book title

In the kitchen, there is a tiny human with blond hair and giant chocolate eyes blinking at me. “Who are you?” I ask as a curious smile breaks out on my face.

“Teddie,” he says confidently as he mashes his fingers back into a pile of play-doh. I sit at the table with him.

“I’m Amelia. Nice to meet you. Mind if I get in on this?” I nod to the yellow cup.

He shrugs nonchalantly, and I chuckle as I take the salty smelling dough out and mash it in my hands.

“Hey, my sweet girl.” My mom rounds the corner just then with a cookie cutter in hand. She still talks to me like I’m a little kid, but I don’t mind being babied by her from time to time. I guess by the looks of it though, she’s found a new little friend.

“Here’s your cutter, Theo.” She sets down the plastic shapes in front of him, and he grabs them assuredly.

“My birfday today,” he says, looking at me a bit expectantly.

I can’t help but giggle at him. “Happy birthday, Mister Teddie.”

He chuckles at me and returns to his cutting. I set the ball of dough on the table and stand to hug my mom. She gives me a big squeeze, and I let her warmth wash over me.

“So, you didn’t uh, kidnap a kid, did you?” I ask in a low voice.

“I might have. I’m unpredictable,” she snarks.

Planting my hands on my hips, I tilt my head and wait for her to explain.

“Fine. I’m boring and you know it. Teddie belongs to West, who lives in the guesthouse. He’s our unofficially adopted son.”

“Ouch, you replaced me?” I joke. “I’ve only been gone a few years.”

My mom pats my head like I’m a puppy. “Just because there’s a new baby doesn’t mean we love you any less.”

I chuckle and stick my tongue out at her. “My room still available, or did you rent that out too?”

“It’s all set up for you_” she starts, and I walk down the hall to see it. Something about seeing my childhood bedroom, just how I left it when I was eighteen, always feels so comforting.

“Wait, Amelia. About that letter_” she calls out as I stop at the pillow and pick up the envelope.

Turning it in my hands, my heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the handwriting. “Ma?” I gasp, tears already filling in my eyes. “What is this?”

She pulls me into her side. “Dad’s been going through boxes lately, and he found this recently. He thought you might want to read it.”

I slump down on my bed just as the sound of something clattering rings out from the kitchen. “Be right back,” she yelps out as she hurries off to check on the little boy mashing purple clay into her kitchen table.

The envelope has my name on the front written in my grandmother’s loopy scroll. I brush my thumb over the letters. I hate that I was gone for the past four years, because it meant I didn’t get to see a lot of her at the end. I guess that’s what happens when you move away for culinary school and then take up residence in a new state. But still, it hurts that I didn’t really get to say goodbye. By the time I found out she was in the hospital and hopped a plane, it had been too late.

With shaky fingers, I peel open the flap and pull the letter free. I’m half-expecting this to be pages of all the wisdom she’d wanted to pass down to me, but I can already tell there’s barely anything written on the single sheet of paper. My face twists in confusion as I unfold it to reveal five little words, Take care of The Daffodil.

“What’s it say?” my mom’s voice startles me, and I jump in response. She’s got Teddie on her hip as she leans on the doorframe. I flip the letter in my hands and hold it up for her. She barks a laugh. “God love that woman.”

“What do you think it means?” I ask.

“It’s not a riddle, sweetie. It means what it says. She wants you to look after The Daffodil. She left it to you. You know that.”

I do know that. I remember the reading on my grandmother’s will and the way I’d felt so utterly confused by the gift. Why not give her business to my father? Dad had said it was because his heart wasn’t in that place, but Gran knew mine was. How many afternoons after school had I spent running up and down those halls? Countless.

“Should we offer it to Seth? He’s been running it for years,” I ask her in earnest. As much as I love the place, Seth has been the manager for twenty years. It feels only right to let him acquire it. After all, he is the one doing all the work.

Mom lowers her head at me. “Seth quit two days ago. He just up and left. It was very unlike him. At least he cancelled all the reservations and called your father to let him know.”

“That’s kind of shi_poopy of him.” I catch myself quickly, noticing the way Teddie studies me.

“Shipoopy,” he repeats with a giggle.

My mom’s mouth zips into a tight line, but she ignores the word so I take my cue from her. “It’s just as much our fault. Your dad kept putting him off every time he requested a meeting. The place is in need of a lot of updates, and business has been declining. I think Seth tried his best, but it was just too much for him.”

“You should have told me,” I say in a whisper. My gran loved The Daff more than anything, except her family and poker buddies.

“We didn’t want to bother you with it. You’ve been working so hard at that fancy restaurant. And we know how much it means to you.”

She is right about that. Getting in at La Genouille was my dream. Their apprenticeships are really competitive, so I was thrilled to be busting my ass twelve hours a day five days a week for minimum wage. But that was short term and now it’s over. Since that ended last week and I still haven’t managed to line anything else up, I sort of had to come home so I could rent out my bedroom to pay my share of the rent while I job hunt.

Now I have Gran’s beloved hotel sitting empty…a whole business, with a kitchen, waiting to be revived. It’s a way different plan than I imagined, but maybe this is a sign to take a short break from my big New York dreams and try something on my own.

“I don’t know what to do.” I huff, falling back into my pillows. Teddie squirms down from my mom’s grip and then sprints to my bed, diving onto it and managing to pull himself up. He cuddles into me. I’m a complete stranger, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t be sad, Meala.”

Who could be when this bundle of cuteness is butchering your name in all the best ways?

He stares at me and then his eyes catch a stuffed animal on my bed. “What’s that?”

“That’s a puffin.” I take the toy and place it in his outstretched hands. I can’t even remember where I got it from. “You can have it, for your birthday, and for cheering me up.”

