Page 8 of Never Sleigh Never
“Hey Josie,” my mom turns to Josie, “why don’t you get one of the cookies we baked earlier for your dad?”
“Okay!” I set Josie on her feet, and she skips into the kitchen, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.
When she’s out of sight, my mom turns to me and rests a hand on my forearm. “I know it’s hard. It’ll always be hard. But we want to be here for you and Josie. For anything. With you only living five minutes away instead of an eight-hour drive, it makes it easier.”
“It’s kind of the reason I wanted to move back. Thanks for finding me a house.”
“Luckily, Mr. Bernstein was selling. The sun was calling his name, but mostly, he was over the cold.” Mom shrugs.
I nod. “And it appears most of the town doesn’t know.”
“We tried to keep it as hush-hush as we could, but you know Mount Holly. It doesn’t take long for the Gigis to snatch a whisper out of the air, and once word is out, it’s like head lice. Pretty soon, it’s all over town. You’d think they’d find a new hobby.”
“In a few years you’ll be sitting at the same table as the Gigis.” John nudges Mom with his elbow.
She laughs. “You’re probably right, but good thing that day isn’t today.”
“Did you get things settled?” John asks.
“Almost. We made some good progress on the carnival. Also, thanks for finding that piece of land.”
“Good. I thought something on the outskirts of town might be easier. Less red tape.”
“It’s perfect.” I drag a hand over my jaw. “I had a nice, friendly run-in with Brie McKenna this morning. It wasn’t the welcome party I was expecting.” I fight the grin tugging at my lips as memories of her tangled in my arms rush back.
“Oh! How is Brie?” Mom’s eyes light up. “I always liked her. She’s such a sweet girl. And her parents live next door. I see her when she visits them. She’s even helped me shovel the driveway a few times.”
Shit. Looks like I’ll be seeing her more than just around town. “Are we talking about the same Brie McKenna? Because she must have left her sweet at home.” Or maybe she reserves that for people she doesn’t hate.
“She’s in charge of the Holly Jolly Festival this year,” Mom says.
I nod. “So I’ve heard.”
Josie reappears with a stack of cookies and passes one to each of us. “I made these all by myself! They’re chocolate chip.”
“You did?” I take the cookie from Josie.
“Yup!”
“Thanks, I’m starving.” The cookie’s halfway to my mouth before my mom plucks it out of my grasp. “Hey! I was gonna eat that.”
“I’ll make you a plate of hotdish. Then you can have your cookie.”
“Or I can have the cookie to tide me over.”
“Dinner first, then dessert.” My mom disappears around the corner.
I glance at John, who takes a bite of his cookie and shrugs. I salivate as crumbs fall to the front of his shirt. “I’m a little envious of you right now.”
“Grandma wouldn’t let me have a cookie until after dinner,” Josie says.
“Well, at least she’s consistent.” I stroll into the kitchen just as the microwave dings. Mom slides a steaming plate of tater tot hotdish across the kitchen island. When people talk about comfort food, tater tot hotdish is like a warm fire on a chilly night. Ground beef, cream of mushroom, onion, corn, cheese, and tater tots all baked together until the tots are golden brown. It reminds me exactly of home. My mom. It’s something Brooke would never dream of making. Being a professional athlete, I always had to watch what I ate. Sure, I would indulge now and then, but nothing like this. Shoving a forkful into my mouth, I moan. “Thanks. I never realized how much I missed your hotdish until now.”
“Now that you’re back, we’ll have a lot more dinners together.” She spins around and puts the clean dishes from the strainer into the cupboard.
No complaints here. I clear the plate with the speed of a power play. When I’m finished, I glance down, half tempted to pick up my plate and lick it clean. It was that good. But I think otherwise, mostly to avoid the motherly glare she’d give me because she taught her son better manners than that. I set my fork down and push my plate away.
“Now you can have your dessert.” She swaps the plate for the cookie.
