Page 25 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
“Great! Let me just tell Bayard where I’ll be for a bit.”
When Jasper returned to the cookie-decorating table, Wren had set their cookie aside. Instead she was helping a small girl who’d gotten frosting all over her hands and was close to tears.
“Here you go, Lisbeth,” Wren said gently, handing the child a wet cloth. “No harm done. And look, you can make that squiggle a part of the design. See? Now it totally looks like snow.”
The girl’s face brightened, and she attacked the cookie with renewed enthusiasm.
Jasper watched Wren, so patient and kind. She made him feel all warm and glowy inside. Part of it was the magical holiday ambiance. But a larger part of it was Wren’s natural charm. Shegrinned at him now. He noticed she had sprinkles stuck to her cheek.
He reached out to brush them off, then tasted one. “Mmmm! Chocolate freckles are the best.”
“I have no idea how those got there.” Wren giggled. Then she changed the subject. “Have you seen Fred’s new sweater?”
“No?” Jasper cocked his head. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Fred all morning. “Where is the little guy?”
“He’s over there, modeling for his supper. Putting on quite the show! Who knew what a ham that little bird was!”
She pointed toward the knitwear booth, where Fred was waddling self-importantly between the displays, modeling his newest wardrobe acquisition: a tiny cream-colored sweater with an embroidered cheese wheel emblazoned across the back. He paused dramatically in front of a group of guests, then pivoted on his webbed foot, waddling back around the tiny booth for a second pass.
“He’s absolutely precious,” the vendor cooed, straightening Fred’s collar. “I couldn’t have found a better model for my line. Who could resist such a cute duck in a handknit sweater?”
Fred quacked proudly and continued his circuit of the market, accepting compliments and treats from admirers.
“Just let me know if he gives you any trouble,” Wren said. “Bayard asked me to keep an eye on him while he’s in a meeting.
“Oh, he’s no bother at all,” the vendor said. “I should probably be offering him a salary!”
“All right, then!” Wren turned back to Jasper, who was still watching her with that goofy “I-have-a-secret” grin.
“About that cookie…” He held up a tube of frosting and a bowl of rainbow colored sprinkles. “I hope you don’t mind getting a little messy!”
“Bring it on!” She smiled.
SLICE OF LIFE
The cold punched like a physical blow when Bayard stepped outside. Wind whipped snow across the deck, and the temperature had to be well below freezing. But Zephyr was already there, leaning against the railing, his face turned up to the storm.
“Bit bracing, being out here in the storm, isn’t it?” Zephyr said as Bayard joined him.
“Bracing is one word for it,” Bayard agreed, his breath forming clouds. He had to shout to be heard. “Foolhardy might be another.”
“Ah, but sometimes you need the cold to think clearly.” Zephyr pulled out a silver flask and offered it to Bayard. “Medicinal. Against the chill.”
Bayard took a grateful sip of the brandy, smooth and warming. He handed it back, and they stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the snow swirl around them.
“You wanted to talk,” Zephyr said. It wasn’t a question.
Bayard sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Was I that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s known you for the better part of a century.” Zephyr took another sip from the flask. “I presume this is about Exandra?”
“When isn’t it about Exandra?” Bayard’s laugh was bitter. “I thought... when you retired, when you found Minerva again and told her how you felt, I thought perhaps I might find that courage, too. That I might tell her...”
“Tell her what?” Zephyr’s eyes were a clear, true blue.
He was going to make Bayard say it.
“That I love her. That I’ve always loved her. That every day without her feels incomplete.” The words tumbled out of Bayard, raw and desperate. “But I can’t seem to make myself do it, Zeph. Agent Thorne deserves so much better than a broken-down old academic with a limp and a duck.”
