Chapter 7 Sugar and Spice
Chapter Seven: Sugar and Spice
Less than forty-eight hours after he’d made her think he was an idiot, Graham tucked the pot of poinsettias behind his back because now he was second guessing the gesture.
This wasn’t a date because she’d rebuffed him when he’d brought it up again.
They were trying out cookie recipes for the exchange they’d orchestrated for the party, not curling up on her couch for a makeout session.
Her kids would probably be helping them.
He rang the doorbell and held his breath as the sound of jingle bells cascaded through the air. A split second before he pressed it again, he heard someone scampering toward it.
The door was wrenched open and a girl in blond pigtails, a bright purple tutu and leotard and red and green striped tights peered up at him. “Are you here to help with the cookies?”
“Yes. I think I’m one of the taste-testers.”
“That’s my job. Mommy will find you something else to do.”
He followed her into the house, shutting the door behind him. She led him straight to the kitchen.
“Mom, the guy who rescued August is here. I told him I was the taste tester and he’d have to find another job.”
Hannah was setting a tray on the island. She had a smear of flour on her cheek and she was
wearing a long-sleeved bright blue t-shirt that made her eyes sparkle, a pair of jeans that hugged her curves, and a frilly apron.
The smile she leveled in his direction made him feel like one of the birds on the wire who’d just been struck by lightning and was enveloped by the energy from the clouds and the copper strand he was swaying back and forth on.
He cleared his throat and set the poinsettias on the corner of the island. “You probably need to water them.”
The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t poinsettias poisonous, Mom? What if Gilligan eats some?”
Hannah brushed her hands off against the apron and set them on her hips. “That’s rude, Sophie. I’ll put them out of reach of your gerbil, but you know he shouldn’t be running around loose.”
Sophie’s lips turned up in a pout. “That’s not fair, Mom. He doesn’t like being cooped up in that cage by himself.”
“He seems perfectly content to me,” Hannah dryly observed.
“You don’t know him like I do, Mom. He was sulking until I let him out.”
Graham bit his lip so he wouldn’t burst into laughter.
“So now you’re a gerbil whisperer?”
“I’d like to be one because it sounds like a cool job. But I let him out because he was pressed up against the edge of his cage watching me. He was begging me to free him, Mom.”
There was a sudden thump and August swooped into the kitchen. He was wearing a red cape and had something furry cupped in his hands. “Sophie, Gilligan almost fell through the vent.”
Hannah waved the spatula she’d just grabbed in Sophie’s direction. “See? Your gerbil can’t roam free. He’ll come to harm. Please put him back in his cage.”
“Fine,” Sophie said as she flounced over to her little brother. Once she’d scooped her pet up, she skipped away.
“I mean it, Sophie! Put him up now. No dilly dallying,” Hannah called.
“Hi, Mr. Hollister,” August said as he ambled in Graham’s direction. When he threw his left arm around Graham’s legs and pressed his face against one of Graham’s knees it left him speechless.
“Hey Buddy,” Graham croaked. “How’s the arm?”
August lifted away and held up the cast for Graham’s scrutiny. “Everybody in my class signed it. Even the kids who used to be mean.”
The cast was full of stick figure drawings, ragged rainbows and flowers, and other doodles that didn’t have any discernible shape.
“Those kids aren’t mean any more?” Hannah asked as she slid the spatula under the cookies and set them on a plate.
“No, Mom. I told you that already. They think my cast is cool and want to play Avengers at recess when it’s warm enough to go outside again.”
“You didn’t tell me,” she corrects as she slides the plate to the side and picks up the rolling pin.
“Whatever you say, Mom,” he cheerfully agrees as he slides under her crooked arm.
“If you’re finished watching cartoons you can help me.”
“Do I get to use the cookie cutters all by myself?”
“I’ll let you, but you have to make sure you sprinkle it with plenty of flour so the dough doesn’t stick.”
Graham leaned against the counter and watched her roll dough into a sheet. She sprinkled it liberally with flour and handed August a cookie cutter in the shape of a snowman. “Try to make at least six and when you’re done we’ll lift them onto the pan together.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised when she untied her apron and approached him.
