Page 54 of This Could Be Us

“I was thinking, now that things have settled down some, maybe we could grab coffee or—”

“Mom!”

Oh, shit.

Inez.

It’s illogical and unfair, but Inez still places a lot of the blame on Judah Cross simply from Edward’s consistent bad-mouthing of the man. She’s never seen Judah and wouldn’t make the connection, but I still turn immediately and dash down the steps before she comes closer. She’s standing by the Pilot, staring up the street at Judah’s house.

“I gotta go!” I yell, trotting down the porch steps. “Hope you enjoy the basket.”

I hazard a quick glance over my shoulder for one last glimpse of the man I’ve thought about so many times since we first met. Even when it was wrong and impossible. Even when it was unwise. He looks from me to Inez waiting by the car, and I think he understands. He doesn’t wave or say goodbye but simply nods, his mouth set in a firm line, and goes back inside.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SOLEDAD

Okay,” Hendrix says, laying her spoon beside her bowl on the dining room table. “You were right. Your chili should be famous.”

“Told you.” I shrug. “I addsofritofor a little sweetness and deeper flavor. Picadillo style.”

“You have to show me how to make that,” Yasmen says. “You know I’ve been stepping up my cooking game.”

“I hadn’t made it in a while, but I found my mother’spilónshe used to mash the ingredients, and it prompted me to start.”

“Well, it’s delicious,” Hendrix says. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“It’s the least I can do after all your help,” I tell them. “Not just today with the deliveries, but the lead-up. I really started feeling like I had bitten off more than I could chew.”

“Friends help friends chew.” Yasmen smiles. “And I hope you’ve been considering that other thing I asked you to do.”

“What’d you ask her to do?” Hendrix queries, picking her spoon back up to stir the last of her chili.

“You know I’m planning the Harvest Festival for the Skyland Association,” Yasmen says. “Great way for local artisans to display their stuff and businesses to find new customers, et cetera, while the community gets to have a good time.”

“Yas, you the planningest somebody I know.” Hendrix chuckles.

“It’s a gift.” Yasmen fake-buffs her nails. “Well, I had thebrilliantidea—”

“Jury’s out on ‘brilliant,’” I interject.

“Thebrilliantidea,” Yasmen continues, “of setting up a pavilion called Sol’s Farm-to-Table. People could experience one of her dinner parties, have her food, see how she creates the environment. We’d ask servers from Grits who aren’t working that night if they want to help. Give them the chance to make some extra money. We wouldn’t need many.”

“I like it,” Hendrix says, casting a questioning look across the table to me. “You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” I reply. “I just don’t know that people would be into it.”

“They totally would,” Yasmen says. “We need to strike while the iron is hot. You’re TikTok famous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Getting there,” Hendrix says. “You have real momentum. In this age, a creator can go from obscurity to verified in no time. I think you should do it.”

“It’ll be extra work,” I groan.

“It’ll be money,” Yasmen counters. “You know the Skyland Association got more money than we know what to do with half the time. They’d pay well.”

Gymnastics, tuition, mortgage, car loan, college funds, utilities, HOA… to name a few things that require more money than I seem to ever have.