Page 100 of Whisking It All

Gramps lowered his paper, looking up at the doorway for the first time. “TJ?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Remember, it’s Tessa now,” Grama prompted. Then, confidentially to Tessa, “Your father told us.”

“Right, right, I remember,” he said, getting to his feet.

Tessa couldn’t help the smile that overtook her at the sight of her grandfather, the way his presence took up the entire room even after all these years. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her grandparents.

“Come here, Tessa Jayne, and give an old man a hug,” he said with an impish grin as he held his arms out to his sides. She wrapped her arms around him, nestling her cheek against the warmth of his chest, and he enveloped her with a chuckle. “I suppose I’ll have to have a heart attack more often if it means I get to see both you and your father in the same week,” he said.

“Henry!” Grama scolded. “What a thing to joke about.”

Gramps laughed that big belly laugh that shook his whole body, and Tessa’s with it. Her grandmother ignored Gramps’ laughter, turning her attention back to Tessa.

“Let’s get you settled in the guest room,” Grama said. “I just put fresh sheets on the bed this morning after your father left. Then maybe you’ll help me finish making dinner. You must be famished.”

Tessa followed her grandmother down the hall to a small, clean guest room. “Thanks, Grama. I won’t stay long.”

“You stay as long as you’d like,” she said, glancing at Tessa’s bags. “I hope you’ve got something fit for the Florida heat in those bags.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tessa said.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Come find me in the kitchen when you’re ready,” Grama said. Then, with a fond pat of Tessa’s cheek, she turned and left Tessa alone in the guest room.

Tessa sank onto the bed, tossing her purse onto the bedside table. For the first time since Ethan had punched Jamie, she let herself take a deep breath, let the sadness sink into her bones. It was hard to reconcile her sudden flight from Aster Bay with the warm welcome she’d received at her grandparents, the easy way they’d taken her in, assuming she’d stay with them without even asking the question. Assuming she belonged there.

Her whole life she’d had to fight to carve out even a tiny corner of a place for herself, a corner she’d surrender over and over again when the walls caved in. Easier to admit defeat, to move on to somewhere new where the people didn’t look at her askance, didn’t hold the memories of her wrongs. And yet, here in this place with the grandparents she’d wronged over and over, the people she and her mother had abandoned, here she didn’t need to fight for her place at all. It was there, waiting for her with clean sheets on the bed and everything.

You didn’t need to fight for your place in Aster Bay. They were waiting to welcome you, too.

Maybe they had been, but that was before. By now, the whole town must have heard what she’d done, that she’d come between Ethan and Jamie and jeopardized the success of the festival in the process. If they couldn’t repair what she’d broken, the town would blame her. She’d never be able to go back. The thought was a punch to the gut, a bright burst of pain that leveled her with its intensity. She’d never mourned the places she left behind before.

She shook off the thought and went to meet her grandmother in the kitchen. Grama stood at the sink scrubbing potatoes with a natural bristle brush and humming to herself. Without looking up from her work, she tilted her head towards the cutting board on the counter, a freshly washed pile of carrots and celery stalks waiting beside a large yellow onion and a shiny chef’s knife.

“Would you mind dicing up those veggies? My arthritis is acting up today.” She turned a quick smile in Tessa’s direction. “Lucky me that you turned up.”

The two women worked side by side to the sound of Tessa’s knife moving through the vegetables, Grama’s humming, and the splash of water in the sink as she washed a whole bag of potatoes. When she was done chopping the vegetables, Tessa moved on to trimming and tenderizing the tough cut of beef her grandmother would turn into Swiss steak.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” Tessa asked as she set the meat aside.

“Do you want me to?” Grama asked. When Tessa didn’t immediately respond, Grama glanced up from peeling the potatoes with a soft smile. “I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Tessa was leveled by the unquestioning acceptance. In any other place, with any other people, she would be suspicious, but she knew her grandparents could have no ulterior motive. They simply welcomed her into their home as though she visited all the time, as though they weren’t relative strangers.

Grama seared off the meat as Tessa began chopping the potatoes and dropping them into the prepared pot of water on the stove.

“Does your father know you’re here?” Grama asked after a minute.

“No.”

“Does anyone?”

“No.”

Grama clucked her tongue. “You’ll tell him—your father and anyone else who might be worrying about you, wondering where you’ve gone. After that is up to you, but you won’t hide out here while your father’s making himself sick with worry.”

“I’m sure he’s not—”

“He is,” Grama said firmly. She removed the meat from the pan and scraped the mirepoix off the cutting board into the hot oil. Without looking at Tessa, she added, “I’m sure Jamie is, too.”

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