“I have something.” She walked behind the counter and opened a white jar. “Come here. This is for courage.”
For courage? “What is it?”
“It’s lotion. It’s got borage, for courage, as the saying goes, lavender, vervain. I mixed it myself.” She held the ceramic jar up so Erielle could sniff.
The scent was clean and pleasing, and she nodded her approval. Allison dipped her fingertips into the cream and motioned for Erielle to hold out her hand. Erielle did, and Allison smoothed the cool cream over the back of her hand, up her arm to her elbow, her small fingers soothing and sure. Erielle watched her movements.
“That feels so nice. You should think about opening a spa.”
Allison dropped her hand almost instantly.
Erielle held back a sigh. She thought she’d made headway with the reticent woman. “What other kinds of lotions do you have? Like, for what other qualities?”
A small smile lifted the corners of Allison’s lips. “Relaxation, of course. That’s lavender and chamomile. Focus. That’s calendula and frankincense. Romance. That’s rose and ylang ylang.”
“Which one do you like best?”
“Oh, the courage one was the one I needed most. But my best seller is romance, naturally. I wish I could grow the ylang ylang as easily as roses and lavender.”
Was Allison actually volunteering information? A smile tugged at Erielle’s own lips at the realization.
“Okay, here I go,” Erielle said, squaring her shoulders and turning toward the door. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck. I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.”
Erielle didn’t let herself stop to think, instead waving to Allison over her shoulder and marching across the street to the diner.
When she walked in, Hattie was nowhere in sight. Neither was the cook, and two men—the same two from the other day when she’d met Daisy—were at the counter, nursing coffee in chipped mugs. She considered asking them where Hattie was, then decided instead to take a seat at the other end of the counter and wait. She hadn’t expected a crowd during the mid-afternoon, but she thought Hattie would at least be visible.
She was about to lose her nerve when the woman finally emerged from the swinging kitchen doors. Her expression settled into a scowl when she saw Erielle.
“What can I do for you?”
Erielle let the harsh tone slide off. She’d already decided the woman wouldn’t fall for sweet talk, so she was diving right in. “Here’s the thing. I miss cooking for people. I know you’re not hiring,” she plowed forward when Hattie opened her mouth to interject. “But Mrs. Guillory said you do cooking for the community, and I was hoping maybe I could get in on that. Help you out. When you do the cooking. Whenever that is.” She kept on because Hattie’s expression was skeptical, to say the least.
“Mrs. Guillory told you that?”
“She said you’ve done some cooking for her when Mr. Guillory was first hurt. And Allison said when she first moved in, too. And I saw you with the to-go containers when I was here the other day. I know you know who I am, and I’m not saying I would be a better cook, but I might have some ideas, and like I said, I miss cooking for people.”
Hattie pressed her lips together and studied Erielle for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You’re right. I do know who you are. Even if your granddaddy hadn’t told me, I know who you are. And I seen how you behaved in those kitchens. I don’t tolerate anyone taking over my space and telling me what needs doing.”
“I absolutely would not be doing that,” Erielle said quickly. “I’d respect your space, your way of doing things.” Her desperation must have come across, because Hattie’s expression relaxed a bit.
“I’ll give you one chance. I do my cooking on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. I tell you what to cook, all right? Unless you want to be providing ingredients.”
“Maybe not the first time,” Erielle said, and bit off the words because Hattie’s eyes narrowed.
“We’ll see if there will be more than one time.”
Erielle felt a grin pull at her mouth, and this time she didn’t resist it. Ideas were already tumbling through her head, excitement buzzing under her skin as she backed toward the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow, then.”
When she walked out to the street, not giving Hattie a chance to change her mind.
Nine
Whew,well, that didn’t go exactly as Erielle thought it would. Not wanting to take over the kitchen had been harder than Erielle had expected, and friendliness didn’t come easily to her, or to Hattie. But they’d worked together, found a rhythm, and prepared meals for twelve families.
Erielle had asked Hattie about them, but Hattie wouldn’t divulge personal information, which was fair. Hattie hadn’t asked questions, but Erielle was fine with that. She could work in companionable silence with someone, which is what they did as they made meatloaf (Hattie’s recipe) and potatoes, which Hattie let Erielle embellish, but not too much, and green beans, which Hattie would not allow her to touch, even though Erielle grimaced at the amount of bacon fat in the dish.
