smoke.
Those turkeys weren't going to be doing anything but celebrating Christmas in the sinks now, where they were busy thawing out for a meal they wouldn't be providing.
Money lost.
But who even cared at this point? Grant's business venture was going to end up costing him money, but who cared? Not Maddie. Because Grant was someone different, completely different, so she wasn't surprised that the prevailing emotion she felt now, looking at him, was apathy.
But still love. Still somewhere there, because even as she took another bite and relished the thought of him being wrong for once for coming up with this stupid plan to ruin Christmas so he could finish paying off a debt that could wait, she still hurt, watching the look on his face.
Love. It's annoying like that sometimes.
"Turkey stew, turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole," she droned, looking up at him. "You're the chef. Come up with something."
He watched her for a long moment. "I'd like to stick to the original plan. Turkey. Just turkey. Done like turkey. Money in our pockets. Maybe the ice won't stick to the roads..."
Money in our pockets.
"And if it does," she said, done with this, with all of it, "they'll probably have the sanding trucks out and will get it cleared enough that the restaurant can still open. And you can crawl through the snow to get there if you have to. Which you will. Because where else would you rather be on Christmas?"
Wow. The tiramisu was making her catty. She crammed another bite into her mouth.
"Supportive much, Maddie?," he asked critically, frowning at her. "Last time I checked, you had something riding on the success of this restaurant, too."
Yes, she did. Because she wasn't making enough with the book royalties to support herself anymore. Any time she could have given to better marketing or to finding ways to supplement her writing career was given to the restaurant, to helping out with the bookkeeping, to helping out with the daily functioning of the kitchen, to being there.
She was Grant's helper and partner, in every sense of the word. And she hated the restaurant because even when she was there, right there with him, he was still a million miles away.
"I do have a lot at stake here," she noted, taking another bite.
"Good grief," he asked, finally noticing the pan of tiramisu. "How much of that have you eaten tonight?"
Not enough. Because it still hurt, everything that he was saying. She wasn't dull enough.
"A lot," she answered. "And who cares if tomorrow doesn't bring in as much money as you thought it would? We'll make it up in the new year. When we're not taking our cruise and all. Or when the baby is born, and you miss that, too, because you're back in the kitchen while I'm at the hospital."
She sounded like her mother. Every fight she'd overheard between her parents came to mind. Kaci's passive-aggressive picking, Brent's critical words, until the marriage was over and it was done.
Was this where she and Grant were heading?
In that moment, she didn't care if it was because she had to say something. She finally had to say it.
He heard her. But he still didn't get it.
"Madison," he said, finally sitting at her feet and looking at her, really looking at her. "I'm doing all of this so we can take a cruise one day, so I can be there when the baby needs me. I just have to make enough so I can have a little more freedom."
When? When would it be enough?
"I'm doing well for us," he said softly, looking back at his phone. "For myself."
"Well, yay for you," she mumbled, taking yet another bite.
He believed her sarcasm enough to continue on with his phone, reading texts as she kept on eating. "There's got to be some way to open up tomorrow --"
Good. Grief.
"It's just one day ," she said, carefully keeping from
Those turkeys weren't going to be doing anything but celebrating Christmas in the sinks now, where they were busy thawing out for a meal they wouldn't be providing.
Money lost.
But who even cared at this point? Grant's business venture was going to end up costing him money, but who cared? Not Maddie. Because Grant was someone different, completely different, so she wasn't surprised that the prevailing emotion she felt now, looking at him, was apathy.
But still love. Still somewhere there, because even as she took another bite and relished the thought of him being wrong for once for coming up with this stupid plan to ruin Christmas so he could finish paying off a debt that could wait, she still hurt, watching the look on his face.
Love. It's annoying like that sometimes.
"Turkey stew, turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole," she droned, looking up at him. "You're the chef. Come up with something."
He watched her for a long moment. "I'd like to stick to the original plan. Turkey. Just turkey. Done like turkey. Money in our pockets. Maybe the ice won't stick to the roads..."
Money in our pockets.
"And if it does," she said, done with this, with all of it, "they'll probably have the sanding trucks out and will get it cleared enough that the restaurant can still open. And you can crawl through the snow to get there if you have to. Which you will. Because where else would you rather be on Christmas?"
Wow. The tiramisu was making her catty. She crammed another bite into her mouth.
"Supportive much, Maddie?," he asked critically, frowning at her. "Last time I checked, you had something riding on the success of this restaurant, too."
Yes, she did. Because she wasn't making enough with the book royalties to support herself anymore. Any time she could have given to better marketing or to finding ways to supplement her writing career was given to the restaurant, to helping out with the bookkeeping, to helping out with the daily functioning of the kitchen, to being there.
She was Grant's helper and partner, in every sense of the word. And she hated the restaurant because even when she was there, right there with him, he was still a million miles away.
"I do have a lot at stake here," she noted, taking another bite.
"Good grief," he asked, finally noticing the pan of tiramisu. "How much of that have you eaten tonight?"
Not enough. Because it still hurt, everything that he was saying. She wasn't dull enough.
"A lot," she answered. "And who cares if tomorrow doesn't bring in as much money as you thought it would? We'll make it up in the new year. When we're not taking our cruise and all. Or when the baby is born, and you miss that, too, because you're back in the kitchen while I'm at the hospital."
She sounded like her mother. Every fight she'd overheard between her parents came to mind. Kaci's passive-aggressive picking, Brent's critical words, until the marriage was over and it was done.
Was this where she and Grant were heading?
In that moment, she didn't care if it was because she had to say something. She finally had to say it.
He heard her. But he still didn't get it.
"Madison," he said, finally sitting at her feet and looking at her, really looking at her. "I'm doing all of this so we can take a cruise one day, so I can be there when the baby needs me. I just have to make enough so I can have a little more freedom."
When? When would it be enough?
"I'm doing well for us," he said softly, looking back at his phone. "For myself."
"Well, yay for you," she mumbled, taking yet another bite.
He believed her sarcasm enough to continue on with his phone, reading texts as she kept on eating. "There's got to be some way to open up tomorrow --"
Good. Grief.
"It's just one day ," she said, carefully keeping from
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