“Hi,” he said. He couldn’t look away, didn’t look away, as she looped the apron over his head. Her eyes were bluer than he’d ever seen them, a deep azure color like the water off the coast of some remote island paradise in the Caribbean.
“Hi.”
“Is there a reason you just gave me your apron?”
“As soon as August is finished, it’s your turn, and your sweater’s cashmere and your slacks are wool.”
“What’s my wardrobe have to do with the apron?”
“You obviously don’t spend much time in the kitchen, at least not with two exuberant kids. You need the apron so your clothes won’t be ruined.”
“I’m happy to hear you’re so concerned about my wardrobe, Pi.”
She winked. “It’s hard to afford luxuries on a teacher’s salary.”
“Thank goodness I know how to play the stock market,” he said and flicked the tip of her nose.
That little piece of information made her wonder about his motives for staying in a field that was perennially under appreciated. “Have you ever done this before?”
“I’ve made cookies.”
“What kind?” She asked skeptically.
“The kind that comes in the tube.”
Hannah crossed her arms. “Please don’t tell me you’re suffering from the mistaken assumption that that constitutes baking.”
“Well it requires me to use an oven and a baking sheet.”
“But you don’t have to measure the ingredients or mix them or roll out the dough. All of the fun stuff is missing from the equation.”
“A cookie is a cookie.”
“Yes, but not all cookies are created equal. You’ll see,” she said as she tugged him toward the flour covered surface.
She patiently showed him how to roll out the dough and how to place the cookie cutter just right, so that the design wasn’t smudged when he lifted it away.
When he was halfway through the second tray of snowmen and angels, he grinned up at her. “I get it now,” he said.
“So you’ll swear off tube cookies forever?”
“Maybe not forever, but they won’t be a staple in my fridge.”
“I guess I can settle for that,” she said as she set the pan she’d just removed from the oven on the counter. “Put your pan in the oven when you’re done and set the timer for eight minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
He knew he sounded a little panicked.
“I have to go make sure Sophie cleaned out the gerbil’s cage. Ask August to show you how to set the timer if you can’t figure it out.”
***
Graham wanted to say something like figuring out a timer on an oven was nothing like figuring out the Riemann Hypothesis or a Hodge Conjecture, but she was gone before he could defend himself.
He was peering at the oven when August popped up beside him. “I want to show you something,” he said.
“Okay, lead the way.” He’d figure out the oven afterward.
August stopped in front of the mantel in the living room and pointed to the lanky elf sitting in the middle of it. “He’s in a new spot every day, and Mom says it’s because he’s Santa’s eyes and ears.”
Graham thought the doll looked creepy. “Are you scared of it?”
“Nope. I’m never afraid of it, no matter how creepy it gets. I think Mom put it there so I’d think about things that make me happy instead of sad. When I think about happy things it makes me brave enough to wish for more happy things.”
He sensed August was referring to the death of his father and he wanted to hug him. “That’s a much nicer way of thinking about the elf.”
“I thought you might need to think about happy things too. One time, Mom said you were like Oscar the Grouch.”
Graham laughed and tousled the boy’s hair. “Your mom’s probably right. Is there any chance she’s also right about the fact that you know how to set the timer on the oven?”
The kid grinned. “I know how to do that. You just need to get the stool for me to stand on.”
When they returned to the kitchen, Graham retrieved the stool from the pantry. August clambered on top of it and his fingers flew over the electronic oven display. “You can put the cookies in now,” he said as he hopped off the stool.
When Hannah came back downstairs, she looked frazzled.
“I think it’s time I got out of your hair. You know which cookies are my favorites.”
She nodded and gave him a half smile. “The sugar cookies and the oatmeal scotchies.”
“I’ll see you at school on Monday,” he said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.
“Wait, I wanted to ask you something.”
He paused, one arm in the sleeve of his coat. “Okay.”
“I wondered if you wanted to meet me at the library’s book club meeting on Friday evening.”
“What kind of book club?”
“It’s a romance book club and I think you’d have fun.”
Graham wanted to tell her that he always had fun when she was around. “You think I’d have fun at a romance book club,” he repeated flatly.
“It might surprise you.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said as he shrugged his other arm into his coat.
“Thank you again for the poinsettias.”
“You’re welcome.” Before she could move out of reach, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for my baking lessons.”