Page 6 of The Clause in Christmas
Luke’s features softened. Dolores was right. Edith Hayward was an unconventional woman, but her nonconformity usually benefited someone she loved. She’d even waived her client confidentiality, knowing once her granddaughter undertook the tasks of the Christmas Calendar, she would need all the help she could get.
After Luke filled her in, Dolores threw her head back in laughter. “Ol’ Edie sure did love her Christmas Calendar, didn’t she? Not a year went by that she didn’t do every single thing on her list. But why would a thing like that make her granddaughter so upset? It’s only a bit of holiday fun.”
“Yeah, but it’s also pretty inconvenient. The strange thing is, when I pointed that out to Edith, she merely waved her hand as though it wouldn't be a problem.” Luke shook his head in incredulity. “I offered to send a letter to Cassie’s employer explaining the situation, but she didn’t take me up on it.”
“Well, I sure hope it works out. You know…” Dolores gazed at him over the rim of her glasses. “You two would make quite the handsome couple.”
Luke groaned, pushing himself up from the floor, much to Banjo’s annoyance. “Don’t start, DeeDee. You know I don’t have time to date right now. In fact, I’m heading over to Jack’s diner so I can look over a vendor contract for him. Some new, fancy steak house in Primrose Valley wants to serve his special barbecue sauce. Can I grab you anything for lunch while I’m there?”
Dolores pursed her lips. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, changing the subject like that.” Her features softened. “And no, thank you. Banjo and I still have leftovers of the yummy casserole your mom dropped off last night.”
Luke smiled. That was just like Maggie Davis. It wasn’t enough she ran her own bakery. She still had to cook for everyone in town. “Okay, then. I should be back in an hour. Bill Tucker is coming by later this afternoon. If I’m not back by then, you know what to do.”
“Ask him about Peggy Sue.”
Bill Tucker couldn’t resist bragging about his prize pig. Grinning, Luke tugged the front door open, letting in a rush of cold air. “See you later.”
“Luke,” Dolores called out after him. “About you and Edie’s granddaughter… think about it, okay?”
Luke sighed. His problem would be tryingnotto think about it.
Chapter 3
As the car crunched down the narrow gravel lane and approached the clearing at the end, Cassie gasped in spite of herself. The quaint Victorian-style cottage looked like the prettiest girl at the party with her pristine white siding and inviting front porch complete with twin rocking chairs.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Cassie told the house as she hip-checked the driver’s door shut. “I don’t care how cute you are. I’m still going to sell you to the highest bidder.”
Cassie popped open the trunk of her blueberry-colored Prius and hauled out her enormous suitcase. As promised, she’d returned to Poppy Creek the morning of December 1, prepared to fulfill her contractual obligations. With any luck, the next twenty-four days would fly by quickly.Ifthe Calendar didn’t drive her completely crazy first. Already, visions of unsavory sugar plums danced in her head.
Lugging her suitcase up the drive, Cassie tried to ignore the whimsical and endearing details of the house, like the exquisite corbels, intricate gingerbread trim, and stunning bay window with a perfect view of the walnut tree.
“It’s not going to work,” she insisted. “As soon as I sign the deed, you’re going on the market. Maybe some yuppie couple with two point five kids and a Goldendoodle will buy you.”
The porch steps creaked in protest as Cassie trudged to the front door where she was greeted by the cheerful, cherry-red paint. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a welcome mat announcedThere’s No Place Like Home.
“You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” Cassie dug the key out of the small envelope Luke had given her and jammed it into the brass lock. As the front door swung open, her heart plummeted to her stomach.
The inside of the cottage was even more enticing than the outside. A discovery Cassie found unsettling. Her mother never shared details of her childhood or the home where she grew up. But based on impressions Cassie gleaned—mainly from the haunted expression her mother wore whenever Cassie asked about it—she always pictured the house from Hitchcock’sPsycho. Nothing like what lay before her.
Stepping into the foyer felt like stepping back in time. Ornate molding, a winding staircase, and a striking open-hearth fireplace taunted Cassie with their perfection. And to make matters worse, everything about the decor invoked a feeling of warmth, coziness, and welcome—from the lush vintage furniture to the homey touches of antique collectibles and bric-a-brac.
At first glance, Cassie marveled at how her mother could have left a place so charming and idyllic. But, if her track record had taught her anything, Cassie knew things that looked too good to be true usually were.
As Cassie’s heels clattered across the worn parquet floor, she wondered how many times her mother had traveled the same path, enveloped by similar scents of lemon wood polish and dried lavender.
Directly off the living room, she found a kitchen so lovely, Betty Crocker herself would have been jealous. And although Cassie barely knew how to boil water, she could almost picture herself baking an apple pie in the 1930s mint-green oven.
Setting her oversize handbag on the butcher block island, Cassie retrieved her most prized possession: a polished silver French press, lovingly wrapped in a swath of crushed velvet for safe traveling. She placed a portable hand grinder next to it, followed by a bag of Colombian Supremo—a splurge courtesy of her favorite artisan roaster.
Considering she still had to settle in and start day one of the Christmas Calendar, which had her decorating the entire cottage, inside and out, Cassie would need all the caffeine she could reasonably consume without triggering a heart attack.
Given her experience with the town lawyer, she could only imagine the eccentricity she’d encounter in the doctor’s office.
At least Cassie could think of one perk of being stuck in Poppy Creek.
Derek Price would never find her here.
* * *
