Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
E vie turned from pouring a cup of coffee when a knock sounded at the door. She glanced at the clock, noting it was early, but probably not too early for visitors. She opened the door to find Randy standing there, a box from The Sweet Shoppe in his hands.
“Morning. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face. “I brought cinnamon rolls from The Sweet Shoppe. Thought we could have breakfast together before we take a look at the next item in the box.”
She smiled. “That sounds perfect. Come on in. I’m anxious to open another item too.”
He stepped inside and looked around the cottage. “No Christmas decorations? Can’t remember a December without this cottage crammed with holiday decorations.”
“No. I don’t think I’m going to put anything up this year. It’s just too… hard.”
He looked at her with understanding. “I guess it would be hard.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it might cheer you up.”
Maybe. But she didn’t think so
He followed her into the kitchen where she poured him a cup of coffee, and then they settled at the kitchen table, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of the cinnamon rolls. As they ate, they chatted about their plans for the day. “I really am going to do some more sorting through Nana’s things. I can’t avoid it forever.”
“Sometimes the hard jobs are better when they’re faced head-on and we just work our way through them.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m going to make sure I make some headway each day. Then, eventually, it will all be over.” If she could ever make decisions on what to keep and what to give away. It felt like everything held so many precious memories.
After they finished their breakfast, she cleared the table and retrieved the box from the living room. She set it on the table between them, and they both looked at it with anticipation.
“Ready to see what’s next?” she asked, her fingers hovering over the lid.
He nodded, leaning forward in his chair.
She carefully lifted the lid and reached inside. The item she pulled out was slim, flat, and rectangular. Gently, she unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal one old index card on top and an even older, yellowed one beneath it.
She looked at the first card. “It’s a recipe,” she said, turning the card over in her hands. “For sugar cookies.”
He leaned closer, studying the handwritten script. “It looks like Miss G’s handwriting.”
She ran her finger over the faded ink, a lump forming in her throat. “I remember these cookies. Nana used to make them every Christmas. We’d decorate them together, and she’d let me sneak bites of the dough when she thought no one was looking.”
“That sounds like Miss G. Always ready with a treat and a bit of mischief.”
“Nana knew the recipe by heart, so I’ve never even seen this card.” She picked up the other card and frowned. “Look, it’s the same recipe, but in a different handwriting. And it says Herbert’s on it.”
“I wonder who Herbert was?” Randy frowned.
She laughed. “I’ll get my laptop and see if we have as much luck as we did last night.”
She grabbed her laptop, and they searched for Herbert and Belle Island. Quite a few entries came up. Randy pointed to one. “Look, there was a Herbert’s Bakery back in the 1930s. You think this recipe could be from his bakery?”
She typed in Herbert’s Bakery and a half dozen entries came up. One was a photo of an old newspaper article. She enlarged the photo, and they squinted, trying to make out the words.
“It says Herbert donated twelve dozen sugar cookies to the Christmas Festival. They were raising money for the school.”
“So, all these years, my Nana was keeping the tradition when she would bake that same recipe and donate the cookies to the Christmas Festival?”
“Looks like it.” Randy nodded.
“There is just so much I didn’t know about her. But I do remember making these each Christmas. We’d package them up and deliver them to the festival.”
“Why don’t we make them?” Randy’s eyes lit up with the idea. “We could honor your grandmother’s memory by baking a batch of her famous sugar cookies.”
She hesitated. “I… I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the same without her.”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I understand. But maybe it’s a way to feel closer to her, to keep her traditions alive. We could even make enough to donate to the festival, just like Miss G did. The festival is this coming weekend.”
She looked down at the recipe card, the familiar loops and swirls of her grandmother’s handwriting blurring as tears filled her eyes. Randy was right. Baking the cookies would be a way to honor Nana, to keep a piece of her alive in the present. And to give back to the community, just like Nana had.
“Okay,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Let’s do it. Let’s bake Nana’s—or I guess they are really Herbert’s—sugar cookies.”
Randy squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you. We can make a day of it, just like you used to with Miss G.”
“Now that sounds like a wonderful idea. I’d love the help.”
Randy stepped into the familiar kitchen, memories of countless baking sessions with Genevieve washing over him. The layout hadn’t changed much over the years, and he could almost picture Miss G bustling about, gathering ingredients and humming holiday tunes.
He smiled as Evie gathered bowls and utensils and enthusiastically got on board with the idea of baking the cookies. For the first time since he met her, there was no hint of sadness haunting her eyes.
“You know, I sat there at the kitchen table watching Miss G bake so many times. We’d chat as she puttered in her kitchen. She taught me to bake, too. Though I never was as good a baker as she was.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled out the flour and sugar. “I swear I know where everything is in this kitchen from my hours spent here.”
He offered to measure out the dry ingredients as she got out the other ingredients from the fridge. Working side by side with Evie, he found himself relaxing into the comfortable rhythm of baking. He paused as he sifted the flour. “You know, the first time I tried to make these, I accidentally used salt instead of sugar. Miss G never let me live that one down.”
Evie’s laughter rang out across the kitchen. “I can just imagine Nana’s face when she tasted those cookies.”
