A cool November breeze came through the Quicks’ kitchen window, but sweat rolled down Kate’s temple as she stood at the counter, peeling potatoes over a big bowl. Esther had made it look easy when she’d demonstrated, but the potato peeler seemed to have a mind of its own, sticking when Kate wanted it to slide over curves, sliding when she wanted it to stop.
She used her wrist to push back a strand of damp hair on her forehead.
“Try to not cut off so much,” Esther said, glancing over Kate’s shoulder. “Just get the skin and eyes, so you don’t waste the potato.”
“Eyes?” Kate stared at the half-bald potato in her hand.
Esther smiled, reaching for the peeler. “I’ll do it.”
“Peeling potatoes is the easiest job there is,” twelve-year-old Maureen said, looking up from the puzzle she was doing on the kitchen table. “If she can’t do that, what can she do?”
“More than you,” sixteen-year-old Rose said, crimping the crust of an apple pie. “You’re hopeless in the kitchen. Besides, Kate doesn’t have to cook. She’s our guest.”
“But I want to help,” Kate said. She’d been excited about cooking a Thanksgiving dinner with Hugo’s mother and sisters, but so far, she’d only felt in the way in the cramped kitchen. Her first task had been taking the rolls out of the oven, and she’d dropped the hot pan on the floor. Mrs. Quick had hastily picked them up with a reassuring, “Don’t worry, Kate, I mopped yesterday.”
“I don’t know why you started that puzzle in here, Maureen,” Esther said, peeling a potato with remarkable speed. “We need the table space.”
“She wants to be by Kate,” Rose said with a knowing look.
“Me?” Maureen scoffed, placing a puzzle piece. “You’re the one always talking about her clothes.”
Rose flashed an apologetic smile at Kate. “You do have nice clothes. I like that dress you’re wearing. I read in a magazine that teal is the color of the season, but I don’t look good in it.”
“I think you’d look good in any color, Rose,” Kate said, and she meant it. Rose was beautiful, with a flock of boys after her that kept her father angry and Rose sneaking out of her bedroom window.
Mrs. Quick opened the oven door, releasing the warm, savory aroma of a turkey roasting. She stuck a baster in the pan, drew up liquid, and dribbled it over the pale turkey. “Such a big bird this year, it’s going to take forever to cook. We’ll be eating late.”
“We can put out more hors d’oeuvres,” Esther said, dropping another potato into the bowl of cold water. Kate had noticed that she often took charge, while Mrs. Quick was more soft-spoken. “Kate, you can make the pimento dip. That’s easy.”
Kate wasn’t sure what pimento dip was but said, “All right.”
She went to the sink to wash the potato dirt off her hands and saw Ollie through the window, teaching nine-year-old Shanny how to fight with stick swords in the backyard. Shanny advanced, her stick whacking with solid hits, her body in proper fighting stance, as Ollie stepped back, losing ground. But he hooted in delight.
Kate had gotten him into a clothing store recently, and he had a fresh haircut.
Six weeks ago, while Hugo had been in surgery, they’d all eyed one another suspiciously from opposite ends of the waiting room: Hugo’s parents and Esther on one side; Kate, Ollie, Reuben, and Aurelio on the other. But after the doctor had entered to say surgery had gone well and a full recovery was expected, they’d all hugged and shaken hands and introduced themselves. Since then—with Hugo recuperating at home with his mother’s nursing, and Ollie’s household making frequent visits—they’d all become comfortable together.
“I guess Kate could do the olives,” Maureen said, looking up from the puzzle. “You do know how to use a can opener, don’t you?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Maureen,” Mrs. Quick chided. “Everyone knows how to use a can opener.” She touched Kate’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go keep Hugo company.”
“But—”
“There isn’t much left to do. You can help Shanny set the table later.”
Kate didn’t argue twice.
She walked into the adjoining living room and found Hugo where he’d spent much of his time in the last few weeks, reclined across the sofa. He shifted straighter when he saw her, bending his knees to make room for her at the far end—where Kate should remain, it had been made clear by Mrs. Quick.
