She moved to the kitchen area. The small but handy island held her stand mixer and baking sheets. “I started a batch because making the shapes is the best part. Climb on up and let’s get baking.” She patted one of the two barstools for Lizzie.
Lizzie stayed on her knees on the chair. Charlotte pointed to the batter. “We’ll roll this out and cut out shapes. Then we can decorate them.” She had frosting, sprinkles, and all sorts of fun decorations laid out on the countertop. Turning, she set the oven to preheat.
Micah removed his coat and placed it over the back of the recliner. “Nice chair.” He patted the overstuffed leather headrest. It took up way too much real estate, but once she moved into the house on the corner, it would be perfectly proportioned to its surroundings.
Lizzie nodded quickly. “It was my dad’s. He used to sit in it to watch movies. And when I was little, that’s the spot we picked to readThe Night Before Christmas.” She planned to continue the tradition this year–though it wouldn’t be the same without him.
“Used to?” Micah asked as he approached, rolling up his sleeves to reveal corded forearms.
Charlotte tried not to notice his corded forearms. They were all sorts of manly looking, and she had a thing for rolled sleeves on a guy. “He, uh,” she blinked and cleared her head. “He passed away a couple of years ago. Cancer.”
“My grandma died of cancer too,” Lizzie volunteered. “I didn’t meet her, though.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte offered Micah.
Their eyes met, and a connection came together. The kind that happens when two people experience the same loss. Maybe their situations weren’t identical. Nevertheless, they suddenly understood neither had a smooth road.
The sound of sprinkles hitting the metal bowl had Charlotte flipping around and breaking the connection.
Lizzie tipped the bottle all the way upside-down and patted it. Red, white, and green sprinkles covered the batter.
Charlotte was transported back in time to when she’d done the same thing. She stared at the batter, a wave of Deja Vu washing over her head like a blanket on a cold winter’s night. She was suddenly a little girl with this need inside of her to make everything look like Christmas. To bring the joy of the season to the hardest of hearts and to share the Baby Jesus and His story with everyone. Her childlike faith had been tested throughout the years–especially when Dad passed away. But that faith pulled her through the dark moments and helped her find a new normal. Even then, she hadn’t felt this swelling of confidence in her convictions for a long time.
“Lizzie,” Micah admonished softly, drawing Charlotte out of her memory. “The sprinkles are for decorating.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened as she stared at the empty container in her little hand.
Charlotte hurried to assure her. “You know what? I did that once, too.” She turned on the mixer and it worked the sprinkles into the batter. “The good thing about this batter is that it tastes even better with sprinkles.” She winked.
Lizzie glanced at her wish and hugged herself. “It does?”
Charlotte turned off the mixer and used a spoon to scoop out a bit. She popped it into her mouth and moaned happily. Sugar, butter-flavored Crisco, and the slight crunch of sprinkles were better than gumdrops any day. These might be perfect cookies. “It’s so good.”
A smile crept over Lizzie’s cheeks. “Can I try some?”
“Sure!” Charlotte grabbed another spoon out of the drawer, closed it with her hip, and scooped up a taste.
Lizzie tasted it and smiled. “Dad too?”
“Of course.” Charlotte tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as she thought of spoon-feeding Micah a taste of anything.
Why was she suddenly picturing them cuddled up by a fire and sharing one piece of cheesecake?
And why did her body heat like she was in front of that fire?
Also, what made her think cheesecake was romantic? Sure, it was delicious and just about the best dessert on this side of forbidden fruit, but random that it ended up in her daydream.
Also random that she had all these thoughts in less time than it took to load cookie dough onto a spoon. Instead of holding it up for him to bite, she set the spoon on the counter for him to retrieve. That was much safer than chancing an accidental brush of their hands.
Micah didn’t smile as he picked up the spoon. He tasted the dough and then bobbed his head. “Not bad.”
Not bad?! “Wow–you throw the compliments around, don’t ya?” she teased, bumping the drawer closed again. His eyes darted to her hips, her lips, and her eyes, and then to the floor, the tips of his ears turning pink.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly felt like a temptress–the kind of woman that made grown men sit up and take notice. Oh, boy! She was in trouble with this brooding holiday avoider.
If he didn’t look so scrumptious, she’d be fine. At least, that’s what she told herself. Because Micah wasn’t her type, he was too … surly. Not that she’d used that word to describe anyone in her life! But it was the only word that seemed to fit the handsome grump.
Okay, not the only word. Grump worked.
