Page 13 of Promise Me This Christmas
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Saturday, December 20
Amy woke earlythe next morning, already in a panic.There were only five more days until Christmas and so much remained to be done.The baby monitor by her bed was quiet, which meant Robin, in his little room next to theirs, was still sleeping.Beside her Chet stirred.“You awake?”
“Yes.I was thinking of heading down to the kitchen for a quick word with Jo before the breakfast rush.”
“Go ahead.I’ll bring Robbie down for breakfast once he wakes up.”
She kissed his cheek, scratchy with stubble, then slipped out of bed.Quickly she dressed in the clothes she’d laid out the previous night.You learned some tricks when you were a working mom, and setting out the next morning’s outfit was one of them.After a quick trip to the washroom, she let herself out of their third-floor suite and padded down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky sections.Though it was only twenty minutes to seven, Jo—hair in a bun, body encased in a fresh white apron—was already in the kitchen rolling out the dough for her famous early-riser gooey cinnamon buns.Outside the window, the world was still dark.The sun wouldn’t be up for hours.She needed caffeine.
“Good morning,” Amy said as she helped herself to the morning’s first pot of coffee.
“It is that,” Jo agreed.“I’m in the mood for baking after breakfast.What do you think about pumpkin ginger scones?Or should I bake the berry orange ones?”
“I’m sure our guests will love either one.”Amy took a sip of the coffee.“But speaking of baking, the cookies you made yesterday were a bit overdone.”
“Overdone?”Jo looked up from her dough.“They were not.They were fresh from the oven and perfect when I left yesterday.”
“You didn’t leave them in the oven a little longer than usual?”
“I always use a timer.You know how I hate overbaked cookies.”
“Jo, you’re a perfectionist in every way.Which is why I’m so puzzled.The cookies were definitely crispy—not soft and chewy like usual.Two of our guests complained.”
“Well, it’s a mystery to me,” Jo said.
Amy agreed, but it was a small matter and time to drop the subject.“Did I tell you Kris wants to bake cookies this morning after breakfast?”He loved being the Graff’s Christmas Santa, but the role could be stressful, and he found baking therapeutic.
“That’s no problem.There’s room for two in this kitchen.You know, maybe I’ll bake both kinds of scones.That way you’ll have options for the Christmas tea on Sunday.”
“That would be wonderful, but it’s not necessary.You know the deal is we supply the setting and the tea, while the Carrigans provide the food.”The matriarch of the Carrigan family had been a Bramble, and her daughters saw the tea as a way to keep the memory of Mable Bramble, and that of the entire Bramble heritage, alive.
“I’ll give Sage a call and see if they even want my scones,” Jo said.
“I can’t imagine they’d say no.They must have to bake for days to make enough food for the event.I feel like Chet and I get off easy, only supplying the setting and the Bramble family china and silver.”All of which had come with the house when Amy purchased it three years ago.
“You and Chet set up for the party, work the event, and take care of cleanup as well.I say you do plenty.”
“You’re right—it is a lot.But it’s fun and a great cause.”Proceeds from the fundraiser helped underprivileged kids attend Chet’s Big Sky Rodeo Academy.
“Ella and I would be more than happy to help serve and clean as well.”
“I appreciate the offer, but you both work so hard this time of year.Sunday’s your only completely free day of the week.Anyway, we’ll have Shelley this year.She practically begged me for the extra hours.”Amy put down her coffee mug.It was time she made herself useful.“What else is on the menu this morning besides your cinnamon buns?”
“I’ve got a big bowl of muesli in the fridge, and I’m planning to bake a cheddar broccoli frittata and fry up some of those chicken cranberry sausages that Robbie loves.”
“Sounds delish.I’ll put out bowls as well as plates.”
Jo had finished rolling the dough into a large rectangle.Amy watched as she slathered it with melted butter, then sprinkled generous quantities of brown sugar, cinnamon, and chopped pecans.A baking dish had already been prepared with a layer of melted butter and sugar and more chopped pecans.Amy’s mouth watered at the thought of how delectable the buns were going to be.
By seven o’clock the table had been set, cinnamon buns were in the oven, and Amy was chopping broccoli for Jo’s frittata when Chet brought Robin in for his breakfast.
“I left him in his jammies, but his diaper’s clean,” Chet said as he handed the baby over to Amy.
“Good morning, my little sweetheart.”Amy kissed his chubby cheek.“Are you ready for some muesli and chicken sausages?”She loved these early mornings before the guests came down, when it was just her family and Jo in the kitchen.She usually fed the baby while Chet warmed up the espresso maker and prepared a fresh pot of coffee.They were equipped to supply everything from English breakfast tea to fancy cappuccinos and lattes.
As they chatted and laughed at Robin’s cute antics, a part of her remained unsettled.Those cookies—such a small thing, and yet it irritated her.Perhaps she was too much of a perfectionist, but guests gave negative reviews for the smallest of problems.And she knew prospective guests checked those reviews before booking.
