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“We’ve been waiting on you. Food is about ready.”
Well, there goes that idea.
“C’mon,” he said with a sigh, squeezing Breanna’s hand before letting it go. “Looks like we’re having lunch first.”
Uncle Ted sat at the kitchen island, hunched over a bowl of soup, while his aunt commanded the stove. The woman missed out on her calling. She should’ve been a chef, opened her own restaurant, or something, because when she wasn’t fussing in the kitchen, Francie didn’t know what to do with herself.
“Sit yourselves down right here,” she said, not bothering to turn around. “Thought you’d like something to warm your insides, so I made fresh tomato soup.”
“And grilled cheese sandwiches to go with it?”
“You know me better than that, dear.”
He sure did.
Francie spread mayonnaise on thick slices of brioche bread she no doubt baked herself, topping them with paper-thin slices of ham and mounds of shredded mozzarella. After dipping the sandwiches in an egg batter, she fried them in butter. Real comfort food. Ian fondly remembered coming into the house to find those sandwiches waiting for him as a kid, after long hours spent outdoors building snow forts with Derek.
“Oh, wow.” Topped with a swirl of heavy cream and fresh basil, Breanna inhaled the steaming bowl Francie put in front of her. “You even make tomato soup fancy.”
“It sure ain’t Campbell’s,” Ted said. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he glanced over at his wife. “If you want to make it down to the village and back before dark, you best get to it, Francie.”
“Last two. I made extras for my boys.” She chuckled, sliding the sandwiches onto a plate. “I know how you like to gobble them up. Ian, honey, do you think you and Breanna can manage dinner on your own?”
“I’m sure we can rustle up something.”
“Okay, good. I have a big grocery order to pick up and your uncle wants to stop by the hardware store.” Passing a grilled cheese to Breanna, she explained, “We have to make sure we’re all stocked up before the storm hits.”
“We’ve got enough foodstuffs and toilet paper to last until May,” Ted said with a chuckle. “But you know your aunt.”
“After last season, I’m not willing to take any chances.” Making herself a plate, Francie finally sat down. “Three months solid we were snowed in here with the pass closed. Thought we’d never see the end of it. We still had patches of snow on the ground come Fourth of July.”
“That was a once-in-a-decade fluke.” Ted reached for a second sandwich. “Atmospheric rivers brought us twice the amount of precipitation we typically get.”
“What’s that?” Breanna asked Ted.
And his uncle’s face lit up.
“Picture a river in the sky, stretching far across the Pacific. Strong winds carry moisture from someplace warm—like Hawaii—then that moisture gets dumped on us as heavy rain and snow. Lasts for days and days. We get hit with one, oh, four or five times a season. Last year seemed like it was one after the other.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” Giving her head a little shake, Breanna pursed her lips.
Smirking, Ian discreetly squeezed her thigh and winked. “They’re not so bad as long as you’re ready for it.”
“Where do you think the West Coast gets its water from, young lady?” Wiping his mouth with a napkin this time, Ted swallowed the last bite of his grilled cheese sandwich. “The snow melts in the spring, replenishing the lakes and rivers here.”
“How much snow are we going to get this time?” Breanna wanted to know.
“They’re predicting two to four feet over forty-eight hours, much the same as the storm you got caught in. And that’s pretty common.” Ted rose from his chair and turned toward him. “If we get more than that, be prepared to help me with the roof, Ian.”
“Don’t I always?”
“That you do.” Bobbing his head, he went over to his wife. “We need to get going, Mrs. Keeler.”
“All right, all right, Mr. Keeler.” Francie got up, and her husband playfully swatted her bottom. “Just let me clean up.”
“I can do it, Francie,” Breanna offered with a smile. “Go on.”
“You sure?”
