I sure do miss you, Gram. It’s just not the same without you.
“We all miss her.” Liddy squeezed Shelby’s arm.
Dad’s eyes teared up. “She sure would’ve approved of this spread. Liddy, thank you for making her stuffing. It wouldn’t seem like Thanksgiving without it.” Dad put his hands, palms up, on the table. They linked together while he said a prayer thanking God for food and family with a special callout for Oliver, who was a new blessing to them this year.
“And, God, if You see my mom, can You tell her we love her?” His words wobbled to a halt. “Amen.” He cleared his throat and grabbed the serving fork. “All right, now who wants a drumstick?”
“Something’s wrong with the potatoes,” Caleb said a minute later as he scooped them from the serving dish. It was the one dish he’d been responsible for.
“I’m sure they’re fine.”
His gaze zeroed in on the pile he plopped on his plate. “The texture’s kind of weird.”
“He used the mixer,” Liddy told Shelby. “A lot.”
Shelby’s lips twitched. “Oh, Caleb. Not the mixer.”
“I didn’t know.”
“What’s wrong with using a mixer?” Dad said.
Liddy took a scoop of sweet potatoes. “Nothing—in moderation. I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Where’s Louie?” Shelby hadn’t seen Dad’s bulldog since she’d been there. He was usually table side, begging for scraps.
Dad gestured down the hall. “I put him in the bedroom. I have a treat for him after supper.”
“Why are they so runny?” Caleb dropped a forkful back onto his plate.
Liddy patted his arm. “They’re fine, honey. And the sweet potatoes are delicious, Shelby. It tastes like dessert.”
“Thanks. The yeast rolls are yummy. Did you make them from scratch?”
“Got the recipe off the Pioneer Woman website—I love that woman.”
“Everything’s delicious,” Dad said. “I plan to eat my weight in starchy food. Honey, how’s the bookstore doing? Things getting busier as you gear up for Christmas?”
“Very much so. Tomorrow will be crazy, I’m sure, with the sale we have going. Just about every bookseller will be working.”
“What are you supposed to use if not a mixer?” Caleb wondered aloud through a bite of mashed potatoes.
“Is the clothing on sale?” Liddy asked. “There’s a T-shirt I’ve been wanting.”
“Which one? I’ll bring it home to you.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything.”
“Fine. All apparel is 10 percent off.”
Liddy beamed. “Sold!”
They enjoyed their meal with a steady flow of conversation. But Caleb was barely engaging with Shelby. She needed to get things back on track with him. Not that she owed him anything, but it was Thanksgiving after all. And she didn’t want his opinions about Gray coming between them.
Feeling stuffed after two servings of almost everything, she pushed back her plate. “Caleb, how’s your painting going? Everything on track for your show in December?”
He exchanged a glance with Liddy.
Had Shelby hit upon a sore subject?
