until she was done with school. But she’d just made it sound like his place on the farm was more permanent.
“Perry’s in charge now for good?” I asked hesitantly.
She pressed her lips together and looked away. “I don’t...” She shook her head then bent down to scoop up Penelope. “I don’t really want to talk about this right now.”
Whoa.There was definitely more to the story.
With Penelope in one arm and a jug of milk in the other, Olivia clicked the latch on the studio door and nudged it open with her foot. “This way,” she said, veering to the left into a vast kitchen space with open shelves, glistening marble countertops, an enormous stainless-steel fridge, and a commercial cooktop.
“This place is amazing.” I set the two canisters of milk I’d brought with me on the counter.
“Mom’s art studio fills the other side. Here.” Olivia handed me Penelope. “I’ll go get the last of the milk.”
Moments after she left, Mrs. Hawthorne appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Oh, this little one has done some growing, hasn’t she?” She crossed the room and lifted Penelope out of my arms. “How are you, Tyler? It’s good to see you with a shirt on.” She nuzzled the goat against her cheek, even as she offered me a warm smile.
I choked on a laugh. “I’m good, thanks. I, uh, definitely prefer wearing shirts, that’s for sure.”
She held the goat up for inspection. “She looks good. Kelly says she’s your little shadow.”
“I don’t mind. She’s good company. Olivia thought you might like to see her.”
“Hi, Mom,” Olivia said as she placed the last two jugs of milk on the counter. She moved around the counter and gave her mom a hug.
“Hello, my dear,” Mrs. Hawthorne said. She kissed Olivia on the cheek. “It’s nice to see you back in bright colors for a change. You look beautiful.”
I knew it.I knew all the blacks and grays she was wearing to work couldn’t actually be the way she typically dressed.
“We brought the milk,” Olivia said, ignoring the comment about her wardrobe. She stepped to the side and motioned to me. “And you remember Tyler.”
“I do. But I only just figured out this is the same Tyler you met at Rosie’s wedding.” She narrowed her eyes at Olivia. “Though I should have guessed y’all had a history from the sparks I saw flying in the barn the other night.”
Olivia’s cheeks brightened, and she cleared her throat. “Mom. There were nosparks.”
“Oh, hush. You know there were. He’s six and a half feet of gorgeous man and he was sitting next to you, half-naked, cradling a baby animal in his arms. You’d have to be dead not to feelsomething.”
I turned away to hide my grin. I’d definitely been feeling something. It was vindicating to hear that someone else had noticed, too.
Olivia pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh my word. Please stop.”
Mrs. Hawthorne held a hand up in surrender. “Fine, fine. But you’re going to have to tell me the whole story later about how this fine young man came to be working on our farm.”
Olivia shot me an apologetic smile. “There’s no story. We met at the wedding. We’refriends. He needed a place to be for the summer, so I hired him.”
A slight simplification, but for the most part, what she said was true.
Mrs. Hawthorne rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to me. “Tyler Marino. Italian, right? Your last name?”
