“Arguments about what?”
“About how you’d run the place if you were in charge. You must have ideas.”
“I have dozens of them.”
She shrugs and smiles at me. “Then take a chance on making them happen.” Her eyes twinkle. “Carpe diem and all that. What would make this your ideal job? What would make you excited about the possibilities?”
“Big changes.”
We sit down and dig in. The omelette is perfectly cooked and ideal for this hour of the night. “Make a list,” she says. “Put them in order. Tell your dad.” Sylvia makes it sound so easy.
I wonder if it could be.
There’s a lot to think about there and I realize I’ve been quiet too long. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your five-year plan?”
Sylvia is nibbling at her toast and thinking, and I like thatshe’s determined to provide a good answer. “Well, getting Sierra through high school and off to university or college is job one.”
“Granted. You know you can count on me to help with that.”
Sylvia smiles. “Big fan of higher education?”
“Absolutely. She’s smart. I don’t want anything to hold her back.”
Sylvia continues. “And I’m hoping that Merrie and I can make the diner work.”
“You and me both.”
“Surviving the winter will be the challenge.”
“Absolutely. Maybe we can find Rafe a place to stay in town.”
She puts down her fork. “That’s a really good idea. He makes so much difference with his posts. If he stops for the winter, that might be fatal.”
“Take your own advice,” I say. “Turn it around. If he keeps up his posts all winter, it might be enough to make the difference.”
“Yes.” She smiles at me.
“So, we need to find him a place. He can’t count on driving because there will be snow at some point.”
“And we don’t want him in a ditch somewhere.” She fixes me with a look. “Do you have an idea? You seem to know a lot of what’s going on locally.”
“I do have an idea but I want to know your five-year plan first.”
She smiles. “Playing hard to get, are you?”
“I am not hard for you to get,” I say firmly and she reaches under the table to give me a caress.
“I’d say otherwise,” she murmurs.
“Eat your eggs,” I order, trying to sound stern and failing. “You’ll need your strength.”
We share a kiss then, one that threatens to make both of us forget to clean our plates.
“I guess the right answer is that my five-year plan is to keep painting.”
