“I love an eager student.”
A few wet snowflakes fell, the kind that would turn the landscape muddy instead of a pretty white.
“So it begins,” Pat said, pointing up at the sky with one handwhile continuing to feed treats with the other. “We should finish up for today. The forecast says it’s going to be a white Christmas.”
I gave Darling one last scratch under the chin, then followed Pat out of the pen. “Snow every day this week. Going to make holiday travel a mess.”
We headed for the house side by side.
“We’re staying local,” Pat said. “You?”
“Same. A quiet day at my mom’s house with my sister and brother-in-law.”
I realized that Andrew and I hadn’t discussed how Christmas was going to play out. But then again, I had no idea if our concept of fun included any of the major holidays.
“Andrew invited us over to his house for Christmas Eve, then we’re supposed to go to my brother’s house in New Jersey on Christmas Day. It’s nice to hand off the hosting duties after Thanksgiving. That takes a lot out of me.”
We both went quiet at the mention of Thanksgiving. It was hard not to think about how the celebration of family had gone spectacularly off the rails in front of everyone. Of course, the day held other significance to me, but Pat didn’t know about that part.
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” she asked plainly. She didn’t have to explain what she meant.
“It was a blip in an otherwise wonderful day.”
Pat shook her head, frowning. “He’s been quiet. Have you noticed?”
I couldn’t let on how much I knew about the reasons for Andrew being less Andrew lately. Everything was connected, and to talk about one thread would start to unravel the rest of it. Iwasn’t sure how much he’d told his mom, or even if she knew that we were more than just neighbors, and I wasn’t about to be the one who spilled the news about any of it.
“I’m sure it’s entrepreneur stress,” I answered vaguely.
She pursed her lips and nodded. “Maybe. He’s been avoiding coming over and Gerard is too proud to reach out for help on all of his projects around here. It’s never been quite this tense.”
I blinked at her, wishing I could explain what Andrew was grappling with.
“That’s not your concern,” she finally said. “Wait here, I have something for you.”
Pat jogged up the front steps to the house and left me to wonder what form of payment she’d come up with this time. I’d stopped taking her checks after the first session so she’d resorted to finding other ways to compensate me, from knitting a pair of fingerless gloves in a cheerful pink that allowed me to work with the goats but still keep my hands warm, to a bookmark laminated with pressed flowers from her garden. This time, she came out carrying a cookie tin.
“Merry Christmas! These are Spitzbube, Kipfeln, and Pfeffernüsse,” she said as she handed it to me. “I went a little overboard in the kitchen this year.”
I popped off the cover to find a treasure trove of powdered-sugar-dusted half-moons, scalloped cookies with circles of jam in the middle, and polished white mounds.
“My mother’s recipes, straight from Hannover.”
“They’re beautiful, thank you!” I was reminded of the last German cookie I’d come in contact with that was still a mystery. I’d forgotten to get a translation since the frosting had crumbled off and I couldn’t remember how the phrase wasspelled. “Andrew mentioned that you speak German. Could you translate something for me?”
“Of course.”
“My pronunciation is terrible but I, uh, I saw a big gingerbread cookie at the German Christmas market that said ‘fur mane skats.’ ”
She frowned for a moment, then her face lit up as she figured out what I was trying to say. “Oh, you meanfür mein Schatz. That means ‘for my sweetheart,’ but in our house we translate it a little differently.Schatzalso means treasure.”
Sweetheart?Treasure?I’d expected it to mean something like “happy holidays.” I didn’t want to read too much into a message on a cookie, but it was almost impossible to resist the happy, fizzy feelings generated from Andrew calling me his treasure via a baked good. Although things had felt different since our night on the ice. A little less connected, a half step backward toward what we used to be.
My phone rang and I was glad to have a reason to stop overanalyzing what was going on.
“It’s my landlord. Our landlord,” I said after I pulled it from my pocket. “I’m going to head out, but we’ll talk soon. And thanks for the cookies!” She waved at me as I walked to my car. “Hi, Mike,” I answered. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing. Just figured I’d tell you what’s going on with the building. The people looking at it just told me what they’re planning to do with the place.”
