Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(19)

“We were too busy yakking to notice. But yeah, I think it was. It’s not quiet in Bakersfield.”

“Not in Dallas either.”

The two of them watched the kids playing for a few minutes. “She’s just like you.”

“I don’t know about that. I didn’t play in the dirt a lot.”

“You grew out of it,” Zoe corrected. “Decided cheer squad and lip gloss were better pastimes.”

Melanie closed her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t remind me. Guess who is staying here this weekend?”

Zoe glanced to the clouds as if they held the answer. “Enlighten me.”

“Margie Taylor.”

“No!”

“Yes . . . with a stuffy fiancé perfectly suited for her.”

Zoe gave the swing a little push. “I thought her parents were still in town.”

“They are. I’m not sure why the two of them are staying here.”

“More money for Miss Gina.” Zoe made a show of looking behind her shoulder. “Where is she, anyway? I didn’t see her van when I pulled in.”

“She said she had an appointment in Eugene. I told her I’d keep everything running. I’ll do anything to avoid reunion setup. My guess is I’ll get a chance to do all of that next year if I’m still in River Bend.”

“You’re really going to stay?” Zoe asked.

Melanie shrugged. “There’s nothing for me back in California. Hope deserves a little more of this. Open, safe space to run and play. People she can trust close by. Rain. I don’t think Miss Gina needs a full-time employee since this place only fills up a few times a year, but maybe this summer will help me figure out a few things.”

The grandfather clock inside the house chimed twice. She unfolded from the swing. “Hope?”

Her daughter glanced up, her face was smudged with dirt. “Yeah?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t wander off.”

“’Kay!”

“Mel in the kitchen?” Zoe asked while they walked inside.

“Afternoon cookies,” she reminded her friend. “Miss Gina’s schedule hasn’t changed.”

“But you don’t cook.”

“I manage.” Kids had a way of making cooks out of their parents. Even if that cooking was often out of a box with just add water instructions.

The retrofitted kitchen was home to modern conveniences Miss Gina added when she turned the old Victorian into a B and B. The restaurant grade stainless steel refrigerator and range stood in contrast to the white cabinets and poured concrete countertops.

“Is it wrong that walking into this kitchen feels more like home than my mom’s?” Zoe asked.

Melanie removed two baking pans from a lower cabinet and set them on the counter. “Food at your mom’s was pizza or whatever she brought home from the diner. Miss Gina always had raw ingredients that had your hands flying to grab them.”

Zoe opened the refrigerator and giggled. She reached for the red lemonade pitcher and set it aside. “God bless Miss Gina.”

Melanie handed her friend a glass and moved around to dig inside the fridge herself. “It’s like coming home, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Zoe topped her glass off, sat, and took a drink. “So good.”

“It still bites you,” Melanie warned.

The premade cookie dough came in a tub. According to Miss Gina, she bought the stuff off the school fundraiser and stocked herself up twice a year.

Melanie set the tub on the counter and turned to the sink to wash her hands.

“What is that?” Zoe asked.

“Cookie dough.”

Her glass met the counter with a thump and Zoe’s jaw dropped. “No . . . no, no . . . you can’t be serious.”

“It’s what Miss Gina told me to cook.”

Zoe was up and out of her chair in half a second. She tore off the lid and sniffed. Then the fundraising tub became a companion of the trash can. “I can’t believe she’s gone back to that crap.”

Melanie stood back as Zoe did what Zoe did.

The pantry door opened, and out came several containers. “I’ve told her a thousand times. bed-and-breakfasts need fresh and organic. Not preservatives and red dye number six.” A Tupperware lid met the sink and Zoe stuck her nose inside the container. “A few simple ingredients and everyone will remember the food. No wonder she’s not busy all year long. Sticky cookie dough,” Zoe muttered. “Grab a mixing bowl,” she ordered.

Melanie found the bowl and stepped aside.

Zoe waved a container in the air. “See, she has everything she needs.”

Melanie wasn’t even sure what Zoe held.

“Not even expired. Why would Miss Gina buy this and not use it?”

The questions kept coming, but Melanie didn’t bother answering. This was how Zoe cooked. Hands flying, fingers tasting . . . nose sniffing. She found an apron, took a swig of lemonade, and in the time it would have taken Melanie to turn on the stove and pop off the lid of the fake cookie dough, Zoe had flour, salt, sugar, and several other bits of flavor mixed and on cookie sheets.

While the cookies slid into the oven, Zoe knelt beside a deep lower cabinet and dug. She unearthed a coffee bean grinder, dusted it off, and plugged it in. “She better have . . .” From the pantry, a sealed bag of coffee beans emerged. “I don’t get why she isn’t using this.”