Page 8 of The Blessings of Christmas
The flour sack slipped from her hands onto the counter. A puff of flour made her cough. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ryan.” She tried to catch her breath.
His head snapped back. Ryan had always been super sensitive. That hadnotchanged.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Face closed and smile definitely gone, he kept chopping. “You’re a good mother. You’ll probably have other kids.”
What was he saying? “How?”
Ryan’s laugh came out dry as the flour still tickling her throat. “Do I have to spell out how to make a baby?”
Lordy, it was hot in here. Light footsteps sounded on the stairs. Her mother danced into the workroom, wearing black ankle boots with black pants and her green Christmas sweater. “Good morning,” she sang out. Then she stopped. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”
“Of course not.” Grateful for the interruption, Sarah measured out the sugar. “We’re starting on the thimbles.”
“Now, don’t you make a wonderful team?” Looking pleased, Mom unhooked her apron from the wall, tied it around her slender waist and disappeared through the swinging door.
Dumping her butter into the large mixing bowl, Sarah flipped on the beaters. They hit the bowl with an erratic, metallic rhythm. “Everyone’s gone crazy this Christmas.”
Shrugging his unlawfully broad shoulders, Ryan murmured, “Sarah, Sarah.”
“What? They have. Totally crazy.” But she wasn’t about to share her concern about her mother. The butter had become a smooth soft texture and she cracked two eggs into the bowl. The ding of the oven timer came as a relief. He stepped over to take out the sour dough bread that Finn Wheeler had ordered for the Mangy Mutt.
Concentrate. She had to concentrate. When the eggs and butter were thick and creamy, she slowly added the sugar. “Silver Bells” came on the radio and she hummed along. Behind her, Ryan opened and closed oven doors. The smell of bread expanded in the overheated room until she could almost bite into it. Wiping her forehead with the back of one hand, she stepped over to open a window.
“Thanks,” Ryan said, starting on the pecans again. “But I can take the heat if you can.”
Why did he continue to tease her? Sarah gave a frustrated sigh. “Let’s just get to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Okay, thatma’ammade her feel as old as Mount Baldy, a mountainous dune that had been stretched along the Michigan shoreline forever. She’d concentrate on the cookies and not his comments. The sugar had blended in nicely so she slowly added the flour. A sidelong glance told her the pecans looked morelike brown sugar than nuts. But she didn’t say anything. No way would she hurt Ryan’s feelings.
Out in the storefront, the bell jingled––music to her ears. The soothing sound of her mother talking to customers restored Sarah’s sanity. After she added the vanilla and a touch of salt, the dough was ready. Now came the work. The point that would separate the bakers from the bad boys.
“It’s time to separate the eggs, Ryan.”
He looked at her. “What’s that?”
“We roll the dough in the beaten egg whites so the nuts you chopped will stick to the cookies.”
“O––kay.” But Ryan didn’t get it.
“Look, I’ll show you.” After all, he was in training. She neatly cracked open an egg. Letting the yolk slide from one shell to the other, Sarah watched the clear egg white drip into the bowl. “Now, you have to be careful. If you get one speck of yolk into the whites, they won’t whip up nice and firm.” Finished, she dropped the yolk into the second bowl and set the shells aside. “Your turn.”
Looking as if he were diffusing a bomb, Ryan picked up an egg. Sarah stepped back. Hovering might make him nervous. Forehead furrowed, he tapped the egg lightly on the edge of the bowl. Nothing happened.
“Harder.” She reached for the egg.
One look from Ryan and she froze. “I’ve got this, Sarah.”
She fell back. When he cracked the egg, she cheered. Maybe she overdid it.
“Is that really necessary?” Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“You’re doing great.” She zipped her lips. He was still staring at her. “What? What are you looking at?”
Reaching out, he brushed her forehead softly. She felt that touch clear to her toes. “You’ve got flour in your hair.”
