AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She returned his smile. “Can I help, too?”
“You bet.” Jack pulled off his gloves and tossed them over to her. “Use these, though.”
“What will you use?” she asked.
“Iknow what I’m doing,” he replied, and it felt good to hear him make a joke.
“You haven’t seen whatIcan do yet,” she said, then helped them remove baseboards for the next two hours. The work was so laborious she was exhausted by the time they decided to stop and get showered and ready to go to Honey’s.
“Can I ask you something?” Ismay said to Bo once they were ready and walking over.
“Maybe...” He grinned, but she could tell he wasn’t entirely joking. The answer probably depended on the question.
“How does Honey know it was Remy and not Bastian who was kicking her cat?”
“Maybe they were easier to tell apart when they were younger,” he said. “I don’t know. Why?”
Because she couldn’t help thinking that it would’ve been all too easy for Bastian to say he was Remy. If twins could get away with that type of thing, they did—at least occasionally—didn’t they? Especially if it meant getting out of trouble...
When she didn’t respond right away, Bo slowed his step. “Ismay?”
She was tempted to tell him about Bastian trying to open her bedroom door in the middle of the night. She was still a little freaked out by that. But she felt she’d already done too much to pit him against his employer. She’d feel terrible if he quit his job or was fired because of her.
Besides, Jack was listening to the conversation. She didn’t see how there was anything to be gained by giving him more things to worry about, especially because Bastian’s intentions could’ve been exactly as he’d described them.
“I was just thinking,” she said. “After getting to know Bastian, I could certainly see him kicking a cat.”
Bo looked over at her in concern, and she knew it was because he’d seen the contents of that duffel bag. He knew where her mind had been going with the question about the cat. A lot of psychopaths started out by harming animals. But she shot a pointed glance toward her brother when he wasn’t looking, to let Bo know she didn’t want to bring Jack in on what she’d found in the wall of Remy’s closet, and he gave her a slight nod to signify he understood.
Honey served homemade chicken potpie that was so delicious Bo nearly moaned. He knew Honey was a good cook—she’d made him a few meals in the past—and after prison food, it didn’t take much to impress him, but this went above and beyond anything he’d ever eaten before.
Ismay must have agreed with him, because she said, “Wow! Where’d you get this recipe?”
Honey filled their glasses with more sweet tea garnished with fresh mint leaves. “Oh, that’s been in the family for generations.”
Ismay used her knife to cut a chunk of potato in half. “Is it something you’re willing to share, or—”
“Of course, I’ll share,” Honey broke in. “Good recipes are meant to be enjoyed. I’ll copy it onto a card before you go.”
“Thank you.” Ismay took another sip of her tea. “I haven’t done much cooking since I’ve been in school, but I hope I’ll have more time for it this fall. Or maybe I’ll get more serious about it this summer—if I ever get tired of reading on the beach,” she added with a laugh.
Clementine had been passing back and forth under the table while they ate. The cat wound around Bo’s leg, brushing him with her tail, but since they were in the middle of a meal, he refrained from picking her up.
“I love time-tested recipes,” Honey said as she put the pitcher down again. “But I enjoy trying new ones, too. I collect magazines for just that reason. I cut them out and paste them on a card. I have more recipes now than I know what to do with, but it’s sort of my thing to include a different one with each greeting card I send at Christmas or for birthdays or whatever—a recipe for something I think that person would particularly enjoy.”
“What a clever idea,” Ismay said.
“Does your daughter like to cook?” Bo asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Honey rolled her eyes. “Frankie orders out for every meal. I keep telling her all that rich food can’t be good for her or her family, but she won’t listen.”
Bo stabbed a piece of gravy-covered carrot, cooked to perfection, with his fork. “It’s a different era.”
“My granddaughters love to come here because I’ll actually make them a meal,” Honey said.
“I’d rather have a home-cooked meal, too,” Ismay said. “Like you, my mother is an excellent cook.”
“Maybe one or both of your granddaughters will take after you,” Bo said to Honey.
