Page 90 of A Taste of Trouble

Composing herself, she opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately, she was overwhelmed by the familiar smells. The most powerful was the smell of her grandmother's tomato sauce. The second was the unmistakable scent of Febreze. Placing her keys on her usual hook, Liv dropped her bag and headed for the kitchen.

“I'm home.”

“Oh, there she is. My sweetheart.” Walking as fast as her old lady legs could take her, Evelyn Crawford grabbed Liv and pulled her in for a huge hug.

“Hey, Gram.”

“How are you holding up?” Ruth Crawford turned around from the stove and looked just as concerned. No matter how old Liv got, her mother would always worry. “What is going on with the bakery?”

“Everything is going to be fine.”

“I wish you would have let me come down there.” Her mother laid her hand on her hip. “I should have just jumped in my car and—”

“Mom? Can we talk about this later?”

Ruth nodded then turned away. She knew enough not to push.

Once released from her grandmother's death grip, Liv walked to the stove and gave her mother a hug from behind while she stirred the sauce. “Hi, Mom.”

She wondered if her mother had kept in touch with her father and just never told her. Did she know where he lived and what he was doing with his life? Regardless, now was not the time to discuss the issue.

“I hope you're just stirring the sauce and didn't have a hand in making it.”

Ruth slapped her arm before she said, “Shut your trap. Grandma made it.” Unless it was frozen or came from a box, like a cake mix, cooking just wasn't Ruth Crawford's forte. “Is my food really that bad?”

Liv looked over her shoulder at her grandmother. Neither could contain their laughter.

“Thank you, Mother, Daughter, way to be supportive.”

“Oh, come on, Mom. You know for a fact that if take-out and Gram's freezer care packages didn't exist, I would have been a malnourished child.”

“Well just nominate me for the worst mother award.” Ruth threw the towel at her daughter then returned to the stove.

“Where's Papa?” Liv asked.

“Where do you think?” Her grandmother rolled her eyes.

Liv walked through the kitchen into the family room.

Joe Crawford sat in his usual spot, remote control in hand, staring at the television. He was her favorite person in the world. “Hi, Papa.”

“My Olivia.” Bending down to give him a kiss, she smiled. He was the only man in the world who ever made her feel special. He was the only man until…

He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Plopping herself on the couch beside him, Liv glanced at the television to see what was going on.

“What's going on with—”

“Who's winning?” she interrupted. She wasn't ready to get into the details. She could barely register them herself.

Her grandfather eyed her with concern but was a smart man and changed the subject. “The wrong team. How was the drive?”

“Good. Not too much traffic.”

He turned from the television and looked at her. On the drive up, she had given her situation a lot of thought. Could she ever forgive Jake? Could she get her business up and running again? Could she have both the business she had always dreamed of and a relationship? There was only one person who could advise her, and he was sitting right beside her.

“Papa? When you had your shoeshine place, did you like it?”

In the late forties, her grandfather had been an entrepreneur. He owned a shoeshine shop—or rather, he had been a bookie who ran his business out of a shoeshine shop.

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