The boy’s jaw dropped. “Is this a real arrowhead?”
She solemnly nodded. “From the Chippewa Indian Tribe who used to live on Mackinac Island. Have you ever seen one?”
Tristan shook his head.
Harlow held it out. “I’m giving this to you, to bring you luck.”
He stared at the gift but didn’t make a move to take it from her.
“Go ahead, Son,” Brett said.
He hesitantly reached for it, his small hand warm on her palm as he took the special gift. “Thank you, Harlow.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t have to hook it to your backpack, but whenever you’re feeling down, rub it and it will cheer you up or maybe even bring you good luck.”
“It certainly worked for you,” Morgan joked.
Tristan carefully inspected it, rubbing his thumb over both sides. “It will remind me of you. I’m going to put it on my backpack as soon as I get home.”
Harlow ruffled his hair. “Next time I see you, you’ll have to let me know how it helped.”
“I will.” He promptly stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll keep it forever.”
“Morgan and I glimpsed the work that’s been done so far,” Brett said. “The construction crews have hit the ground running.”
“They have.” David reached for his jacket. “I’ll show you around. The revised blueprints are on the counter. We can go over them after the tour.”
“I’ll hang out here,” Harlow said. “What about you Mort?”
Mort sniffed the floor, still warily eyeing Chester.
“Do you want to go with Dad?”
His tail wagging a tiny bit, Mort scooched closer to David.
“I’ll take that as a yes. We’ll be back shortly.”
Harlow held the door for them, quietly closing it after they left. She peeked through the window, watching as Tristan skipped ahead while the adults trailed behind. They stepped beyond the gate and disappeared from sight.
While she waited, Harlow whipped up a batch of Michigan Treasure Cookies, a recipe she’d gotten from her Mackie friend Abby, who used them as a signature dessert in her catering business.
After mixing the dark chocolate dough with dried Michigan cherries and chunks of chocolate, she formed perfect circles out of them using the technique her mother had taught her and popped a batch in the oven.
She logged onto the studio’s website and accessed her account. Harlow became engrossed in organizing her to-do list, completely forgetting about the cookies until she smelled something burning.
“The cookies!” She grabbed a potholder and flung the oven door open. The smell of burnt butter wafted out. Harlow hurriedly pulled the cookie sheet from the shelf and set it on top of the stove.
As luck would have it, David and the Eastons returned at precisely that moment.
“Something smells…” Morgan’s voice drifted off.
“Burnt.” Harlow scraped a cookie off the baking sheet, opened the trash can, and dropped it inside. “I thought I would whip up a batch of Michigan Treasure Cookies. I popped them in the oven and promptly forgot they were in there.”
Morgan tiptoed into the kitchen. “At least you didn’t burn them all.”
“No, but given the opportunity, I can burn water.”
“I bet they taste good,” Tristan said.
