Page 89 of When We Were Young

It takes me a second to realize that there’s no way she’s talking about those kind of skills because she’s six and that would be super creepy even if she weren’t.

“What do you mean?” I ask when I’ve cleared my throat.

“You gotta show her that you like her.”

“Okay. How do I do that?”

“You show her you pay attention, and you be nice to her,” she says after glancing down at her notes.

“I’m always nice to her.”

“You wasn’t that first day.” She’s got an answer for everything. Maybe she’s not really six.

“I know, but I was shocked, seeing her for the first time in a long time. I last saw her before you were even born.”

She waves me off. “Girls like when people know things about them.”

She picks up her notebook. “I did a report for you.” She sets it on the table and pushes it across the wood until it’s in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“I just told you. It’s a report.”

“A report about what?”

“All of Lizzie’s favorite things.”

“How do you know them?”

“‘Cause I interviewed her.”

“You told her you were making a report for me about what she likes, and she let you?”

“I told her I was writing a report.”

“But not why? I don’t know. She’s probably going to be mad at me if she finds out.”

Layla huffs, then places both of her fisted hands on the table. “Listen. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Do you want my help or not?”

I stare at her, but have to look away first. I have a decision to make. I focus on the little purple notebook and open it to the first page.

Chapter Thirty-One

Lizzie

I’m not usually a nail-biter. So, when I catch myself nibbling on my thumbnail as my friends look around, it strikes me that just a couple of months ago, I couldn’t even say friends, plural. I had one friend—Georgie.

Now I’ve got this women’s group spanning ages six to seventy-plus. And I’ve got to say that Layla, the youngest, and Ruthie, the most vintage, are the spunkiest of the group. Tillie, Delaney, and I are way more chill compared to them.

“So, what do you think?” I almost whisper the words. I want it to be exactly what people envision when they think of a cozy little culinary experience space.

Tillie is the first one to speak as she spins around in a slow circle.

“Lizzie, this is gorgeous. Like seriously, this place is going to be perfect for what you have in mind.”

“Absolutely,” Delaney says. “I mean, you’ve got enough seating over here for probably twenty to twenty-five people, right? Yet it still feels so quaint with the natural brick wall and fireplace.”

“And the food prep area? Oh, my God, I’ve never seen an island that big before. There’s gonna be plenty of room for everyone to have their lesson without feeling crowded.” Tillie points toward the island.