Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
My eyebrows drew together. “Don’t be smug. Just tell me how I can help.”
“You can start loading these plates in the dumbwaiter while I get the bread ready.”
I nodded, carrying a stack of covered plates into the pantry that held the dumbwaiters, going back and forth until all the plates were loaded. “Do you want to try to fit the bread in here or send it up without and do the bread in a second trip?”
“Got it,” Finn said from behind me.
I turned to find him holding a woven basket lined with linen napkins filled with several loaves of toasted, buttery garlic bread. Trying not to think about how hungry I was, I moved out of the way, going to the other dumbwaiter and unloading the salad plates from the first course. “Want me to put these in the scullery?”
“Yeah. I’ll get to them later.”
By the time I had the salad plates in the scullery, Finn had sent the last of dinner up. Rather than serving us, he set out a line of crystal dessert bowls. Placing an ice cream scoop on the island by the dessert bowls, he finally turned his focus to our dinner. “You can go tell August and Nicky to wash their hands.”
I did, finding the boys sprawled across Nicky’s bed, August’s blond head beside Nicky’s dark one, two binders filled with pages of trading cards open in front of them. “Dinner time, boys,” I said. “Let’s get those hands washed.”
August popped up and headed to the bathroom, saying, “Thanks, Miss Savannah. I’m dying of hunger.”
“I thought Finn gave you guys a snack?” I nudged Nicky to get up.
Nicky rolled over and looked up at me. “He did, but that was so long ago. Like hours and hours.”
Leaning down to nuzzle my nose against his, I kissed his cheek. “Then you’d better get those hands washed so you can get some lasagna and garlic bread. It smells so good I almost ate Mr. Griffen’s dinner before I sent it up.”
Nicky giggled at that idea, giving in to my not-so-gentle nudges and rolling off the bed. “I don’t like lasagna,” he said, as he always did when confronted with foods that weren’t mac and cheese, chicken fingers, or pizza.
“That’s okay,” I said easily. “I’ll eat yours.”
“Then what’ll I have?” Nicky asked.
“I’m pretty sure I saw some onions and brussels sprouts in the pantry. Mr. Finn said he could make those if you didn’t like lasagna.”
“Gross, Mom!” Nicky shrieked, dashing into the bathroom and joining August at the sink.
Dinner was the best lasagna I’d ever had. I won’t even mention the garlic bread, which tasted even better than it smelled. Or the strawberries Finn made for dessert, tossed in a sweet balsamic syrup, warmed, and served with vanilla ice cream. Simple and delicious. I hated to admit it, but Finn was a genius in the kitchen.
Stomach full, I left Finn the dishes without a twinge of guilt and ushered Nicky into our small apartment. My mother had headed home, and I had packing to do. What I really wanted was sleep. I was always like this right before my period. Tired, achy back, cranky, and dying for chocolate.
Changing into leggings and an old sweater, I considered the neat pile of packed boxes in the corner of the living room and the equally neat pile of flat cardboard ready to be built into more boxes. I hadn’t thought I had so much to pack. The soft sounds of Nicky’s favorite show drifted in from the bedroom as I sank onto the lumpy sofa, tired eyes drifting around the room.
I’d deal with it tomorrow. Or the next day. Parker had texted to say the appliances would be delayed—again—and the cottage wouldn’t be ready for a few weeks. I had time, and my back was killing me. Across the room, tucked into an alcove, my bed beckoned. The same twin bed I’d slept in years ago.
Back then, my mother had claimed the single bedroom, and I had the twin bed. I could have done the same with Nicky, but I didn’t want to feel trapped in the bedroom after Nicky went to sleep. This way I could tuck Nicky in and enjoy a tv show or music without worrying about waking him.
I couldn’t wait to move to the cottage. It had been tucked into the woods, a very short walk from the side entrance to Heartstone Manor, almost as long as the Manor itself. Over the years it had housed a variety of staff, ending in my day with the elderly groundskeeper. He’d retired around the time I left for college, and Prentice allowed my mother to move in. I stayed there a few times over the years, in the small room that would be Nicky’s. But the cottage of my college years bore little resemblance to the one we were about to move into.