“He’s coming home just for my restaurant opening, I assume.”
Maura laughed. “I’m sure that was right at the top of his list while he was scheduling his trip dates.”
Maura’s husband always had several international projects spinning. Alex had been inclined to dislike the guy for abandoning her pregnant sister more than twenty years ago but Jack had managed to achieve what none of the rest of them did, help Maura see that her life could go on again.
“Who’s watching this adorable guy?” She nuzzled Henry’s warm, sweet-smelling neck. His giggle just about drowned out the little pang in her heart at what might once have been.
“Macy. She insists she’s fourteen and plenty old enough.”
How could Claire’s daughter be fourteen already? She had vivid memories of holding her just like this, giving her raspberries on her neck and changing her diaper, and now she was becoming a young lady.
The world moved on and she just stayed the same.
Not true, she corrected herself. Look at all she had done in those fourteen years. She was happy. Not every woman needed one of these little munchkins to feel complete. She loved being an aunt and was damn good at it. That was enough for her.
“So what do you think?” She gestured to the plates she had prepared for the women. That was the reason she was holding Henry, so his mother, grandmother and Auntie Claire could devote their full attention to the pumpkin risotto.
“I like it,” Claire declared. “It’s got an almost smoky flavor.”
She waited for Maura and Mary Ella and didn’t miss the quick look they exchanged.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s not my favorite thing you’ve ever cooked,” Maura said honestly.
“Mom?”
“I have to agree. It needs something. I can’t quite figure out what.”
That panic fluttered faster, stronger. Brazen would be a disaster. No one in town would ever be able to look her in the eye again.
She forced herself to breathe. Confidence. So she made one dish that didn’t resonate. So what? They had all raved about the apple-pear salad, the roasted artichokes and the pan-seared turkey cutlets. She hadn’t even been planning to add the pumpkin risotto to the menu.
“Okay. That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll table that one and work on it a little more. Thanks for the input.”
“It’s not bad,” Mary Ella assured her. “Just...not as fantastic as everything else.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take criticism,” she said, and hoped it was true. She had better be able to, anyway, since after Friday night, she couldn’t hide away behind someone else’s failures or successes.
Needing a bit of comfort after that little ego burn, she played her trump card. “This isn’t for the restaurant, just for you guys, but I made some of those three-layer chocolate-and-caramel brownies you like.”
“Wow. Is it my birthday?” Claire asked.
“As good as.”
She handed Henry over to Mary Ella for some grandma love, then plated the still-warm brownies, adding a drizzle of caramel and one of chocolate from the squeeze bottles she kept in the refrigerator.
For the next several moments, her warm, comfortable kitchen was full of her favorite sound: people enjoying her food. The brownies took a great deal of effort by the time she made the fudge sauce and layered the blond and dark chocolate batters, but the effort was almost universally appreciated.
“You know, of all the things you make, I think this very well might be my favorite,” Mary Ella said. “I gain five pounds just breathing in the smell of them, but it’s worth it.”
“I can make them for your wedding reception if you want,” Alex suggested.
“You can give the recipe to someone else to make but I told you before, I don’t want you doing the food for the wedding. And I don’t think we’re having a reception. Just a small gathering for family and friends.”
“Is that what Harry wants?” Maura asked. “If I know him—and I venture to say I do a little after being married to his son this last year and raising his clone of a granddaughter for twenty years before that—I would guess he wants to throw a big party and brag about his beautiful bride to the whole town.”
“We’re both too old for that kind of business, don’t you girls think?”
“Are you kidding?” Maura grinned at their mother. “You’re the sexiest sixtysomething bride I know. Besides, we were all robbed last year of the biggest social event of the season when Genevieve called off her wedding. Somebody has to fill that void. You owe it to Hope’s Crossing.”