Delia lifted her gaze and met Elisa’s eyes. A tiny smirk crossed her lips. “I’m looking at her.”
“Me?” Elisa jabbed her finger into her chest so hard it hurt. She rubbed the offended spot. “What are you talking about?”
Delia’s wise old eyes sharpened. “What do you say we work out a trade? This money you say you’ve got, for the title to the Blossom?”
“But Mama D?—”
“I’m old, honey. I didn’t want to lose the Blossom any more than you did, but I’m kidding myself if I think I’m going to come back to cook full time after a hip replacement. Even if it wasn’t for the money issue, I’d have been thinking about letting it go.”
Her words washed over Elisa. She was right. Of course she was right. But the Blossom without Delia…
“I’d like the downtime. Maybe I could start a new hobby, or finally have some time to read. Been wanting to check out this Charles Martin fellow I keep hearing about.” She squeezed Elisa’s hand. “If you own the diner, I’m not losing a single thing. It’s a win-win.”
“But I can’t afford the Blossom. I’m sure you would have gotten a lot more from a real buyer than the money I’m proposing.”
“Honey, I’ve never wanted to be rich a day in my life. I’ve got plenty of retirement set back. If you cover this surgery, I’ll be golden.” Delia gripped her hand harder. “The least I can do in return is give you the deed to the place you helped create. You and your sweet mama.”
Tears throbbed behind Elisa’s eyes. She pressed her fingers to her lips, holding back the wave of emotion. Earlier that morning, she had slowly come to terms with not only losing the diner, but potentially losing her job. Now…the Blossom could be hers?
Talk about a midnight miracle.
“I accept.” She drew in a shaky breath. “On one condition.”
Amusement sparked in Delia’s eyes. “Look at you, being a shrewd business owner already.”
“I acceptifyou’re on payroll.”
Delia waved one hand in the air. “Again, with the gibberish.”
“You might not be cooking full time or even up here every day, but the Blossom will still need you.” Elisa reached over and took Delia’s weathered hands. “I still need you.”
Delia squeezed her fingers. “The feeling is mutual, my dear.”
She casually let go and brushed her hair back. “Besides, you’ll have to teach me and Lucius more about how to put love into your recipes.”
“You and Lucius?” Delia tilted her head. “But you haven’t wanted to cook in years!”
“Now Delia, I thought we said we weren’t going to keep assuming.” Elisa shot her a wink, then sobered. “I think it’s time I put some of me and mom’s recipes to good use.”
“She’d be so proud. Almost as much as me.” Delia started sliding out of the bench seat. “Get over here so I can hug you properly. Are you going to make a crippled old lady walk to you?”
Elisa grinned as Delia lumbered to her feet. She met her beside the table, and Delia wrapped Elisa in an embrace that smelled like syrup and baby powder and all things home. She’d lost her mother young, but God had provided love where she needed it most. Just like Noah—he’d not had a father growing up, but Grandpa Gilbert had been there to fill in the gaps.
Love abounding. Miracles abounding. What had the letter said? Faith. Family. Forgiveness. They went all together. And it was truly the greatest treasure of all.
More tears—how did she have any left at this point?—slipped down Elisa’s cheeks. “Love you, Mama D,” she whispered.
“And you, dear one.” Delia pulled back and patted her cheek, then sniffed. “Now. Hand me that blasted walker, and let’s get to the bank. We need to see how your boy is doing.”
* * *
Noah leaned against the exterior wall of the bank, slurping his second coffee of the day. Apparently Miley had cheered up during the morning, because this batch was almost undrinkable. But the bitter taste did little to ruin his mood. The spring sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the deed to the Blue Pirogue burned a hole in his back pocket.
Humming, Noah propped one leg up behind him and checked his watch. 9:05 a.m. Any minute now…He took another sip, then debated pouring the coffee into the grass. Nah. He needed the caffeine.
A sleek sports car pulled up and parked on the curb. His father got out, wearing a fitted sports jacket and whistling. Then he gave Noah a double-take as he stepped toward the bank. “What are you doing here?”
Noah took another slow sip. “I live here.” Those words tasted much better than the coffee. He said them again, trying them out. He lived in Magnolia Bay.
