“Wait a minute,” she said, reaching for the pale wood that was shoved on the bottom of the cart. “Is this a cornhole set?”
“Hm?” Miriam peered in the direction that Winnie was pointing. “Oh… yes, I think that’s what that game is called. The thing where you throw the bean bags or the little balls through the hole? My gosh, I can’t even think how long those have been up there. Those belonged to Harold, my late husband, and he’s been gone more than ten years now. And I think he used those several years before he passed too, for some sort of team-building thing at work.”
Some ideas were starting to click into place in the back of Winnie’s mind. They weren’t fully formed, not yet, but something was moving, making progress…
“Can I have these?” she asked Miriam impulsively. “I mean, I can buy them off you, if you’d like.”
Miriam scoffed, waving away the offer. “Oh, pish posh. I was going to get Garrett to haul this all down to the dump. Honey, if you want them, they’re all yours. I’m not sure they’re in the best condition, though. Like I said, they’ve just been hanging out up in my attic for at least a decade.”
“That’s okay,” Winnie said, her mind racing. “I still want them. I’ll just have to…” She thought, considering. “Okay, let me race back to work, and I’ll grab my car. Do you mind if I leave them here for, I don’t know, half an hour?”
“I can drop them off at your house, Winnie,” Garrett said, startling Winnie, as she hadn’t realized that he’d been listening to their conversation.
“You don’t mind?” Winnie asked. “I mean, that would be amazing, but I don’t want to put you out.”
He shrugged. “No big deal.” Then, he shot her a quick grin, and though Garrett Wilder wasn’t at all her type, Winnie could briefly see what Eleanor saw in the gruff, bearded man. “Plus, it gives me a good chance to earn some brownie points with Eleanor. I’ll get to go brag about how I was nice totwoof her friends in one day.”
Winnie felt flushed with happiness, both about the idea that was unfolding in her mind and about the casual reference to herself as one of Eleanor’s friends.
“Well, if it’s really not too much of a bother,” she hedged.
“Not at all,” he reassured her. “I’ll stick’em next to your garage.”
“Thank you,” she said emphatically. “That’s a huge help. Like, huge. You have no idea.”
Garrett shrugged, having apparently used up as much conversation as he was willing to share. Miriam looked over at Winnie, a puzzled frown on her face, although she looked overall more cheerful than she had when Winnie had arrived, as though this development was an interesting distraction from her worries.
“What are you going to do with those old cornhole boards?” she asked.
Winnie, riding high on her success, gave the older woman a mischievous grin.
“I’m still working it out,” she admitted. “But when I know, you’ll know.”
Miriam gave her a faux-outraged look.
“You’re keeping secrets, little lady!” she accused as Winnie skipped down the steps of the porch and prepared to head back in the direction of work. She’d order lunch to be delivered, since she didn’t have time to take a long walk over to Anchor Bistro anymore. Not when her mind was buzzing, not when she felt that she mightfinallybe starting to think of something that could work, could get the whole community invested in local history.
“Sure am!” she told Miriam cheerfully. “Stay tuned!”
Even from her distance halfway down the block, Winnie could see Miriam shaking her head… but she could see that Miriam was smiling too. Winnie’s own smile felt broad and joyous on her face.
Maybe this whole business about enhancing historical society events wouldn’t be such a disaster after all. Maybe she could manage to build something she could be proud of, something that would really show Magnolia Shore that she was so proud to be a member of this wonderful little town.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In her many years as a stay-at-home mom, something she’d done during her son Jeremy’s entire childhood, Eleanor had experienced a lot of different relationships with cooking. There had been the toddler years, where every dinner had felt like a minefield, when Jeremy would eat three servings of something one week, only to refuse to eat so much as a single bite of the same meal when she repeated it the next time. There had been his teenage years, where she had felt as though she was cooking for a family of ten, not a family of three, given how much he could eat. There had been the days when cooking felt like a chore, a slog, something she had to do every day, day in, day out, no breaks, no reprieves.
But sometimes there had been the meals that felt so satisfying to make. The meals that reminded her that cooking wasn’t just an obligation, but that it was also an art, a connection to culture, a delight for the senses. The ones that reminded her that cooking a good meal for someone was a way to show how much you cared for them.
Tonight was one of those special, vanishingly rare nights, Eleanor reflected happily as she put the last touches on a mushroom bourguignonne that had taken her hours to make. Itwas a dish that she loved, one that felt just right for the cooler nights that had swept in with October, but she so rarely cooked it, mostly because of the time commitment.
Tonight though, she had wanted to do something special for Garrett. Not because of a special occasion, but just because.
Or rather,yesfor a special occasion, because being with him made every day feel special.
That was what she wanted to celebrate. That was what she wanted to thank him for.
She had considered giving him a hint that tonight was going to be special, since she planned to dress nicely and thought he might enjoy the opportunity to do the same. In the end though, she’d been too mischievously pleased with the idea of totally surprising him that she hadn’t told him anything in her text except that he should come over for dinner.