After a week in the hospital, he’d spent his first days home in bed. Kate had liked sitting in his small boyhood room, teasing him about the Flash Gordon poster on the wall, reading his favorite books aloud. But she’d been relegated to a stiff chair by the door, and Maureen had always remained in the room, reading on fifteen-year-old Brendan’s bed—not conducive to a romantic visit, or even a long one.
When Hugo had recovered enough to recline on the sofa, Kate had been offered an armchair a safe distance away, with Mrs. Quick catching up on her mending near the window. Or sometimes, Maureen with her book.
A few weeks ago, Hugo had relapsed suddenly and been rushed in for a second, more complicated surgery and five days in the hospital. After that, Mrs. Quick had seem relieved whenever Kate showed up to distract him from his pain and boredom, even suggesting Kate sit at the far end of the sofa so Hugo didn’t have to shout across the room.
But still, no privacy in the crowded house. And still, after all this time, just that one real kiss between them.
Today, Hugo had more color in his cheeks, and she could tell from the way he sat—only slightly reclined—that he wasn’t in much pain. She dared to hold his hand briefly, glancing at Mr. Quick and Reuben playing gin rummy across the room, before sitting at the opposite end of the sofa.
“So,” he said, his eyes drinking her in. “We’ve discovered something you’re not so good at.”
“You heard all that?”
“More entertaining than the radio.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m guessing you’ve never used a can opener.”
She pushed against his leg, unable to deny it. “How did you learn to cook? Your brother never helps in the kitchen.”
Hugo shrugged. “I like to cook. Brendan doesn’t. How’s the dinner situation at Ollie’s place these days?”
Kate lifted her voice to be heard across the room. “The only thing Reuben knows how to cook is stew.”
“Hey,” Reuben griped, staring at his cards. “I made roast chicken on Sunday, and everybody liked it.”
Kate grimaced at Hugo, making him laugh.
He dared to stretch out one of his legs, tucking his toes under her hip—a little trick they’d learned. “Aurelio called and told me about his new movie role. Sounds like a big deal and a lot of money. How come he didn’t come today?”
“He’s having Thanksgiving with Bonnie in San Diego.” Bonnie had moved in with her uncle’s family. “I talked to her on the phone yesterday.”
“How is she doing?” Hugo asked.
“She needs to be closer to Hollywood. The studio is trying to figure out a living situation.” Mrs. Fairchild had been denied bail while she awaited trial, and the beautiful house next door to Ollie’s sat empty. “She starts rehearsing for her new movie next week. The publicity team has done a great job spinning the story, making her out to be a sympathetic, innocent victim of her mother’s crime.”
“She is an innocent victim,” Hugo said.
“She is,” Kate agreed. “And I’m glad her career wasn’t ruined because of it. In fact, it’s probably helped. Everyone knows her name now, and that’s half the battle of stardom.”
“Such a pro,” Hugo teased, his toes prodding her hip. Then, more seriously, “Do you miss all the excitement?”
Kate hesitated before admitting, “Yes. And I wish I’d gotten a movie role for you before it all ended. And I wanted Reuben to audition for the music department.”
Hugo glanced at Reuben and lowered his voice. “He said he likes his new bookkeeping job. Not much money, though.”
“That’s one good thing that came out of you getting shot, Hugo. Reuben was so upset, he stood up to Moe Kravitz and refused to go back.”
Six-year-old Clare pranced into the room and deposited a fuzzy toy dog on Kate’s lap. “This is Mr. Puppy. Pretend I don’t know where he is.” She pranced out.
Kate laughed. “She’s adorable.”
“Spoiled rotten.” But Hugo smiled.
“Speaking of furry pets,” Kate said. “Your dog misses you and still needs a name.”
“I told you … his name is the dog.”
“I thought you were supposed to be some sort of brilliant writer or something. Rover, at least.”
Hugo perked up. “Hey, speaking of writing, guess who came by to visit, wanting help with her script?”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Stella Nixon—here?” Kate liked the Quicks’ small, cramped house, but it felt very far away from Hollywood.
He grinned. “My mom didn’t like her much. Opened all the windows to air out the cigarettes. And Stella used the nice candy dish as an ashtray. But she offered me a job when I’m ready. Typing mostly, I think, but some story development too.”
