Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Do you like it?” Bishop asked quietly, causing me to jump. It was then I noticed my hands were shaking.
“Let me take these,” he said, clearly noticing as well. He carefully placed the flowers in the middle of the table.
“It’s…it’s beautiful. The whole back porch is stunning.”
“Want to see it? We can step outside real quick.”
“I’d love to see it, yes.”
“Want your coat?” Bishop asked.
“No, I’m okay.”
He smiled and then walked over to the sliding doors. When he opened them, I stepped out and gasped. “The fireplace is gorgeous!” Nearly in the middle of the huge porch was a stunning rock fireplace.
I could see on his face that he was proud of it. “Thanks, I finished it this past summer.”
I took in everything. “Did you wall that part of the porch off?” I asked, nodding toward the side.
He slipped his hands into his jean pockets. “Yeah, I made a sleeping porch on the other side.”
I drew my brows in. “What’s a sleeping porch?”
“Just that. A place to sleep. I installed screens that you can lower. Do you remember that old white antique bed that was in my grandfather’s barn?”
I nodded.
“It’s on that side of the porch. That’s about all that’s out there though. Mom wanted to decorate the area but…” His voice trailed off. “I made the bed swing shortly after the divorce.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure why I did it.”
I walked over to it and ran my hand down one of the large ropes that held up the swing. “It’s lovely, Bishop.”
He nodded. “Maybe we can eat dessert back here. I’ll start a fire.”
“I’d like that.”
Bishop ran his fingers through his hair, and I fought the urge to reach out to him. “Let’s head back in before you get too cold,” he said.
All I could do was smile and nod as we made our way back into the house.
“Let me check on the turkey and the mashers,” Bishop said while I shut the door and followed him back into the kitchen.
“What do you want me to do?”
“If the rolls need heating, you can toss them in the other oven. I’ve already got it on warm.”
“I’ll put the soufflé in there as well. Is there room in the oven for the green beans? They’re still pretty warm though.”
Bishop laughed. “No room in this oven at all.”
After I put the rolls and soufflé in the warming oven, I looked at him. “What? That oven is huge, Bishop.”
He shrugged. “So is the thirty-pound turkey in there.”
My mouth fell open. “Thirty pounds? Who else is coming over?”
Sheepishly, he looked away as he answered. “No one. It was either that or a pork roast. I went with the turkey.”
This I need to see. Walking over to the oven, I opened it, brought my hand to my mouth, and then slammed the door as I tried not to laugh.
“It’s okay, you can laugh.”
I dropped my hand. “What time did you have to get up to put that thing in?”
Giving me a sarcastic look, he replied, “Early. It’s actually done, if that temperature thing is right.”
With a quick look at the temperature of the turkey, I reached into a drawer and pulled out oven mitts. I shouldn’t have been surprised that they were in the same spot as well.
“It’s for sure done,” I said, pulling out the oven rack. I looked at Bishop. “I think this is one of those buddy-lift things.”
“Ha ha,” he said, slipping the mitts off my hands and putting them on his. “Back away and let me get this bad boy out.”
Bishop took out the turkey and placed it on the two hot plates he had waiting on the island.
“It smells heavenly!” I purred, drawing in a deep breath through my nose.
“My mom wasn’t very pleased when I called her last night in New York to ask how to make a turkey.”
“I bet,” I giggled.
We got to work in silence as we both moved around the kitchen and got everything ready for our little Thanksgiving lunch. In years past, we had never had to make a turkey—we were always going to my parents’ house or Bishop’s folks. Sometimes even over to the Larsons’ place.
Once everything was laid out on the island, Bishop handed me a plate. “You first.”
My stomach chose that moment to growl. Laughing, I replied, “Gladly.”
We each loaded up our plates with more food than we needed and made our way into the breakfast nook. We sat down and both started to eat without talking. I guessed neither of us really knew how or where to start.
Bishop spoke first. “So…how long are we going to sit here in silence?”
The food in my mouth suddenly felt dry as dirt. I forced myself to swallow, then set down my fork. “I’ve gone over this conversation a million times in my head, and I still don’t know where to start.”