My Stubborn Heart by Becky Wade Read Free Book Online Page A

cook?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhatever do you eat?”
    â€œUh, sandwiches and frozen meals, mostly.”
    â€œFor dinner?”
    He tilted his head as if trying to understand. “Yes, ma’am.”
    â€œNot while I’m living at Chapel Bluff you’re not.”
    He just stared.
    â€œYou’re going to be eating dinner here from now on, and mark my words, young man, I’m going to teach you to cook!” Gran’s white hair stuck up in artful tufts. Her blue eyes narrowed. “I will not take no for an answer.”
    â€œI . . .”
    â€œI insist.” Gran turned back to her cooking.
    Matt glanced at Kate. “Uh . . . Maybe Kate could handle the crepes.”
    â€œDon’t look at me,” Kate said. “I don’t cook.”
    â€œBlasphemy!” Gran said.
    â€œI’m the person at family meals that sets the table and puts ice in glasses and takes drink orders,” she explained.
    â€œHow about I be that person tonight?” Matt said.
    â€œNo, no, no, no, no ,” Gran replied vehemently. “Despite years of effort on my part, I’ve resigned myself to the truth that Kate’s talents lie in areas other than cooking. I haven’t even begun to work on you, however.”
    He knit his brow and faced the stove.
    â€œNow, Matt,” Gran continued, her eyeglass beads a-swaying, “begin by warming up the skillet. . . .” She kept up a steady stream of chatter, talking him through the meal’s preparation step by step.
    Three times in a row Matt poured too much crepe batter into the skillet. But to his credit, he tried a fourth time, saying little, clearly concentrating hard. Kate watched him surreptitiously as she opened windows to let in the evening breeze, set the table, and made iced tea. The only mishap came when Gran asked him to slice a tomato for the salad. His knife slipped off the tomato’s smooth skin, which sent it skittering along the countertop and over the edge of the sink. It plopped into a dirty mixing bowl full of suds.
    â€œShoot,” he whispered.
    Kate couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
    He glared at her.
    â€œI’m only laughing because that’s exactly the kind of thing I’d have done,” she said.
    â€œCare to try your luck?” He extended the knife to her, one eyebrow raised menacingly.
    â€œWhen I’m having so much fun watching you? No thanks.”
    He actually ground his teeth.
    More laughter burst from her. She swiped a fresh tomato from the bowl on the chopping block and placed it in front of him. “See? No harm done.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t say that if you were that last tomato,” he muttered darkly.

    Matt had stopped enjoying food. He hadn’t meant to. But somewhere along the way he’d gotten out of the habit of eating a good meal, apparently. Because tonight’s dinner—the stuffed crepes, the homemade bread rolls, the salad, the asparagus with butter and salt on top—was the best-tasting food he could remember having in months.
    Years?
    And now, after all that, Mrs. Donovan leaned over his shoulder and placed a dish of blackberry cobbler in front of him. Straight out of the oven, a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting in white rivers on its crusty top. Kate poured a mug of steaming coffee for him and set it next to his cobbler.
    As stuffed as he was, he couldn’t make himself stop. He waited for them to find their seats, then followed their lead by picking up his spoon and digging in. Eating this food in this old-fashioned kitchen was like visiting a land he’d loved once but hadn’t been back to in a long, long time. As pained as social interaction had become for him, it surprised him to admit that he didn’t hate being here as much as he’d thought he would. It was hard to hate an evening filled with such amazing food.
    â€œThis is delicious, Gran,” Kate