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“Do I press all the way down?” he asks, before he presses his thumb into the first cookie.
“Nope, just enough to make a crater for the jam,” I demonstrate. “We’ll add the jam and icing once they’re done baking.”
“Gotcha,” he says, as he starts adding his thumbprints.
I watch with interest as I notice his slow seriousness with his attention to the cookies. He’s careful and takes his time to make sure the cookies still hold their shape, despite the pressure of his hand. He catches me watching him and gives me a quick smile before returning to his work.
I decide to start making the icing. By the time I have the mix ready, the cookies are set to go in the oven.
“Twelve minutes,” I say, as he shuts the oven door.
“Okay,” he says, as he sets the timer on the oven. “I would ask if I could offer any help but you’ve handled all of the clean-up.”
“No worries,” I wave. “What’s your favorite jam flavor?” I ask, nodding to the jars on the counter.
“I’m partial to blackberry myself. And you?” he asks, untying his apron.
“Raspberry,” I say, as I hand my apron off to him. He hangs it on the inside of the pantry door before taking a seat on the stool chair under the island.
“I have to confess something,” he sighs, as I sit down next to him.
“You’re really a super-secret agent and you now have to kill me for knowing your secret. Not the one about your job, though…that you’re terrible at participating in recreational activities,” I theorize, bringing a laugh out of him.
“Uh, no but that sounds more interesting than what my actual confession is,” he laughs, and shakes his head. “I’m actually enjoying this.”
“It was like I was right the whole time,” I gasp, with wonder in my voice. “You should listen to me more often.”
“I’m reminded of that nearly every day I’ve been here,” he says, going on about how I’ve been right about the beach and how nice small towns are.
I manage to get him talking about what he likes to do outside of work, but not without a bit of effort.
Chapter seventeen
Drew – My True Home
“Honestly, it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything fun that didn’t involve a business trip,” he admits. Then something surfaces in his memory and a slight smile appears. “I used to love sailing when I was a kid.”
“Really? When was the last time you did that?”
“It couldn’t have been that long.” He stops and I can see another realization hit him. “I was probably twelve years old. Yeah, I had to have been because Mom and Dad were…well, they were still alive.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say. “My parents died when I was a kid, too. Car accident.”
“That’s awful,” he says. “My dad passed away from a heart attack and the doctors say that my mom died of something called stress cardiomyopathy.”
“Come again?”
“She died of a broken heart.”
“Wait, people can actually die from that?”
“Oh, yeah,” he nods, then grins again. “My parents were in love the moment they laid eyes on each other. They were high school sweethearts and were married for almost sixty years. When the doctor explained Mom’s death, it made perfect sense to me and my siblings.”
“She literally couldn’t live without him,” Meg wondered aloud, admiring the sentiment. “How come you haven’t been sailing if you love it so much?”
“I think life just got in the way. When I was a teenager, my dad insisted I start learning the family business and because I knew how important it was to him, I didn’t question when family weekends on the lake disappeared. Meetings and learning negotiations were more important.” He shrugs.
“Did you guys still have some kind of family time? What about traditions?”
