Page 9 of Feels Like Home
He picks up his suitcase. "See you then. Get some rest."
"You, too."
6
Courtland
"Oh my god, Lola. This is so good." I groan obscenely loudly around a mouthful of perfectly poached eggs.
Lola beams down at me, patting the front of her flour-covered apron. She's been the head chef at the inn my whole life. I took my first steps in her kitchen and spent countless hours propped on the countertop, often with Buzz beside me, watching with fascination as she whizzed around making the most delicious food I've ever had in my life.
Her hard work and dedication has paid off. Clovelly House is no stranger to local and regional food awards, including the Best Breakfast in Somerset County award that it's won every year since it started…in 19-freaking-98.
"Glad you like it. It's so good to have you back. Even if it is just for a short while."
"I'll visit again for longer before the holidays," I say.
"Please do. Enjoy breakfast and make sure you pop in and spend at least a few minutes with me in the kitchen before you take off, okay?"
"Actually, Buzz and I will be having lunch here today."
Her face lights up, and she taps her fingers together excitedly. "Ooh, excellent. I'm making clam chowder. I can't remember, he's not allergic to seafood, is he?"
"Nope"
"Great. Because we just got some local oysters from the Damariscotta this morning." She shoots me an exaggerated wink. "And you know what they say about oysters."
"I do." I put down my knife and fork and smile up at her. "That they're the leading source of the approximately eighty thousand vibrio infections in the United States each year."
"Oh, pish posh," she says, waving her hands theatrically. "The other thing. Thesexything."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
I pick up my knife and fork and pretend the sixty-year-old lady who's like a second mother to me isn't insinuating what we both know she is. It's not the first time I've heard this from her… Or from Manuel, the grumpy executive manager who gives me shit like his bonus depends on it… Or from Scooter… Or Cyrus. Even Old Man Hatfield quirks a brow whenever he sees me and Buzz together in town.
It's like they're all picking up on what I've been too afraid to admit to myself, that thereissomething tangible between me and Buzz.
Well, that ends today. I'm doing what I should have done at prom all those years ago and telling him I have feelings for him. Over clam chowder and oysters, apparently, which hopefully won't give us diarrhea, abdominal cramps, or a fever.
"What are your plans for the morning?" Lola asks.
"I was going to see Mom."
The faintest flicker of tension crosses her face. "I'm sure she'd like that."
"Yeah, but I got a call before from Grandpa's lawyer asking to meet with me."
"Any idea what about?"
"I'm guessing it's something to do with his estate. I don't know. I haven't spoken to Mom about it because I assumed she was handling that side of things."
"Well, good luck with it. Let me know how you go." Lola looks down at my almost empty plate and smiles. Food is the woman's love language, no question about it. "Another serving?"
I smile and nod like I'm six and she's asking if I want to lick the leftover chocolate from the bowl. "Yes please."
"You can't be serious," I sputter.
Perry Stevens, the bald, stony-faced lawyer I met not less than ten minutes ago stares at me from the other side of his credenza with a neutral expression.
