Page 54 of Twilight Tides
“Och, it’s never embarrassing to hear someone tell you you’re bonny. Come, come, have a wee seat. We’re almost ready to eat.”
“I’d love to help if I can.”
“It’s all done. I just need to plate up.”
“What is everyone drinking?” I asked.
Fiona let out a little huff of laughter. “All right, you can get the drinks. Just water for me.”
“And me,” Murray threw in as he cut into the pie. The smell of it filled the kitchen, and I could see it was a steak pie.
“Kelly, what would you like to drink?”
She shrugged as she scrolled through her phone. “Whatever.”
“Kelly Fiona Shaw, you’ll put your phone away and you’ll answer politely when asked a question,” her grandmother said with a gentle sternness I admired.
To Kelly’s credit, she immediately put down her phone and looked at me. “Diet Coke.”
I busied myself getting everyone a drink. Soon enough we were all seated, hot steak pie, mashed potatoes, broccoli, sprouts, peas, and carrots all covered in a rich gravy and overflowing on our plates. It was quintessential hearty British food, and there was no way I could eat it all.
“Mum’s portions are generous,” Murray offered with a twinkle in his eye. “Just eat what you can.”
“Oh, aye, of course.” Fiona waved her fork at me. “Don’t feel like you have to clean the plate on my account.”
To my delight, the steak melted in the mouth like butter, and I told Fiona so.
“I wish I could take credit for it, but I literally just stuck it in the oven. This is from the butchers. They get the pies from a farm shop on Scaris.”
“It’s excellent.”
There was silence as we ate. Even though we were occupied with the food, it was still awkward, and my mind raced with something to say.
Fiona beat me to it. “London, tell me about yourself. I know you’re American and you’re a chef, but that’s about it, really. I feel like I should know more about my daughter-in-law.”
I internally winced as I swallowed a bite of food. Yeah, she wasn’t wrong.
I told her I was from New York, and I’d worked as a sous chef in Manhattan before following my best friend Tierney to Scotland to work in her B and B. While I spoke, I was aware of Kelly’s study. She might not want to appear interested but, of course, she wanted to know more about this woman living in her house.
Before Fiona could ask anything else, Kelly spoke. “I heard chefs don’t make a lot of money, especially the kind of chef you are for the B and B. Did you and Dad sign a prenup like the one he and Mum signed?”
A quick look at Murray revealed his distress, the strain in his features and how his lips parted as if he was trying to speak but couldn’t.
I realized how tough it was for him to see Kelly asking these sorts of questions. How guilty he probably felt that his teenage daughter was obviously anxious about things she shouldn’t have to concern herself with.
Even Fiona stayed quiet, waiting for an answer.
So, I rescued Murray. “Your dad and I signed what’s called a postnuptial agreement. I told your dad right from the outset that I did not want any money from him, and so the agreement I signed waives any right to financial compensation outside of what I make for myself or have a hand in making together with your father during our marriage.”
“You can’t take money from him when you divorce?” Kelly prodded.
The wordwhenshouldn’t have bothered me so much. “None,” I promised. “That’s not why …”
Kelly stared at me like she didn’t quite understand me, but the sneering curl to her upper lip disappeared.
“And that didn’t bother your parents?” Fiona suddenly cut in. “I mean, you moving across the Atlantic with no plans to leave?” I would have been grateful for the deliberate change of subject if the subject hadn’t been my parents.
“We’re not close.”
