Page 23 of The Clause in Christmas
At Cassie’s blank stare, Luke pointed to the Christmas Calendar. “There should be a recipe.”
Cassie ran her finger down the page, scrunching her face as she scanned the instructions. “This recipe doesn’t make any sense… What’s the difference between a pinch and a dash?”
Luke chuckled at her perplexed expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”
Hopping onto the barstool, Cassie watched Luke deftly assemble and measure the ingredients. “You’re quite the pro.”
“When your mom owns a bakery, you pick up a thing or two.”
“You should have gone into the family business,” Cassie teased.
Luke smiled. “Actually, I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“My law practice used to be my dad’s. In fact, it’s still his name on the door. TheLstands for Leonard.”
“Gosh, I had no idea. Did you always want to follow in his footsteps?”
Luke dug his fists into the ceramic bowl, appreciating the soft, pliable feel of the dough as he shaped it by hand. “I didn’t seriously consider law school until my second year of college. When my dad got cancer.”
“Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry!”
Encouraged by the sincerity in her voice, Luke drew in a deep breath and continued. “It was a rough time. He eventually went into remission—long enough to see me graduate from law school. We all thought he was in the clear. But a few weeks after graduation, we learned his cancer had come back. We lost him four months later.”
Without saying a word, Cassie reached across the counter and gently placed her hand on his forearm. Luke savored the gentle, comforting feel of her soft skin against his own.
Then, as if the connection between them had suddenly grown too intense, she pulled away. Averting her gaze, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He must have been very proud to have you take over his practice.”
“He was.” Luke’s chest tightened recalling the day his dad handed him the key to the office.
“What did you want to do before you switched to law school?” Cassie asked.
Luke’s hands stilled, and the sticky ball of dough fell from his grip, plopping onto the bottom of the bowl. No one had ever asked him that before. And for a moment, Luke hesitated. He’d hardly admitted the thought to himself, let alone another human being. But for some reason, Luke wanted to tell Cassie. He wanted to tell her everything. “Do you remember the furniture in my office?”
“Of course! They’re all beautiful pieces. Especially Dolores’s rocking chair.”
Luke’s heart did a funny little dance at her words of praise, and he could only imagine the goofy grin taking over his features. “I made them.”
“You made them?” she asked slowly. “Like, actuallymadethem? With your own two hands?”
He chuckled. “Well, I used tools. But yes, I made them myself.”
Her eyes brightened. “Luke, that’s amazing! You have a gift. Seriously. People pay top dollar for craftsmanship like that. Have you ever thought about opening your own furniture business?”
Luke dumped the lump of dough onto the butcher block and began kneading. “Not really.”
“Why not?” Her tone held no censure, only curiosity. But her question mirrored the same one he’d refused to ask himself for years.
“Because no one in Poppy Creek needs bespoke furniture,” Luke said a little gruffer than he intended. Grappling for the right words, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping as a rush of air escaped his lungs. Finally he spoke, doing his best to keep his voice slow and even. “Poppy Creek needs me to be Leonard Davis. My dad wasn’t just the guy you’d call for legal advice. He was the rock of the entire town. The one you could call at any time, for any reason. Folks around here relied on him.” An image of his dad’s strong features flashed before Luke’s eyes, and he swallowed against the unwanted surge of emotion, jabbing his fist into the clump of dough.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” Cassie said softly.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not you.” Luke attempted a smile, only managing a crooked one at best. “It’s me. It’s kind of a… tough subject. So, what about you? What’s your dream job?”
“The truth?”
“Preferably.” Luke chuckled, feeling the tension lift from his shoulders.