“Oh, she had quite the reaction,” He grinned and shook his head at the memory. “But she was patient, helping me start a new batch and teaching me the importance of double-checking ingredients.”
As they continued mixing the dough and Evie added the salt, their hands accidentally brushed. A spark of connection spread through him. He quickly recovered and quipped, “Make sure you use the correct amount for salt and not the amount for sugar.”
“Right. Don’t want to repeat your mistakes,” she teased back.
As he rolled out the dough, Randy began to recount memories of past Christmases on the island. “The holiday cookie fundraiser used to be quite the event. People would gather at the community center, each bringing their own special recipe to share. The tables would be overflowing with every type of cookie imaginable. People were always so generous with their donations of baked goods.”
“I remember it from when I was a young girl. And there was always the gingerbread house decorating competition.” Her eyes lit up at the memories.
“I won that one year,” he bragged.
“You did?” She looked at him with an expression that clearly said she was doubtful.
“Miss G convinced me to enter. I made a gingerbread house that looked like Magic Cafe. I mean, really, who wouldn’t vote for a Magic Cafe gingerbread house?”
She laughed again. “You’re right about that. Magic Cafe would always be the clear winner.”
He was enjoying making her laugh, watching her eyes light up, seeing her smile. “And there was always Christmas music and then the tree lighting that evening.”
“Oh, the tree lighting. I loved that.”
“So you want to go to the festival and the tree lighting with me this Saturday?” He looked at her, hoping she’d say yes.
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “I’d love to. I came here thinking I would avoid all things Christmas since it’s my first one without Nana… but now I find I’m getting into the holiday spirit.”
“I’m glad.” Happiness surged through him. Miss G would be pleased with him, making sure Evie enjoyed the holidays.
She reached out and touched his arm, and that same connection ricocheted through him. “You’re the reason I’m enjoying it. Thanks for pulling me out of my mood and making me realize Nana wouldn’t want me to mope around.”
He covered her hand with his own. “Glad to help. Now let’s get out those cookie cutters and get started.”
Evie picked up the star. “Oh, Nana loved this simple star shape. And she’d decorate it so pretty.”
“She did.” He picked up the reindeer one. “This is my favorite, but I swear the antlers are always breaking off.”
She laughed. “Happened to mine too. Oh look, the Santa one, and the angel. I think I love all of them.”
“Then we’ll have to make all of them.” He paused, then decided to plunge on. “And we need some Christmas music. Doesn’t seem right to make Christmas cookies without Christmas music.”
She paused a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. Nana always had it playing while she baked the cookies.”
She left the kitchen, and he glanced out into the living room and saw her pick out a Christmas album and put it on the turntable. No digital music for Miss G. Only her beloved albums. Soon the mellow voice of Perry Como drifted through the cottage.
Evie came back into the kitchen, smiling. “I love this album. I’d play it over and over, but Nana wouldn’t ever complain.”
“It’s a great choice.”
He pulled out the well-worn baking sheets from the cupboard, and with them came memories of countless batches of cookies made with Miss G. He glanced over at Evie, her brow creased in concentration as she meticulously cut out star from the dough before moving on to tree shapes.
They worked in comfortable silence. The only sounds were the gentle thud of the cookie cutters and the soft Christmas music playing in the background.
He found himself sneaking glances at Evie, admiring the way her hair fell softly around her face and the determined set of her jaw as she focused on making each cookie perfect.
As they loaded up the baking sheets, the kitchen filled with the warm, inviting scent of baking cookies. “I think Nana would be proud of us,” Evie said softly, sliding the last tray into the oven. “Carrying on her tradition like this.”
He nodded, his throat unexpectedly tightening with emotion. “She’d be thrilled to see you here in her kitchen, baking her recipes.”
Evie’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she smiled. “Thank you for doing this with me. It means more than you know.”
He reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “I’m glad to be here with you.”
As the timer dinged, they pulled the last batch of golden, perfectly shaped cookies from the oven, the scent of vanilla and spices wafting through the air. As he helped Evie transfer them to cooling racks, their hands brushing occasionally and sent little sparks of electricity through him.
Sparks he tried to ignore. But he had to admit he was helpless against them.
Once the cookies had cooled, Evie went to the pantry and pulled out a collection of tins, each one a different size and shape. Randy recognized them immediately—Miss G’s cookie tins—the ones she’d use every year to package her famous Christmas cookies for the festival. She was always picking up new ones to add to her collection to replenish it. Miss G always said that cookies were meant to be given away in cookie tins, like it was some kind of universal rule.
“She kept them,” Evie murmured, running her fingers along the edges of a particularly intricate tin. “I remember helping her fill these when I was a little girl.”
He nodded as the fleeting vision of a young Evie, her pigtails bobbing as she carefully arranged cookies, flashed through his mind. “She cherished those moments with you, you know.”
Together, they began filling the tins, layering the cookies in festive tissue paper. Soon each tin was filled and sealed. A feeling of accomplishment swept through him at being a part of honoring Miss G’s memory in a way that would have made her proud.
He stepped back to admire their handiwork. The tins were stacked neatly on the counter, ready to be delivered to the festival.
“We did it,” Evie said softly. “I swear I can actually feel her here with us in the kitchen.”
“I know.” He draped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her up against him. “I can too.”