Page 57 of The Clause in Christmas
Ben giggled. “That’s me! That’s me!” He raised his hand, waving it over his head before racing toward his mother.
Luke watched, completely baffled, as Eliza whispered something in Ben’s ear. Then she pointed at two lumpy objects nestled in the grass, which Ben quickly scooped up in both arms.
As he trotted back toward Luke, the mystery items came into focus. Two sacks of flour made from tightly woven cotton fabric, each with bold lettering that read Samuel Ball’s Snow White Flour.
“This one’s yours.” Snickering, Ben handed Luke a sack of flour.
“What’s it for?”
Ben giggled again, but didn’t say anything as he untied the string cinching his sack closed.
Still confused, Luke called out, “Eliza, what in the world is—”
But before he had a chance to finish his question, Eliza roared, “Charge!” and she and Cassie bolted across the field. In a matter of seconds, they were bombarded with fistfuls of flour.
Ben squealed, tearing across the lawn with Eliza in quick pursuit.
Cassie’s laughter mingled with the billowy cloud of white powder, and as the dust settled, Luke caught sight of her brilliant smile.
“You’d better get it together, Sprinkles. Or you’re going to lose this snowball fight,” she teased, holding up a handful of flour. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief, but something in her purposeful gaze communicated so much more than her words.
And in that moment, Luke realized the playful fight was actually a white flag.
Chapter 20
When Frank opened the front door, he nearly fell over in surprise.
Cassie grinned, realizing she must be quite the sight, covered head to toe in flour. She’d done her best to brush most of it off, but she still looked like a loaf of artisan bread.
Without mentioning her odd appearance, Frank pushed the door open a few more inches, grumbling, “About time you showed up.”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Cassie said, forgoing the excuses. “But I think you’ll be pleased with what I have to say.”
Frank held up a finger, indicating she should wait. Then, waving for her to follow, he led her down the hallway to his study. He shuffled to his desk and eased into the fancy, ergonomic chair while Cassie hovered by his side.
The laptop flickered to life as Frank put on a pair of reading glasses. “I’d ask you to sit down, but you appear to be coated in more flour than fried chicken.”
Cassie giggled. “It’s a long story.”
Frank narrowed his gaze over the rim of his glasses, clearly not amused.Orinterested. “What did you think of the coffee I gave you?”
So, he was going to get right to the point, was he? Well, so could she. “Frank, is this for your book? The second edition, I mean.” Cassie held her breath, fully expecting him to sidestep her question.
But to her surprise, he pushed back his glasses and rubbed his eyes, mumbling, “Apparently, one best seller isn’t enough. The publisher wants more. And they want me to include specific blends this time. Seems no one can think for themselves these days.”
Cassie offered a sympathetic smile, her hunch confirmed. “For what it’s worth, I think a second edition is a great idea. And you should definitely include the blend you gave me. It was the best coffee I’ve ever had, by far.”
After readjusting his glasses, Frank poised his fingers over the keyboard. “What flavor notes did you notice?”
Beaming proudly, Cassie pulled up the Notes app on her phone and set it on the desk. “I followed a basic cupping method and jotted down each score.”
Surprise, then something vaguely resembling admiration, flickered across Frank’s face. But he quickly reset his features in his trademark stony expression. “Good.”
The click-clack of the keyboard filled the silence as Frank transferred the information from her phone into an open document.
Cassie chewed her bottom lip, the question she’d been dying to ask gnawing at her stomach. She drew in a deep breath. “Frank… I’ve been wondering… Why ask me? About the coffee, I mean. It’s not like you need a second opinion. You’re Richard Stanton, after all. The number one authority on all things coffee.”
His fingertips froze over the keys, his strained features highlighted in the blueish glow of the computer screen. After a moment, he reached into the top right drawer of his desk and withdrew a tiny orange pill bottle. He handed it to her, then resumed typing.
