Nate
Dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s was exactly what I needed after a long day of half-burned bacon, a broken syrup pump, and a delivery mix-up that left us short a dozen burger buns. At the Pennywhistle, I was the boss, the problem-solver, the guy everyone looked to. Here? I got to sit down, breathe, and eat real food that I didn’t have to plate myself.
It had been a few days since I'd seen her with Graham. I hadn’t brought up the subject of seeing her again, and even though I felt bad about it, the whole thing made me back off. I guess I was feeling insecure—maybe more than I’d like to admit—but seeing them together left me second-guessing everything.
I’d seen them together long enough to know there was history there. Not the obvious kind. No tension you could point at, no raised voices or lingering touches. It was in the way Eliza went still, like she was bracing for something, and the way Graham filled the space as if it already belonged to him. I recognized it because I’d lived it before—the moment you realize someone else still has a claim on the room, even if they don’t deserve it anymore.
So, I backed off. Not because I wanted to, but because if she had unfinished business with him, she deserved the time and space to deal with it without pressure from me. Whatever had happened between them wasn’t mine to untangle, and until she told me otherwise, the kindest thing I could do was give her room to breathe.
Outside, the air was crisp as I walked up the path to their new place in the senior living condos. The building was a low brick rectangle, neatly landscaped with trimmed evergreen hedges and pots of purple pansies by the front door. I could see warm light spilling from their windows, the blinds half-open, revealing framed family photos clustered on the sill and one of those goofy garden gnomes Grandpa insisted on bringing from the old house. Inside, everything smelled like cinnamon and lemon cleaner, the kind of welcoming scent that made it feel like home even though they’d only recently moved in. There was a small foyer with a coat rack overflowing with scarves and coats. It wasn’t the same as their old place, but somehow, it still had the comfort I remembered.
The kitchen smelled like rosemary and butter, a comfort that eased the tension in my shoulders. For the first time all week, I felt myself relax, grateful for the familiar warmth of family around me. Grandma had made roast chicken with mashed potatoes and the kind of green beans that still squeaked when you bit them. Grandpa was in his usual chair at the head of the table, carving slices of chicken like he was leading a holiday feast instead of a casual weeknight dinner. Tilly sat beside him, swinging her legs under the table, telling him all about a paint catastrophe in art class.
I sat across from her, letting the warmth of the room settle into my shoulders, letting my guard down for the first time all day.
“So,” Grandma said, after a few minutes of small talk and second helpings, “I assume it’s a yes, and you’re entering the Honeybrook Hollow Taste-Off? You haven’t brought it up, and I’m pressing the issue.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Figured it’d be good for the diner. And for me. A little competition won’t kill me.”
“Might kill Graham,” Grandpa muttered, not looking up from his plate. “This town already has a fancy place; the restaurant inside The Honeybrook Inn has been good enough for this town for decades. That boy was always too big for his britches.”
Grandma shot him a look but didn’t disagree. I liked that—they disliked Graham too, and I wondered if anyone else in town felt the same. But I didn’t ask, I didn’t want to gossip in front of Tilly.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” I said. “Trying to find the balance between nostalgia and showing off what the Pennywhistle can do under new management.”
Grandma’s expression was all approval. “You should ask Eliza Darlington to team up.”
I looked up from my plate. “Eliza?”
Tilly’s eyes shot to me. “Do it! You’ll totally win.”
“Maybe, sweetheart,” I answered her. “I have to think about it.”
“She used to love cooking,” Grandma said casually, like she wasn’t dropping a conversational bomb. “You wouldn’t know it by what she’s doing now, but Mabel told me she used to talk about opening her own restaurant someday. I wonder what stopped her. She went to culinary school and everything.”
I hadn’t realized she used to cook—not like that. I’d only ever seen her behind the espresso machine, rolling her eyes and handing out sass with her fancy coffee drinks. But now that Grandma mentioned it, I could picture her in a kitchen. Focused. Passionate. Maybe a little bossy.
I leaned back in my chair. “You think she’d actually want to help me compete? Why wouldn’t she do it for herself, for the Coffee Cabin, or even The Honeybrook Inn’s restaurant?”
“The Coffee Cabin doesn’t have the menu for it, and the Honeybrook never enters; they’re always one of the sponsors. Plus, Mabel emcees almost every year.” She smiled like she was two steps ahead, which she usually was. “If someone gave her the chance and the right reason, it might bring Eliza back to cooking. Mabel told me she used to have big dreams...”
“Hmm. It’s something to think about.” My mind went straight to her hands—how they moved when she handed me coffee, how she brushed her hair back when she was annoyed or flustered or both. I’d been keeping my distance lately, showing up at the Coffee Cabin after drop-off but not pushing for more. She’d seemed unsure after I saw her with Graham. Guarded. And I hadn’t wanted to rush her. But the truth was, I liked her. More than I probably should. And now I wanted to know what had made her walk away from something she used to love.
“She’s talented,” Grandma added gently. “Mabel is always bragging about her. Don’t let her pretend otherwise.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything right away. Because I was thinking about the way Eliza had smiled at me the last time I’d seen her, like she was thinking about saying something but stopped herself.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one holding back.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I promise.”
Grandma’s smile said she knew I’d already decided.
After dinner, Tilly begged to stay the night with Grandma and Grandpa. She was already in pajamas before I got to the front door to leave.
“She needs a little spoil time,” Grandma said, kissing Tilly’s head. “And you need a night off.”
She wasn’t wrong.
