Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I rolled my eyes. “And?”
“Well, I told him I’d make a tray thingy with some cheese, fruit, and meat on it, but Milo Mills—you know him, he’s the widower whose daughter Jenny is heading to college this fall?”
I stared at my mother like she’d lost her damn mind. I was born and raised in Boggy Creek. Milo Mills used to give me ten cents to pick flowers for his wife once a week. The fact that my mother was asking if I knew who he was made me question if she’d forgotten that I hadn’t always lived in Boston. “Yes, I know who they are, Mom. I did grow up here…remember?”
She waved off my sarcasm. “He’s trying to make a surprise dinner for Jenny, but he burnt it. So I’m running over a lasagna I made up earlier. Do me a favor and make Walter his tray.”
I screwed up my face. “The handsome guy’s name is Walter? How old is he, ninety?”
She shot me a dirty look. “No, he’s not ninety. His name is Walter Cunningham.”
“How old is he?” I asked as I started for the door.
“Earlier thirties, I’d guess. Did I mention there was no ring?”
Sighing, I spun around and watched while my mother walked down the steps and headed toward the drive. The Mills family only lived four houses down from us. Granted, my folks owned three acres of property, but it still wasn’t a very long walk. I knew my mother though. She’d only offered to leave so it would force me to make a tray for Walter.
“That doesn’t mean anything, Mom!”
She laughed and lifted her hand, waving it as she called over her shoulder, “He was taking a shower. I told him to meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes or so.”
“And how long has it been?” I called out.
“Fifteen.”
“Shit!” I hustled inside and drew in a deep breath. The house always smelled like fall to me. It was my mother’s favorite time of year, and mine as well. Mom always had some sort of cinnamon apple candles or plug-ins throughout the house, giving it that fresh apple pie smell.
My parents had run Willow Tree Inn for as long as I could remember. The old historical house had six bedrooms, four bathrooms, two living rooms, and a large dining room and kitchen. The old barn in the back had been converted into an area where we could host parties or do movie nights. I had so many fond memories growing up in this house.
A large pillow sat on the bench that was against the wall where folks could hang up their coats. It read, “I love you a bushel and a peck.” That saying was also everywhere throughout the house. A little nod to my grandmother, who always said it to my mother and me.
I made my way to the small half bath. “I’m going to kill her,” I mumbled as I quickly splashed my face with cold water, dried off, then headed to the kitchen to get to work on the charcuterie board.
My mother had a terrible time pronouncing the word charcuterie, so every time she wanted one made, she called it a tray thingy. A meat tray thingy. A fruit tray thingy with crackers and cheese. A holiday-themed tray thingy. It was fun hearing her try to pronounce charcuterie; even my father tried to get her to say it at least once a week. She was a fan of her trays, so it was easy to tease her. Last Christmas, I had even gotten her a custom wood cutting board that had all the sections laser engraved, so she would know how to build the board. She loved it so much, she displayed it in the kitchen—and had yet to actually use it.
Opening the fridge, I took out three types of cheese, two meats, fruit, jam, crackers, and honey, and then quickly got to work making the board. I had gotten to be a pro at these boards over the last few months, and I had to admit, I made a damn good display of food. I was dying to make a Halloween-themed one. Greer, one of my dearest friends and owner of Turning Pages bookstore, thought she was the queen of charcuterie boards, so I had stepped up my game some. Once Greer started drinking, her boards got a little…weird. She once made an entire charcuterie board of nothing but different types of pickles. I gagged just thinking about it and had to quickly push it from my mind.
I glanced over at the windowsill and smiled when I saw edible flowers in a glass of water. I pulled out three different ones and placed them on the board. When I glanced up at the clock, I saw that it was fifteen minutes past the time my mother said Walter would be down, so I grabbed the board and made my way to the desk area near the front door in the large foyer. He might have fallen asleep or something; I’d look up his room number and bring it to him.