Chapter 3
Sarah’s mother fluffed her pert new hairdo. Gone were the frizzy white curls pinned back with a headband. A sleek blonde wave hung to her mother’s chin. “What do you think?”
Sarah struggled to find the right words. “Gosh, Mom. I hardly recognized you.”
Her smile slipping, Mom tucked the scarf in her pocket. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Now she’d made her feel bad. “Forget what I said. You look great, Mom.”
“I just thought, after seeing Lindsay's mother at the wedding, that her blonde hair looked so pretty. You know, so young.” The last bit was delivered in a whisper.
“So you’ve been thinking about this for a while?”
Her mother nodded. Sarah had to agree. Rose Wheeler, Lindsay’s mom, had been blonde for ages. She did look about ten years younger than Lila. Well, not anymore.
Slipping off her heavy gray coat, her mother looked pleased. “I just thought I’d give myself an early Christmas present.”
“You look more like my sister than my mother.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Her mother couldn’t stop smiling. “Phoebe said to say hello.”
“Oh she did, did she?” A member of Sarah’s book group, Phoebe owned and operated Gull Harbor’s hair salon.
“Guess I’ll hang up my coat.” And her mother whirled through the swinging half door, humming some Christmas tune.
Had Sarah been too busy starting up her babysitting co-op that she’d missed a change in her mother? Almost thirty, Sarah viewed sixty as mature but not old. Her mother was pretty and still relatively young.
Tying her apron strings, Mom reappeared and peered into the case. “How did your thimbles turn out? You know, the ones you made with Ryan?” Did she give Ryan’s name a mischievous uptick?
“Delicious. I could eat all of them. But I won't.” Her words were a promise to herself. She was going to fit into her red Christmas dress if it killed her. After all, that dress was tradition. She’d had it since high school, but every year she had to let out the seams a little more.
“The thimbles look so yummy. I have to try them.” With that, her mother reached into the case. One little bite had Mom closing her eyes in ecstasy. “These are perfect, sweetheart. So soft and buttery. Maybe Ryan would make a good pastry chef.”
“Oh, I don’t think cookies are his thing.” Resting her chin on one hand, Sarah peered out the window. The lake wind caught the falling snow, shaping ghostlike figures and mini-drifts. “If this blasted snow keeps up, we'll be lucky to sell these today. No one goes out in this kind of weather.”
Her mother stopped chewing. “Maybe I should take some to the library.”
Sarah wheeled around. “What? With all this snow?”
Granted, her mother did visit the library every other week. Mildred Wentworth, the head librarian, set new romances aside for her. Of course, that was before Mom’s recent interest in ancient history.
“You might get stuck.” Sarah didn’t want to have to dig Mom’s car out of a snow drift. The fact that she’d made it back from Phoebe’s salon was amazing...and scary.
“Oh, for goodness sakes. It’s just up the highway.” Averting her eyes, her mother took another bite. “In weather like this, people like to read. Why not hand out cookie samples?”
With that her mother began to put together one of their white bakery boxes. Then she scooped fresh cookies from the tray. “After all, it's the season to share.”
Sarah moaned. “Good grief, Mom. I haven't even started my Christmas shopping.”
“No worries,” her mother practically sang out.
“We have lots of time. Besides, Christmas isn’t about presents.
It’s about people.” By this time her mother was back in her coat.
She didn’t even bother to take off her apron.
Shaking out the paisley headscarf, she wrapped it carefully around her new hairdo.
In the past Sarah's mother had been terrified of driving in snow.
All that seemed to be a thing of the past. Box in hand she disappeared through the front door, the bell giving a final jingle as she pulled the door shut.
Ten seconds later her old Chevy rumbled as she backed out, leaving Sarah at the window.
In the summer, tourists often made The Full Cup their first stop. The women in Sarah's book group visited regularly for cheese crowns and ganache brownies. But today? The only movement on the street was the blowing snow.
Everything was quiet. Too quiet for her.
Time to get to work.
Bustling into the back area, she went to her corner desk and grabbed the recipe binder. The Mexican hot chocolate cookies had been a big success last summer, and she’d ordered a Christmas bell stamp to add a festive touch. Just as she finished mixing the ingredients, her mother returned.
“Your cheeks are as red as my strawberry jam,” Sarah said with a laugh. “So what did Mildred think of the thimbles?”
Mom was studying her new hairdo in the mirror next to the bathroom door. Sarah watched with fascination. Lila had never been one to fuss over herself. “Oh, Mildred isn't there.”
