Erielle raised her hands in mock surrender, holding the other woman’s gaze. “I would never. But trust me, it’s easy, and will make all the difference. Okay, so cream of chicken soup.” She cubed up some butter and tossed it into the sauce pan. “You know, I’ve been thinking, I don’t remember you when I was here before. Did you own this place then?”
“I didn’t. I worked at the factory until it closed.”
Erielle’s heart leapt a little at a direct answer from the other woman. Progress! “Had you always wanted to have a diner?”
“What is with all the questions?”
“I was just thinking about when I was here as a kid, and I was trying to remember who owned this place before.”
“I mean, you clearly know I don’t own it.” Hattie’s spoon scraped the pan loudly. “I just run it. I rent it from your granddaddy. Well. From you, now, I guess.”
“You may not own the property, but you own the equipment and everything, don’t you?”Hattie narrowed her eyes as suspicion settled in. “Why? You wanting to take it over?”
“No, and I’ve already told you that several times,” Erielle said, exasperated, as she whisked the broth and milk into the pan.. “I’m just trying to remember what things were like when I was here before.” She reached for the spices and tossed them into the mixture, stirring as the liquid started to bubble. “I don’t think I have it in me right now to run a restaurant. I just miss cooking.”
Hattie grunted, and used her finger to swipe a taste of the mixture from Erielle’s whisk. Her approving hum was the closest thing to praise yet. While she started assembling the casserole, Erielle crossed to the refrigerator.
“Okay if I use this chicken to start a stock?”
Hattie made a sound that wasn’t quite assent, but Erielle took it as such. She carried the chicken over and started chopping it up, dropping the pieces in a stock pot she’d found under the counter. She was making herself at home maybe more than Hattie would like, but she knew the woman would tell her if she stepped over the line.
“How long is that going to last, you using up my chicken and veggies like that?”
“In the fridge, a few days, but we can freeze leftovers for up to a year. Honestly, you will taste the difference, I promise.”
Hattie hummed as she set aside the second casserole and reached for a third. The kitchen fell into a companionable rhythm, the scrape of knives and the soft clatter of bowls filling the space.
Erielle tried to focus on chopping celery, but her thoughts kept drifting—toward Samson, and the vow he’d made to stay at her house tonight. Relief swirled in her chest at the idea of not being alone during the storm, but nerves skittered right alongside it. Him. In her house. Alone.
She yanked her thoughts back. No use letting them wander where they had no business going—not when he looked at her like she was some fragile thing that needed looking after.
“So you planning on staying, then?”
Hattie’s question made her jump, but also gave her a sense of relief. “I don’t really have a lot of options right now, so for now, yes.”
“That’s how most people end up staying here,” Hattie said.
Oof. “Including you?”
“Once the factory closed, didn’t have money to move off anywhere. Old man Lacey wanted to get rid of this place, was getting too tired to run it, and he let me pay for the equipment over time. Finally paid it off last year, along with my student loans. Still have to pay rent, though.” She slid Erielle a look.
Erielle ignored the hint. Instead she chopped silently, adding vegetables to the pot. “Good for you.”
“The Lord must know—soon as I thought I’d turn a profit, business dried up. Can’t blame folks. No jobs, no money.”
“That’s why so many shops are empty?”
“Why would anyone come? Factory went down, town near did too. Your granddaddy bought up properties to help folks out when they left, but he couldn’t find new buyers.”
So he carried the losses. Erielle knew that all too well.
“Why didn’t you move?” She held her breath, pretty sure Hattie wouldn’t answer.
“I lived here most of my life. My parents worked in the factory before me. I knew your mama and your auntie.”
Erielle stopped chopping the celery and stared, agog. She would never have thought Hattie was the same age as her mom. Maybe it was her curves, or her darker complexion, but she looked easily ten years younger.
“Why are you staring?” Hattie demanded.
