I’m annoyed. He’s annoyed. And coming to the Shafers’ is a much-needed break.
As I sing along with Liam Connolly’s latest album, I finish the last meal for the week, rearranging the enchiladas in the pan and smothering them with homemade enchilada sauce. I threw in a couple of new recipes this week, but this one is a Shafer staple and a favorite of mine. Since I started cooking for the Shafers, I’ve probably made this recipe fifty times and could make it in my sleep, which is likely why my thoughts start drifting while I add the finishing touches.
Drifting to my bank account, specifically, and the fact that the balance never gets higher. It doesn’t get much lower, thankfully, but I need to figure out how to get some traction before long. I knew starting a business would be hard, but lately I’ve been feeling like I’m walking on an endless sheet of ice while wearing the world’s most slippery shoes.
Working hard to get nowhere.
My parents have no idea how dicey my financial situation is right now, but if they did, I have no doubt they would be flying to California to “rescue” me and drag me back to South Carolina so I can marry some fancypants doctor they’ve held on reserve for me. I can easily imagine what my mom would say to me because she’s said it before:You’re wasting that ambition of yours on a failing whim when you could be using it to better society! Why do you insist on pretending you don’t have plenty of opportunity here?
“Oh, honey, that looks extra good today.”
I shriek and toss a handful of cheese shreds into the air as I turn to face the woman standing by the door leading to the garage. “Mrs. Shafer! I didn’t hear you come home!”
Grinning, she plucks a piece of cheese from her hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I dive for my phone and turn off the music, glad I wasn’t listening to anything inappropriate. “I’m embarrassingly easy to scare, actually. Um, I’m almost done, so I’ll clean up here and get out of your way.”
“No rush, Savannah. Pretend I’m not here.” She inches around the cheese scattered between us and settles at the kitchen table with a weary sigh, suddenly looking exhausted. It’s been a while since I saw her last, but I don’t think she’s ever looked this worn down before.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I grab a broom to sweep up the cheese shreds.
“Oh, I just have a lot on my mind. It’s nothing.”
She’s only in her early-forties and is a powerhouse, helping run a highly successful marketing and PR firm. She intimidated the heck out of me when I first met her because she’s always so confident and strong, which means her unusually breathy voice says so much more than her actual words. Whatever this is, it’s not nothing.
Once the cheese is cleaned up, I hurry and cover the enchiladas with foil, pop them in the fridge, and then grab the container of sorbet I whipped up last night from the freezer. With that and a spoon, I make my way to the table and place both in front of her.
She looks up in surprise, her gray-blue eyes fixed on me. “What’s this?”
“Comfort food? Or a bribe to convince you to talk about it, if it will help.” I give her a warm smile and pull the lid off the sorbet. “No added sugar, so zero guilt.”
Mrs. Shafer smiles warmly as she reaches over and grabs my hand. “You might be the best thing to ever happen to me, Savannah Blair. Never leave me.”
“Oh wow. Who knew that a few meals and some frozen fruit could earn me that kind of praise?”
She sighs, offering a weary smile. “Promise you’ll never leave.”
I don’t want to add to whatever is wearing her down, but I need to be honest with her. “Mrs. Shafer, you know I’m trying to build up my client list. At some point, I’ll be hiring more people and won’t always get to do home calls like this.” If I’m lucky…
Who am I kidding? Without her signing on as my first big client, I never would have gotten this far. I owe her too much to ever leave her behind. Unless, of course, my business fails and I have to run home with my tail between my legs.
“I know I’m being ridiculous.” She inhales and holds her head high despite the tired set of her shoulders. “I hope you can expand like you want, but…” She squeezes my hand. “Promise you’ll make time for us when you’re making your millions. You’re the only reason we don’t starve.”
Before I can assure her that I’ll always keep her on my client list, the door to the garage bursts open with a bang, followed by a wave of noises and smells and bickering. The two Shafer boys, Kacen and Blaze, barrel inside, drop their lacrosse gear in the middle of the kitchen, and go straight for the pantry.
“Hi, Sav,” Blaze says from inside, though I don’t think he even glanced in our direction. “Did you make us anygoodsnacks this time?”
Kacen whacks him in the arm at the same time he reaches for something over his brother’s head. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were.”
Blaze throws his shoulder into his older brother’s stomach, knocking Kacen into the shelf and sending a literal rumble through the house.
Mrs. Shafer groans, but it looks like her teenagers have successfully distracted her from whatever’s weighing on her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers to me with a roll of her eyes.
When the boys eventually emerge with arms full of homemade protein bars, fruit leather, and whole grain crackers, I grin at them. “Looks like you’re fine with my gross food.”
