“I’ll blend the ingredients, and you can search the pantry for anatomical enticements.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Like peppermint sticks?”
“Those work, as would red licorice.” She winked at him. “Be creative, Lander.”
He found the pantry to be a minimart. He went item by item, imagining the perfect combinations. His arms were weighted down with jars and cans by the time he returned. He laid out everything he’d chosen on the round dining room table. He pulled out a chair, sat, and watched Abby translate her grandmother’s old-fashioned recipe into erotic gingerbread men.
He rested his elbows on the table top, and asked, “Have you always wanted to bake?” He was curious.
She took time with her answer. “Baking soothes me, and each recipe has a memory attached to it,” she said with feeling. “Gram’s gingerbread was always my favorite. Her double-chocolate-chip cookies were like a crooked finger, beckoning me home as soon as I’d step off the school bus. Her angel food cake was pure heaven.”
Lander wished he’d had the opportunity to meet Ada, though he felt he knew her through Abby. Memories kept one’s spirit alive. Ada would always be a part of the cabin.
The sound of the electric hand mixer woke Tennyson. He padded across the living room to the kitchen. The paper sack caught his eye, and he slunk low. He poked his head inside the opening, then retreated. His meow was fierce as he extended his claws and attacked the sack, ripping it to shreds.
Once Tenn had destroyed the sack beyond recognition, Abby grabbed a broom and dust pan from a narrow closet and swept up the mess. “He had fun,” she said, humor in her voice. “He used up most of his energy, too. Chances are good he’ll sleep again.”
Her prediction was correct. The calico lay down by Lander’s feet and twitched his nose. Vanilla, brown sugar, and molasses sweetened the air. A few more ingredients were added, and the dough was soon ready to refrigerate. She then whipped up three flavors of royal frosting. By that time, Tennyson again snored.
She turned to Lander and smiled. An easy smile of accomplishment. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. Wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. A hint of flour powdered the sleeve on her sweater, and a bit of brown sugar speckled her wrist.
This was her domain, he realized. She was relaxed and happy as she loaded the dishwasher. He liked the sway of her hips when she wiped down the countertop. Should her business take off as she hoped, she would need a much bigger kitchen. He wished her every success.
“What’s on your Christmas list?” he asked her.
She crossed to where he sat, pulled out a chair, and joined him at the table. “I had only one wish,” she said on a sigh. “The Historical Society of Philadelphia offers a Christmas Eve tour through the mansions on Chestnut Hill each year. Before Gram passed away, we’d written to the sponsors and requested an invitation. We weren’t selected.”
Lander was familiar with the holiday tour. He’d seen it advertised. Those on Chestnut Hill decorated lavishly. They spared no expense. The prominent families opened their doors to forty visitors, many of them historians or librarians.
“Perhaps next year,” he offered hopefully.
“I’ll keep trying,” she said. “The only other thing I’d like to see happen someday would be the expansion of my Internet business to include additional holidays.”
“Valentine’s Day would draw customers,” he said. “You could decorate with candy hearts, chocolate nut clusters, and red-and-white unicorn suckers.”
“Unicorn suckers, huh?”
“They’re pointy.”
“How about you, Lander,” she asked, “are you on Santa’s naughty or nice list?”
“His naughty list, once I decorate the gingerbread women.”
“We’ll both get coal in our stockings this year,” she teased him.
Two hours passed in the blink of an eye. They’d touched on so many topics. Abby had a depth he appreciated. They were similar in many ways. She liked to read and was a woman interested in art. She lived in ski country, but hadn’t advanced beyond the bunny slopes. She could laugh at herself. He liked the way she teased him, too. She did the daily crossword puzzles in pen and kept up on current affairs. She loved winter, the heavier the snowfall the better.
Beside him now, Abby stretched out her legs, then rose from her chair. “It’s time to roll out the dough, cut the cookies, and bake them. Once they cool, we’ll decorate.”
She preheated the oven and got to work. Using her grandmother’s old-fashioned cookie cutters, she made three dozen Las Vegas gingerbread men for her order, along with four extra for Lander to test his skills.
Thirty minutes later, she was sliding them off the cookie sheets and onto the dining room table, now covered with wax paper. Three piping bags were filled with white, green, and red frosting. They would use small spatulas to spread the icing.
“I’ll decorate the men and you can have fun with the women,” she said. “The lady who placed the order requested all the G-men look alike, so there’d be no squabbles over who ate which one.”
Lander couldn’t believe how meticulously Abby worked. Her hands were steady; her gaze was intent. All the cookies had mini-chocolate-chip eyes and thin candied orange slices for their mouths. They wore red frosted vests with white piping, short red pants and matching boots. Between their chunky gingerbread thighs she designed green wreaths with peppermint-stick penises—sticking straight out.
After watching her for a short time, Lander got busy, too. He spread a thin layer of white frosting over one of his gingerbread women, then sprinkled her with sparkling green and gold sugar. She glimmered.
Abby cut him a glance and said, “Very Tinkerbell.”
He had to agree. The G-woman looked more Disney cartoon than erotic cookie. So much for his first attempt. He decided she’d make a nice snack. “The gingerbread is delicious, Abby,” he said, after taking his first bite. It was the best he’d ever tasted.
“I have milk leftover from the recipe,” she offered. “It’s in the refrigerator.”
Milk and cookies. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such a treat. He poured them both a glass.