“Really? Is she sick?”
“Didn't I tell you?” One more pat of approval for the hair. “She took the month off to visit her daughter for the holidays.”
“So who's running the place?” Sarah couldn’t picture that desk without Mildred’s smiling face.
“A substitute.” Drifting over to the table, Mom picked up the cocoa and began reading the label. “So, what are you making now?”
“Mexican hot chocolate cookies. Remember how they sold last summer?”
But her mother didn’t seem to be paying attention. Hugging the cocoa tin to her chest, she wore a soft smile.
“After I get these going, I thought I'd get things set up for Ryan.”
The name snapped Mom from her haze. “So he’s coming back?”
“Yes.” They’d gone over all this together just last week. “Ryan’s working on bread at night and cookies in the morning.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to have Ryan all day?”
Having Ryan all day. A knot the size of a cheese crown formed in Sarah’s throat.
“I needed someone at night,” she finally choked out. Well, there it was again. That huge pastry. She cleared her throat. “To handle the bread, you know, since I’m busy with the boys. And you were....” Getting older. But she decided not to add that.
“Of course, dear.” Her mother began to leaf through the blue binder. “Spritz, chocolate pecan bark, sand tarts. You two will have a great time. Is Ryan happy helping with the Christmas cookies?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. You should have seen him separating the eggs for the thimbles.” She smiled, remembering.
Her mother stepped over to the radio and turned up the dial. “I’ll be Home for Christmas” was playing. Bing Crosby’s soothing voice filled the room. The bell jingled out front and her mother rushed to wait on a customer. Thank goodness someone had come in despite the snow.
Maybe Sarah would save the hot chocolate cookies for tomorrow.
It might be fun to watch Ryan work the stamp.
Instead, she busied herself with cinnamon rolls.
Inhaling the cloves and cinnamon lifted her spirits.
Before long, the snow stopped and the scratchy sound of the snow plows came down the street.
Good, the streets would be salted by the time she left to pick up the boys.
The bell continued to jingle. Although she couldn't hear the conversations, she thought she heard the word thimbles. When she peeked over the swinging door, her mother was talking to a young couple. “You tasted these at the library? Yes, the cookies came from us.”
“The thimbles are my husband’s favorite,” the woman said. “His mother used to make them.”
Maybe that trip to the library was worthwhile after all. Returning to her cinnamon roll dough, Sarah finished them off and then began on pecan buns. To her surprise, the front bell kept ringing. After a customer left, she went out front. “I guess your trip to the library paid off.”
Her mother gave her a mysterious smile. “Oh, I think so. The library’s been busy. Everyone wants to take out a book before the snow starts again.”
By the end of the afternoon, the thimbles were gone. Her mother swung through the door with the empty tray. “Will you just look at this?”
“That's amazing.” Sarah set the tray in the sink. “I should write a thank you note to the woman taking Mildred's place. What's her name?” Picking up a pen, Sarah grabbed a pad of paper.
Her mother had started wiping down the pan in the sink. “Stuart.”
“Must be one of the college interns.”
Grabbing a towel, her mother dried the tray with brisk strokes. “Oh, I don't think so.” Then she waltzed back to the front of the store, leaving the empty tray and a lot of questions.
Nat King Cole was singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Well, right now Sarah’s brain felt roasted. The rumble of Ryan's truck snapped her out of it. The back door opened, bringing a draft of winter air. And there he was with wind-ruffled hair and red cheeks. She smiled.
“Hey, Sarah.” Ryan shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket.
“How are the roads? Any trouble coming down Red Arrow?”
“You know Michigan. The crews have been salting the roads since the first snowflake fell.” Going straight to the cupboard, he got out the flour and yeast for the bread dough. They were settling into a rhythm. “How did the new cookies go over today?”
“We sold out.” Surprise lifted her voice.
Ryan’s square jaw dropped. “In this snow? I thought you’d have a quiet day.”
He was thinking about her today? Unexpected warmth swirled through her stomach. “Trust me, it’s been a day of surprises.”
Just then her mother bustled in from the front counter. “The door’s locked. I cleaned all the glass counters and table tops. Oh hi, Ryan.”
“Wow,” Ryan said with a chuckle.
Her mother shot him a coy smile––a look Sarah had never seen before. “You like it?”
“You look beautiful. The hair’s great.” Ryan looked to Sarah for agreement. “Right, Sarah?”
“Amazing.” That was all she could manage.
“Sarah tells me you sold all the cookies we cranked out this morning.”