* * *
The morning rush had slowed at Sugar & Spice Bakery, and Tora cast a speculative gaze on the muffin trays. Did she need to whip up another batch of blueberry yet, or maybe a dozen of orange-cranberry? What she needed first was to get the trays of gingerbread cookies decorated before the lunch rush started. Both coffee pots were full and the orange juice dispenser was at the right level for this time of day. After a quick glance at the eating area, she scooted into the kitchen and grabbed the icing bag.
Almost by rote, she outlined the cookie-cutter shape of a dozen boys and another dozen girls. Next came three dots down the center which she topped with a variety of mini-chocolate pieces, imperials or gumdrops slices. As she added other details to personalize the cookies, she thought of the chance meeting with Jordan Dawson. Wonder why his daughter looked so sad? She sure was a cutie pie. Just like her dad.
Tora jerked upright. That is so inappropriate. There was probably a Mrs. Dawson somewhere. Although, she’d checked out his left hand and Jordan hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring.
The sound of marimba music filled the air and her apron pocket vibrated. Tora set down the icing bag, dug out her phone and tapped the Accept bar. “Hi, Mama. How’s Arizona?” She switched the phone to speaker mode and set it on the counter behind her, and then continued decorating.
“Hello, dear. We’re fine here. I just dropped off Gram at the senior center, and I’m headed to a yarn shop.”
Bangs appeared on one girl and a cheery smile on another. “Sounds good. How’s the weather?” Tora scooted along the kitchen island to reach the next tray.
“We’re in southern Arizona, it’s hot.”
“True, that’s what I’ve heard.” But I wouldn’t know because I’ve never actually been there.
“Well, I had the sudden urge to talk to you. Has something happened today?”
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Tora just shook her head. Hammond women had this special gift of sensing when romantic elements changed in the lives of those around them. Usually she fielded these questions from Gram. Nothing had been kept secret from Mama and Gram—not the special valentine she got from Bobby Smith in sixth grade, or Jim Anderson’s invitation to the Sadie Hawkins dance in high school, or the day in senior year when she accepted Trevor Sullivan’s letterman’s jacket. When she’d arrived at the bakery on each of those occasions, Gram handed her a gingerbread boy cookie with icing accents hinting at the event that had occurred that day. Gram wanted to label them her matchmaker cookies, but Mama preferred to keep the practice more secret.
“Now that you ask, yes, something happened.” She squeezed two loops and two crosses at the ankles for a girl’s tennis shoes. “I hung the “For Sale” sign.”
A gasp sounded. “So your decision is made.”
Tora stopped decorating and stared at the phone, as if she could discern her mother’s expression. “We discussed this, and I thought we all agreed.”
“Oh, I know, honey. I was just surprised.”
Why had that little gasp sounded like so much more? Barely aware of her movements, Tora picked up a cookie and nibbled on the foot, enjoying the explosion of sweet spices in her mouth. “Plus, Mr. Trenton is checking his files for possible buyers.”
“Uh-huh. What I meant was, have you met a new man?”
Really? She could tell this from nine hundred miles away? “There was a new customer and his daughter this morning. A sports hero from a while back. Jordan Dawson, remember him?”
“I thought so, um, I mean, of course I remember him. Big strapping boy with a great smile. Phyllis and Glen Dawson moved to Flagstaff a couple years ago. You remember, they ordered a raspberry-filled vanilla full sheet cake for their going-away party.”
Tora was always amazed how Mama and Gram marked special events by the recipe they’d used. “I do remember.” She picked up the bag and added a touch here and there on the cookies’ brown surfaces, then took another bite of crisp cookie as she worked.
“So, was Jordan travelling through town for the holidays?”
“No, Mama, he’s moved back to Dorado and is opening a store here.”
“Hmm, that is very interesting.” A pause ensued, followed by quiet tapping.
Tora knew that sound. Her mother rapped a manicured fingernail on her bottom teeth when she was thinking hard. “What’s so interesting?”
A thrilling laugh sounded. “My curiosity is satisfied, and I’m off to check out yarn for my next crochet project. Don’t forget to keep a good stock of the gingerbread people baked. Especially at this time of year. Love you, honey. Bye.”
Keep gingerbread people stocked? In a flash, Tora glanced from the cookie in her hand to the tray of gingerbread boys. All were decorated as either a baseball or a football player—the two sports Jordan had played. Oh my god. Her whole body tensed and the cookie shattered, sending a shower of crumbs over her silver running shoes.
How did Mama manage that?
Gingerbread Wishes Page 4