Page 41 of Savoring Christmas
Her students’ first trays of gnocchi were ready for the boiling water. Cannoli rose from her corner, tail wagging, and trotted closer as if she knew something exciting was about to happen.
“All right,” Mia said, giving her skillet a gentle swirl. “Butter’s done. Sage is crisp. Your sauce is ready and waiting. Let’s see how our gnocchi fare in the pot.”
Harold was first, easing his plump, uneven gnocchi into the boiling water. They tumbled in like a crowd rushing through a door, some spinning, some sinking briefly before bobbing to the surface. “Look at that. We have a few survivors.” Harold grinned.
Thelma’s went into her pot next, her perfectly uniform pieces behaving exactly as expected, with each one rising at the same time, a little like synchronized swimming.
“Beautiful,” Mia said. “That’s exactly what we want to see.”
Abby’s followed, the deep ridges holding onto tiny pockets of water as they surfaced. “See there?” Mia pointed out to the class. “Those fork marks will catch the butter beautifully.”
Kris’s gnocchi hit the water and immediately caused a commotion. Some floated right away, others took their time, one particularly large piece bobbing stubbornly at the bottom. “Ithink that one’s on strike.” Kris leaned over the pot. “Refuses to work under these conditions.”
Reese’s perfect gnocchi slipped into the water like little pearls, every single one rising at the exact same moment, as if she’d trained them personally. The class murmured in admiration, and Reese ducked her head again, cheeks pink.
“They’re like your little ballerinas,” Abby said. “Perfectly behaved.”
Then came Logan’s. The larger “boulder” pieces caused a more dramatic reaction. The water hissed and splashed as they sank with weight, surfacing a little slower than the others. Cannoli barked once at the splash, then looked around as if waiting for applause.
Logan looked over at Mia, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. “Guess we’ll see if bigger really is better.”
“Size isn’t everything,” Mia said, drawing a ripple of laughter from the group. “What matters is how they taste.”
She moved between stations, helping them transfer the cooked gnocchi gently into their skillets of butter and sage. The fragrance deepened as the dumplings were tossed, each batch glistening and flecked with crisp leaves. Cannoli followed behind, nose twitching, her eyes darting hopefully from pan to pan.
“All right, lovely students,” Mia said. “Let’s eat.”
Everyone cheered—Cannoli included, with a happy little bark.
After they’d enjoyedtheir meal, everyone joined together to wash the dishes and scrub counters.
“Another successful night,” Mia said, pulling off her apron when the last pan was in the dishwasher.
Thelma brushed a streak of flour from her cheek. “I can’t wait for next class.”
Harold chuckled, wiping his hands. “What fun this is, Mia. Thank you again. It’s made my December … pretty great actually.” He winked at Thelma, who giggled.
There was laughter and the scrape of chairs as the class began packing up. Cannoli padded between the tables, tail wagging, making sure to say goodnight to each of them as coats were buttoned, bags gathered, and, one by one, they trickled out into the cold December night, their voices fading into the quiet.
Logan, the only one left with Mia besides Cannoli, leaned casually against the counter.
“You walking me to my car?” Mia asked.
“Better idea,” Logan said. “What do you say we go downtown? Pick up a few things for Patty’s kids at Treasure Chest Toys. Before they sell out of everything?”
“That’s a great idea. I haven’t had time to do anything Christmassy yet this season. I mean, not that I have the last four years, either, but I’m game.”
“Do you want to walk?” Logan asked. The elementary school was about a five-minute walk from the center of town.
“Yes, Cannoli should go out anyway.” Mia crouched, reaching for the little red sweater hanging from the hook by the door. “You’ll freeze out there, peanut.” Cannoli stood patiently—well, almost patiently—while Mia slipped her front paws through the openings and fastened the Velcro along her back. Once dressed, the pup gave a full-body shake, as if to settle the sweater just right, and trotted to the door, ready for adventure.
Logan grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, holding the door for them. Outside, the cold air nipped at Mia’s cheeks, but the small downtown was aglow—garlands drapedover lampposts, wreaths on shop doors, the faint scent of grilled sausages coming from the pop-up skating rink. Cannoli trotted alongside them, nails clicking softly on the sidewalk, sniffing everything.
Inside the store, it smelled like spun sugar. Rows of shelves were lined with dolls, puzzles, and wooden trains, each display twinkling with tiny white lights. Shelves were stacked with dolls in gingham dresses, model trains chugging in neat circles, puzzles and board games, wooden toys painted in bright, cheerful colors. A tiny village glittered in the front window, the lights from its miniature houses casting a soft glow on the snow-sprinkled display.
Mia’s chest tightened in that way it always did at Christmas—the beauty of it tangled with the ache of knowing not every child woke to this kind of magic.
Cannoli paused in the entryway, nose twitching at the new scents, before following Mia down the first aisle.
