“And the master of none,” she shot back.
“Not at all,” he disagreed. “You can do just about anything you set your mind to…cooking, gardening, even making jewelry.”
“Not to mention she’s a card shark,” Harlow teased.
“One of my finest traits,” Lottie chuckled.
Eryn and Aunt Birdie opened their presents. Similar to Harlow’s, they were Petoskey stone earrings but with slightly different patterns.
The women oohed and aahed over their gifts.
“What about Dad?” Harlow asked.
Lottie and David looked at each other. “We exchanged gifts already.”
“Oh?” Harlow shot them a sly side glance. “And what did you give each other?”
The tips of Lottie’s ears turned red. “I…uh.”
“Harlow.” Aunt Birdie waved her finger. “I’m sure if they wanted us to know, they would have told us.”
“True. Forget I asked. Carry on.”
David passed out his presents—one for Eryn, one for Birdie and the last for Harlow.
Inside Harlow’s box she found a hand-carved birdhouse, painted forest green and trimmed in white. A tiny crow’s nest sat perched atop it. She held it up to the light and found mosaic tiles in vivid shades of blue, pink and yellow. “You made this.”
“I did,” David beamed proudly. “I have some shepherd’s hooks out in the shed and figured you could put it near the kitchen window to watch the birds.”
“I love it.” She sprang from her chair and hugged her father. “It’s perfect. I’ll cherish it forever.”
Aunt Birdie was next. Her gift, also handmade, was a set of wind chimes. Eryn was last. David had built a wooden storage box for the back of her bicycle.
Birdie began gathering up the paper while Mort nosed his way around the floor, searching for snacks.
“I have a gift for Mort. I couldn’t forget our special furry family member.” Harlow reached under the tree and slid an oblong box toward him. “This is for you, buddy.”
The pup sniffed the wrapped package. Deeming it uninteresting, he turned to go.
Harlow flung her arm around him. “You’ll want this, I promise. Sit.”
Mort watched as she removed the paper and peeled back the packing tape. Unfolding the flaps, she reached inside and held up the biggest dog bone she could find.
She could’ve sworn Mort’s eyes lit up. He lunged forward, snatched the bone from her hand and took off.
“I think he likes it.”
“Based on how he took it and ran, I’m going to say he’ll have that bone gone by dinnertime,” David predicted.
Aunt Birdie dusted her hands. “Are we done with our Christmas celebration?”
“Not yet.” Harlow ran to her room, returning with a large cardboard box. She reached inside and handed a Christmas gift bag to her aunt, a second bag to her best friend and the last to Lottie.
“What beautiful bags.” Eryn held hers up, showing the others the hand-painted Christmas scene, a family trudging through deep snow, the father dragging a tree behind him while children, their faces ruddy from the cold wintry air, danced alongside.
“I had a friend, a set designer who is also an up-and-coming artist, make them for me. They remind me of Mackinac Island.”
“Look at this one.” Her aunt lifted her bag and slowly spun it around, showing off the quintessential church with a towering steeple and a decorated Christmas tree near the front, piles of drifting snow on the ground with a star twinkling down in the night sky. “Your friend is very talented.”