Teddie’s face looks like he’s about to explode with glee. Without another thought, he launches himself from the bed and goes sprinting through the house.

My mom and I chuckle in unison. “That ought to keep him busy for a while.”

I stand up and follow her out to the living room, and we sit side by side on the couch, watching Teddie enjoy his new puffin.

“I guess we should go check out The Daffodil this week and think about some options for it,” I say with a little nagging feeling blooming in my gut. I thought this trip was going to be relaxing. That’s clearly not the case.

A little while later when I’m unpacking in my room, I hear a knock at the door and then a faint conversation as someone collects Teddie. When I come out, the little ball of energy is gone, so I decide to start dinner for my parents.

“Make enough for four,” my mom informs me as she pops open a bottle of red wine. “Want a glass?”

“Of course I do. Who’s the fourth?” I question, pausing long enough from my preparations to take a sip of the smooth liquid.

“West, of course. Teddie’s dad.”

I return to slicing a stack of leeks into rings. “He eat with you often?”

“As often as we can get him. He is amazing. You’re going to love him.”

I look up long enough to give her a curious stare. “I’d hope so, since he’s my new, what did you call him, unofficial adopted brother?”

My mom grabs at the onion and slices it quickly. “That’s right. He’s incredible. Former marine. Studying to get his chopper license. Currently a firefighter.” She practically sings those last words.

My eyes get bulgy as I take her in. “So he’s cute?” I ask, only mildly curious, for information’s sake, of course.

“That’s putting it lightly,” she says with a laugh.

I click on the stove and situate a pot over the flame. I add a generous portion of butter to it and then turn to slice the onion. “Never hurts to have more eye-candy in Juneau,” I conclude. “Get that garlic chopper, will you?”

“Eye candy? Are you two talking about me?” my dad’s voice booms from the door just as I’m dumping the veggies into the pot. My eyes snap up and my face turns beet red, because right next to him stands the man that must be West and damn, did my mom undersell him. He’s tall and broad, with a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt straining across his muscles. He has dark hair with a few flecks of gray on the sides near his temples. He’s clearly at least a decade younger than my dad, but also obviously older than me. His eyes are chocolatey brown, just like Teddie’s, and he even has a matching dimple on his chin.

By the time I pick my jaw off the floor and remember to feel embarrassed that he overheard me, my dad is wrapping me in a crushing hug. My mom is steering West by the shoulders over to me, which makes it all ten times weirder, as he holds out his giant palm. “I’m the pesky backyard neighbor, West Jacobs.”

“Amelia,” I manage to choke on my own name. Smooth.

“Something smells great.” Dad sniffs at the air, and then I remember I have onion and leeks that need a good stirring.

“Shit,” I hiss and turn around quickly to set to work on the dinner.

“You want a beer, son?” Dad asks.

Son? Interesting. My parents are not kidding around at their unofficial adoption.

“Thanks,” West says in reply as he settles down at the table. Now I’m cooking with an audience. Not that I mind. It’s just that one of the members of this audience might just be the hottest man ever to set foot within ten feet of me. Easy girl, I remind myself. He’s my parents’ guest and best friend slash son, or some shit. He is clearly off-limits. Which is fine, because I’m only here for a week to visit my parents, and apparently, to figure out what to do with The Daffodil.

Once I get the stock in the pot and add the diced potatoes, I take a long drag of the red wine and tune back into my dad and West. “How does best rate-of-climb speed differ from best angle-of-climb speed?” Dad is reading out of a book and West’s brow is furrowed together in concentration. The question hurts my brain, and I am grateful cooking doesn’t involve such complicated questions, because the answer West rambles off is unintelligible. I return to stirring my soup. It’s thickening nicely.

“You’re going to ace it,” my dad compliments West with a pat on the back.

The timer to the oven dings then, and that means my onion rolls are ready. I pull them out and get them off the pan, admiring the golden brown hue and the tantalizing smell wafting up at me. My mom returns to the kitchen then and refills her wine. “I can’t believe you still want to spoil us, even on your day off.” To West she says, “I told you Amelia is a fancy chef in New York, right?”

“Only two dozen times. I’m excited to find out what all the fuss is about,” he says easily, and my mom laughs.

“Just you wait, you’re going to fall absolutely in love… with her cooking,” she adds after a too long pause.

I give her an evil eye and ladle a portion of the soup into four bowls.

As we settle around the table, everyone takes a few bites and makes complimentary oh and ah noises, which I enjoy possibly as much as the food itself.

“This has to be just about the best thing I’ve put in my mouth in years,” West says as he swallows a mouthful.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” I say jokingly.

He shakes his head and laughs. “I really don’t. Between Theo, work, and flight lessons with this one,” he points a thumb at my dad, “I’m swamped.”

“Is Theo your boyfriend?” I ask.

Everyone seems to choke on their soup all at once. Maybe I’ve spent too much time in New York.

“You met Theo, that’s his son. The little boy we played with today,” my mom informs me.

“My bad. He told me his name was Teddie,” I say easily, enjoying another bite of my dinner.

“That’s a nickname we call him sometimes,” West adds as he studies the neck of the bottle before taking a long swig of his beer.

We all eat in silence for a while until our spoons start to scrape the bottom of the bowls. “I’ll do these dishes up.” West pops from his seat with his bowl in hand.

“No need. If you’re swamped, I’ll take one for the team,” I offer, standing and taking his bowl in mine.

Then it’s my dad’s turn. “No, you young ones should hang out. We can let these soak. Mom and I are going to watch our show.”

In a flash, my parents beeline from the kitchen, and West and I are left staring at one another. “Sorry they are weird, but I don’t have to tell you. It sounds like you know already.”

“They’re amazing,” he corrects me.

“You have to say that because you’re not related to them. Want another beer?” I offer as I drop the dishes off at the sink.