Page 35 of Sweet Christmas Comeback
It was past midnight when Mabel reached for the drawer where they kept the cookie cutters.
"I need the tree cutter," she said, rummaging through the jumbled collection of stars, bells, and gingerbread men. "I know it's in here somewhere."
She pulled out an old tin box from the back of the drawer. "Maybe it's—oh!"
The box popped open, and recipe cards scattered across the flour-dusted counter. Old ones, the paper yellowed and brittle, the handwriting elegant and precise.
"Oh dear," Mabel said, carefully gathering them up. "I forgot those were in there. That's your great-grandmother's box. I moved it years ago to make room for the newer cutters."
Jade set down her rolling pin and helped collect the cards, her fingers gentle on the fragile paper. Most were familiar recipes—Mabel still made them. But one made her stop.
Eleanor's Champion Fruitcake - Holiday Bake-Off Winner, 1928.
"Mabel," she said slowly. "Is this the recipe? The one from the plaque?"
Mabel wiped her hands on her apron and came to look. Her face softened with memory. "Yes. I tried making it every Christmas for years. Never could get it right—always too dense. Eleanor had instincts I just don't have." She touched the card gently, as if it might crumble. "Eventually I gave up."
Jade studied the card with her food critic's eye, trained to deconstruct recipes and understand techniques. The instructions were detailed, methodical. Ten fruits—candied ginger, rum-soaked cherries, dried apricots, dates, figs, golden raisins, currants, candied orange peel, candied lemon peel, and...
She squinted at the last line. "What's this word? There's something smudged here."
Mabel leaned in, adjusting her glasses. "I never could make that out. I always assumed it was just an ink blot. Why? Is it important?"
"It's the tenth fruit," Jade said, tracing the smudge with one finger. "The recipe says ten-fruit fruitcake, but I can only read nine. This smudge might be the secret ingredient—the thing that made Eleanor's version special."
They stood there, staring at the illegible mark, so close to an answer but not quite there.
"Well," Mabel said finally, a hint of sadness in her voice, "I suppose that mystery died with Eleanor." She patted Jade's shoulder. "Come on, let's get these cookies finished. We can puzzle over old recipes another time."
But Jade kept the card, propping it against the flour canister where she could see it while they worked. The elegant handwriting, the careful measurements, the smudged secret at the end. Her great-grandmother's prize-winning recipe, the one that had hung on the wall in a frame for nearly a century.
She thought about the plaque, about Eleanor's name engraved in brass, about legacy and history and the weight of family expectations.
She set the card carefully aside and picked up her cookie cutter, pressing it into the dough with renewed determination. They had a festival to prepare for. Everything else could wait.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday morning dawned cold and bright, the kind of crystalline winter day that made everything look like it belonged on a postcard. Jade stood on Main Street with her hands wrapped around a thermos of coffee, watching Brice’s truck rumble up with three wooden booths secured in the bed.
“Morning!” Brice called, hopping out. His breath fogged in the air. “Got your Christmas retail establishments ready for deployment.”
Despite everything—the ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away, the exhaustion from two nights of restless sleep—Jade found herself smiling. The booths were perfect. Simple A-frame structures with serving counters, small roofs to protect from snow, and red paint that practically screamed “Christmas cheer.”
“Brice, these are amazing,” she said, running her hand along the smooth wood. “You built all three in one night?”
“Had help from my brother,” he said, shrugging it off. “Plus, the holiday rush hasn’t started yet at the farm. Gave me something to do besides reorganize the storage shed for the fourth time.”
Felicity pulled up in her car. “Oh, these are perfect! Rustic-chic meets functional. Brice, you’re a genius.”
“Just a guy with a saw and too much time on his hands,” he replied, but he looked pleased.
They loaded the first booth back into the truck and headed for the pond, where skaters were already making lazy circles on the ice. The morning sun caught on the blade marks, turning them into silver ribbons.
Setting up the booth took longer than expected—the ground was frozen solid, requiring Brice to drill pilot holes before securing the structure. Jade and Felicity strung fairy lights around the frame while Brice worked, and by the time they finished, a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered.
“That for the Tree Lighting?” Mr. Peters asked, his granddaughter tugging on his hand.
“Hot cocoa station,” Jade confirmed, forcing brightness into her voice even though her chest felt tight. “Fresh cookies too. Sunday evening, starting at six.”
