Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Can I have the strata?” Mr. Weaver asked.
“You sure can,” Blair replied. “I used eggs from your chickens to make it this morning. Maddie, would you like to try some?”
“Yes, please. It looks delicious.”
“Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll bring it over to you.”
“Should I pay for it now or afterward?”
She waved a hand. “It’s on me. I never charge the Weavers because Beckett is always giving me eggs or veggies from the farm for free. Or handing out steaks to his friends.”
I laughed. “That sounds like a nice arrangement.”
“It is.”
Mr. Weaver and I sat down at the table by the window, and a moment later, Blair came by with two plates of strata and two settings of silverware wrapped in napkins and tied with twine. “Here you go,” she said, setting them down. “Bon appétit.”
“Thank you,” I said, untying the twine.
Blair smiled. “Hey, any chance you could meet up later? Bianca, Cheyenne, and I are going to grab a glass of wine after dinner. Just the girls.”
“I wish I could. But my son is in town with me, and I wouldn’t feel right about leaving him.”
“Well, give it some thought. I bet Beckett and Mr. Weaver would love to have a guys’ night. They can watch the baseball game. Nothing they like more than baseball.” She patted his shoulder. “Right, Mr. Weaver?”
He nodded. “Did I ever tell you about the catch I made over my shoulder in center field?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, glancing toward the counter. “But I’ve got a customer, so I’ll remind you to tell me about it next time.” She winked at me. “If you can come tonight, grab my number from Beckett. I’m pretty sure he has it.”
“I’ve actually got Bianca’s card,” I said.
“Perfect.” She beamed. “Hope you can make it. Good to see you, Mr. Weaver.”
He waved goodbye, barely looking up from his plate. I didn’t blame him—the strata was delectable.
Before we left, I complimented Blair on the meal and asked if we could get an apple pie to take home.
“Of course.” She boxed it up, tying it with twine, and shook her head when I took out my wallet. “Nope. On the house.”
Sticking a twenty-dollar bill in her employee tip jar, I met her murderous stare with a triumphant smile. “Thanks again for lunch. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”
Mr. Weaver and I walked back to the car, which was parked along a side street. On the driver’s side, I unlocked the doors and placed the pie on the floor in the back seat, while he stood at the passenger side, looking around.
“Was there anything else you wanted to do downtown?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “But I could have sworn the train station was right around here somewhere.”
“I think it moved,” I told him honestly.
“I think you’re right.” He looked despondent. “Maybe I could take a bus to the game. Or you could give me a ride.”
“Tell you what,” I said, since I’d learned quickly that distracting him was the best way to deal with this situation. “Let’s head back to the house and see what Beckett thinks.”
“Good idea. Beckett’s smart about some things.” He paused. “Not everything. But some things.”
When Beckett heard about Blair inviting me to join the girls for a glass of wine, he encouraged me to go.
“Why not? It would be fun,” he said as we walked from the car to the baseball field later that afternoon. He carried a duffel bag full of equipment—balls, a couple gloves, a batter’s helmet.
“What about Elliott?” I looked at my son, who was scampering ahead, carrying a bat, wearing a Bellamy Creek Bulldogs cap. He’d been grinning ear to ear since the moment Beckett had put it on his head.
“He’ll be fine. We’ll have a guys’ night. We’ll watch the game.”
I laughed. “I don’t want you to think I expect you to babysit my kid. You had him all afternoon. Did he slow you down?”
“Not a bit. And it was a huge relief knowing you were with my dad today.” Beckett spoke quietly so his father, walking slightly ahead of us, wouldn’t hear. “I never worried about him once, and I was able to get much more done in half a day than I often can in a full day because I didn’t have to keep coming inside to check on him. Elliott is an excellent listener and a fast learner.”
“Well, I’m glad. And your father was no trouble at all. We actually had a nice time.”
“Did he try to escape?”
“Nope. He was my tour guide. He gets bonus points for knowing what stood where fifty years ago, and for all the cool historical stories. For instance, did you know that the building where DiFiore’s Italian restaurant is now used to be the stagecoach stop for Bellamy Creek?”
“I did not,” he said.