give it a shot.”
“ Remember to remove the neck and gizzard from inside.”
“ The what?”
“ You don’t have to eat them. Just take them out. They’re usually wedged pretty far into the cavity. And keep an eye out for a gravy packet too. You’ll see what I mean.”
Greg laughed. “You’re making me nervous. Is your date with Pete still on?”
“ It’s not a date. There’ll be a boatload of people, literally.”
“ Tell yourself that if you want — but the rest of us, we know what’s really going on.” Greg hung up before I could argue further.
Huh. It was not a date. It was one of those nice things people did to make sure singles weren’t alone for the holidays. That’s all. Really. Pete had invited me, but Sally Levine must have suggested it to him. He had to ask because we were gathering on his boat. No big deal.
My stomach rumbled like a freight train, reminding me of more pressing matters.
o0o
I parked next to a flashy red Corvette in Junction General ’s lot. The sports car was so new it still had a temporary license taped in the rear window. It definitely did not belong to a local resident since the trunk wasn’t big enough for hauling firewood, fertilizer or even an economy pack of toilet paper. I opened my truck door carefully, not wanting to give the shiny paint its first ding.
Junction General carries about a million products two deep. Gloria Munoz, the proprietress, does an amazing job of keeping the small town of Platts Landing supplied with essentials. Thanksgiving — when everyone wants to buy a lot of the same few items — is a little trickier. I hoped Gloria had stocked up on cranberry jelly and stuffing mix.
I grabbed a plastic shopping basket and wandered down the canned goods aisle. Gloria knelt on the worn black and white checkerboard floor, refilling the cream of mushroom soup spot on the bottom shelf.
She looked up and smiled. “Selling like hotcakes. Can’t stand the stuff myself.”
“ Me neither. I was assigned a vegetable dish, but I think I’ll make some kind of salad and skip the green bean casserole altogether.”
“ Good call. Hey, I met your friend Hamilton Wexler.”
I almost dropped the basket.
“I just finished fixing up the studio apartment upstairs, and he’s my first renter. He reserved it for a week, for the holiday. Said he was in town to visit you. He sure seems like a nice guy.”
I hadn ’t even known there was an apartment above the store. My mouth hung open. Gloria was fishing for gossip. She settled on her haunches, waiting for a juicy detail.
But my brain still hadn ’t kicked into gear. Why did Ham make me speechless? When I got angry at anyone else, my vocabulary exploded, but even the mention of his name had a horrible, stifling effect on me.
“ Uhh,” I said.
“ And you’re having Thanksgiving dinner with Pete Sills.” Gloria’s eyebrows arched.
Of course she knew — everyone knew. Good grief. I was single-handedly providing soap-opera programming for the whole town. And it wasn’t even my fault.
Metal bells clanked against the glass door as someone barged inside.
“Gloria,” a voice called — Ham’s voice. “The light bulb over the dining table just burned out.” He came around the end of the aisle and halted.
“ Meredith! But of course we’d bump into each other, wouldn’t we — in a town this size. You’re buying food. How about dinner? I’m just whipping up a little stir-fry upstairs. Chop. Chop.” He aimed his fingers like pistols and jerked them, gunslinger style.
I had no idea what that had to do with chopping.
“What do you say?”
“ No,” I grunted.
“ Aw, come on. I’m a great cook. When we’re married, I’ll cook for you all the time, whatever you want.”
Gloria knocked over several soup cans and one kept rolling — woowr, woowr down the aisle.
“ Married? I—”
I was cut off by the metal bells clanking violently, like someone whacking a wind chime with a
“ Remember to remove the neck and gizzard from inside.”
“ The what?”
“ You don’t have to eat them. Just take them out. They’re usually wedged pretty far into the cavity. And keep an eye out for a gravy packet too. You’ll see what I mean.”
Greg laughed. “You’re making me nervous. Is your date with Pete still on?”
“ It’s not a date. There’ll be a boatload of people, literally.”
“ Tell yourself that if you want — but the rest of us, we know what’s really going on.” Greg hung up before I could argue further.
Huh. It was not a date. It was one of those nice things people did to make sure singles weren’t alone for the holidays. That’s all. Really. Pete had invited me, but Sally Levine must have suggested it to him. He had to ask because we were gathering on his boat. No big deal.
My stomach rumbled like a freight train, reminding me of more pressing matters.
o0o
I parked next to a flashy red Corvette in Junction General ’s lot. The sports car was so new it still had a temporary license taped in the rear window. It definitely did not belong to a local resident since the trunk wasn’t big enough for hauling firewood, fertilizer or even an economy pack of toilet paper. I opened my truck door carefully, not wanting to give the shiny paint its first ding.
Junction General carries about a million products two deep. Gloria Munoz, the proprietress, does an amazing job of keeping the small town of Platts Landing supplied with essentials. Thanksgiving — when everyone wants to buy a lot of the same few items — is a little trickier. I hoped Gloria had stocked up on cranberry jelly and stuffing mix.
I grabbed a plastic shopping basket and wandered down the canned goods aisle. Gloria knelt on the worn black and white checkerboard floor, refilling the cream of mushroom soup spot on the bottom shelf.
She looked up and smiled. “Selling like hotcakes. Can’t stand the stuff myself.”
“ Me neither. I was assigned a vegetable dish, but I think I’ll make some kind of salad and skip the green bean casserole altogether.”
“ Good call. Hey, I met your friend Hamilton Wexler.”
I almost dropped the basket.
“I just finished fixing up the studio apartment upstairs, and he’s my first renter. He reserved it for a week, for the holiday. Said he was in town to visit you. He sure seems like a nice guy.”
I hadn ’t even known there was an apartment above the store. My mouth hung open. Gloria was fishing for gossip. She settled on her haunches, waiting for a juicy detail.
But my brain still hadn ’t kicked into gear. Why did Ham make me speechless? When I got angry at anyone else, my vocabulary exploded, but even the mention of his name had a horrible, stifling effect on me.
“ Uhh,” I said.
“ And you’re having Thanksgiving dinner with Pete Sills.” Gloria’s eyebrows arched.
Of course she knew — everyone knew. Good grief. I was single-handedly providing soap-opera programming for the whole town. And it wasn’t even my fault.
Metal bells clanked against the glass door as someone barged inside.
“Gloria,” a voice called — Ham’s voice. “The light bulb over the dining table just burned out.” He came around the end of the aisle and halted.
“ Meredith! But of course we’d bump into each other, wouldn’t we — in a town this size. You’re buying food. How about dinner? I’m just whipping up a little stir-fry upstairs. Chop. Chop.” He aimed his fingers like pistols and jerked them, gunslinger style.
I had no idea what that had to do with chopping.
“What do you say?”
“ No,” I grunted.
“ Aw, come on. I’m a great cook. When we’re married, I’ll cook for you all the time, whatever you want.”
Gloria knocked over several soup cans and one kept rolling — woowr, woowr down the aisle.
“ Married? I—”
I was cut off by the metal bells clanking violently, like someone whacking a wind chime with a
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