Kate squealed and grabbed Hugo’s calves. “Hugo!”
“What’s going on?” Mr. Quick asked sharply, looking up from his cards, and Kate hastily let go.
Hugo fought a smile. “Oh, she’s just excited about derivatives.”
“Right,” Reuben drawled. Surprisingly, he and Mr. Quick got along quite well. Reuben said it was because he let Mr. Quick win at gin rummy, but Kate had heard them talking about politics, and they seemed to have similar views.
Hugo whispered to her, “I haven’t told my family about the job yet, in case it doesn’t happen.”
She whispered back, “It will happen, Hugo, and it’s just the start.” She wrapped a reassuring hand around his ankle, and for a moment their eyes held, making her remember what it had felt like to dance in his arms.
He smiled slowly. “So … how are those derivatives lately?”
She laughed, releasing his ankle. “Very well, thank you for asking. The teacher is good. Better than my teacher at Blakely.” Kate had enrolled at Pasadena Junior College, which taught grades eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen, but she only planned to stay one year before leaving for a full university. “And … speaking of school…” A coy smile played at her lips.
“You look very mysterious, all of a sudden.”
She’d imagined what this moment would be like, telling him. “As you know, I’ve always planned on attending Cal Berkeley, up in the Bay Area.”
“Very far away,” Hugo murmured.
“Not very far, but a day on a train, yes. Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Cal Berkeley has an extension here in Los Angeles. It’s a newer campus, but growing fast, and not very far away. In fact, it’s very close, so…” She felt breathless, seeing the look on his face. “I visited the campus a few days ago and decided to attend there next fall and keep living with Ollie.”
“Kate” was all he said, but she saw the rest in his eyes.
Mr. Quick and Reuben stood, talking about automobile parts, and walked out the front door.
Leaving them alone for the first time in six weeks.
Kate felt shy suddenly, unsure what to do.
But Hugo’s smile turned roguish. “You’re not going to stay all the way over there, are you?” He crooked his finger, beckoning her closer.
She gave a small, relieved laugh and moved to sit at the edge of the sofa beside him—and as soon as his hand touched her waist, everything melted inside her. Their lips met in a soft kiss that quickly warmed, lingering. Hugo separated long enough to give her a private smile, and then their mouths found each other again, arms sliding around backs, heads leaning in to one another. Her hand roamed his warm shirt and felt the bandage along his side, but she was too preoccupied to understand what that meant for a moment.
Then he flinched.
“Sorry,” she murmured, pulling back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“This is the best I’ve felt in a long time.” His hand slid behind her neck, drawing her back for another kiss, this one hungrier, and the room disappeared, leaving only Hugo and his arms around her, and their lips wanting more.
“They’re kissing!” Shanny’s voice cried from the doorway. “You owe me a nickel, Rose!”
They separated with a breathy laugh. “I always knew you were dangerous,” Kate said, starting to rise.
But Hugo caught her hand. “Just stay and talk. I want to hear about this fancy new school of yours.”
“University of California at Los Angeles,” she said, sitting back beside him.
“So…?” His fingers wrapped around hers between their hips, out of view if someone walked in. “What have you decided? Are you going to be a big-time movie producer or a big-time astronomer?”
Kate had pondered that question a lot in the last few weeks. She’d loved working at the studio and missed it. But whenever she looked through her telescope, jotting notes in her astronomy notebook, her pulse quickened and she lost track of time. And when her Sky magazine had arrived in the mail two days ago, she’d lain on the green velvet sofa for hours, turning pages.
“I made a list for each career, analyzing the pros and cons.”
“And what did you conclude?” Hugo asked.
“I threw the lists away.” She smiled, remembering the moment. “I’m going to step into the dark and see where life takes me. It’s a little scary, not having my course mapped out, but it’s a big world out there, and I don’t want to be afraid of it.” She’d never looked into Hugo’s eyes this closely before—another universe she wanted to explore. “I’ve learned something since coming here.” She leaned forward, brushed her lips against his, and then whispered in his ear, “The sky is the limit.”