“Goodness, no. I went to law school.”
“What happened?”
She let out a sigh. “I dropped out when Courtney had Laurel. My mom thought she could take care of Laurel so Courtney could finish high school, but then...” She shrugged. “I didn’t really like law school, anyway. I had worked at the bakery all through high school, so Mrs. Knotts let me come back, and she didn’t mind if Laurel came, too. When Mrs. Knotts retired, she put together a payment plan that allowed me to buy the bakery from her.”
“So, what made you go into law?”
She grinned. “Greed. What made you go into art?”
He returned her grin. “Same thing.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Art was my thing. It always was; even as a little kid I was always doodling in class. I’m the middle kid in a really large family, so getting my art displayed on the refrigerator was a big deal. I worked really hard on my drawings and paintings so my pictures would take center stage on the fridge.”
“Sounds competitive.”
“It was. Meals were a dog-eat-dog affair. My sister Ruth would always take a bite out of the biggest piece of watermelon before serving it so everyone would know she’d tap-tapped it.”
“Tap-tapped?”
“It’s our word for dibs.”
“Why not just say dibs?”
“Tap-tap is stronger.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s not just watermelon. It happens with corn on the cob, pieces of fried chicken.”
“Happens?”
He gave her a blank look.
“Like in present tense?”
He stirred his soup and looked thoughtful. “It’s an ongoing battle.” He raised his eyes and met her gaze. “My family would love you and your bakery.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Originally seven siblings. But now, they’re all married and they’ve multiplied. It’s sort of a zoo when we’re all together.”
A wave of jealousy swept through her. She tried to tamp it down. “Does that happen often?”
“Not as often as my mom would like. It kills her that Hannah and I live here.”
“Why don’t you move back?”
He scraped out the last spoonful of soup and took the last swallow. “At first, I stayed because I didn’t want Hannah to lose not just her mom, but her whole world.”
“Is that why you kept her at Canterbury?”
He nodded. “That’s why I work there.”
She wanted to ask about his painting but didn’t know how. He must have sensed this, because he pushed his now-empty bowl of soup away from him and set down his spoon. “Let’s go and pick out some paintings for your bakery.”
“Okay,” she said, gathering up the dirty dishes.