His second effort at decorating fared better. He used frosting for the eyes and mouth. What he hoped would be a sexy smile turned into a sneer. He removed the icing with the spatula and tried again. And again.
Abby nodded her approval after his fourth attempt. “That smile says come and eat me,” she said.
He used small yellow gumdrops for the gingerbread woman’s breasts. Debated on how to decorate her crotch. He went with shredded coconut. Which drew Abby’s laugh.
“Good choice,” she praised once she’d stopped laughing. “You’re getting the hang of it, Lander.”
He had two cookies left, and an idea he thought might please her. He didn’t tell Abby what he planned; he wanted to achieve the desired result first. Placing the cookies side by side, he imagined them as a bride and groom.
He then began to decorate.
He reached for the piping bag of white frosting and started with the bride. He made a border around her head, then flared the white at her shoulders like a wedding veil. So far so good, he thought. He gave her mini-marshmallow breasts, dabbed the nipples with pink sparkle sugar.
Returning to the white frosting, he drew a wavy, crinkly skirt. He left enough room for a miniature chocolate-covered cherry at her crotch. He added white shoes, with girly straps at the ankle. His final touch came with green M&M eyes and his signature sexy red icing lips.
Abby had stopped her own decorating and was watching him now. She drew in a breath and said, “Lander, that’s amazing. You have erotic cookie talent.”
He grinned at her. “Now for the groom.”
He dabbed the edges of the G-man’s head with white frosting, then curved a short whip of black licorice over the icing and attached it. The hair stuck. Raisin eyes worked nicely. He upped the ante by giving the groom an even sexier grin than
his bride.
He spread vanilla frosting for the formal shirt, and added mini chocolate chips for the buttons. The black licorice came in handy a second time, as Lander used it to make suspenders to hold up the white pants. At the groin, Lander went with two peanuts and a cinnamon stick.
“I’m impressed,” Abby said. “I’ll add your specialty cookies to the order. The bride will love them.”
He rubbed his hands together and stepped back from the table. “My work here is done.”
She finished up her own cookies, and the table flared with penises. Lander moved to the couch, prepared to relax. Abby cleaned up and joined him shortly thereafter. “The gingerbread cookies need to set, then I’ll pack them in a corrugated box with bubble wrap and popcorn,” she told him.
He’d hoped their day together would pass slowly; instead it quickly got away from them. They fooled around, then simply held each other. They laughed, and then grew still. Tennyson woke and, with Abby’s assistance, settled between them on the sofa. In the afternoon silence, their closeness deepened. Neither of them found small talk important. They took the time to embrace the moment and appreciate each other.
Abby fixed them fried-egg sandwiches for a midnight supper. After that, they snuggled under the quilt, so comfortable and cozy they drifted off.
To Lander’s disappointment, he woke to sunshine filtering through the living room window. Bright and warming. The old Swiss clock read eight-thirty. Today would be a difficult one, he knew. Shane Griffin was to pick him up at nine o’clock. He had very little time to say good-bye to Abby. He gently nudged her awake.
She stirred, and gazed up at him. Her expression was sad and guarded, as if she were afraid to face the day. “You’re ready to go?” she asked him, a catch in her voice.
“Close to it,” he returned.
“You don’t have anything to pack.”
“I leave as I arrived,” he said, “with my muddy coat, torn shirt, and wrinkled pants. My socks have holes, and my shoes have cracked. Part of one sole is missing.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “I think you look handsome.”
“Love can be blind,” he surprised himself by saying.
She managed a small smile. “I see you just fine.”
“Today isn’t good-bye,” he assured her. “We’ll connect again soon. I promise.”
She nodded, but didn’t seem convinced.
The sound of a horn in the driveway brought their conversation to an end. Shane Griffin had arrived. Fifteen minutes early. He sat in his tow truck and let it idle as he waited for Lander.
Abby panicked. “You haven’t had your coffee.”
He kissed her lightly. “I’ll grab a cup in town, although it won’t compare to Santa’s Helper,” he teased her as he rose from the couch.
He drew her up beside him. She’d slept in her sweats. He held her so close she felt a part of him. She hugged him back. He rested his chin on the top of her head, letting the static strands tickle his cheeks. “Soon, Abby,” he repeated. “we’ll continue where we’ve left off.” He then released her. Hating to do so.
She lowered her arms and he saw her hands shake. He heard her swallow, catching the mist in her eyes before she rapidly blinked.
“Bye, Lander, have a safe trip,” she said so softly he wasn’t sure she’d even spoken.
“Later, Abby.” He gave her one final kiss.
His ruined cashmere coat hung on a hanger by the door. He put it on. His own hands trembled. He had a lump in his throat and his heart felt heavy as he walked toward the door.
“Meow.”
Lander glanced down and noticed that Tennyson was trailing him. He bent and gave the cat a final scratch behind his ear. “Remember our agreement,” he whispered to Tenn. “Take care of our Abby.”
The calico head butted his palm, giving his word.
He had his hand on the door handle, when Abby called, “Wait, just a second.”
She hurried down the hallway to the pantry, returned in a matter of seconds. She carried several boxes, which she quickly packed in a paper sack.
Approaching him, she said, “Merry Christmas. I wanted you to have the holiday goodies I’d ordered for my grandmother. Enjoy them, Lander.”
“Oh . . . Abby.” He sighed. Her gifts were telling. She’d come a long way, and was now able to part with the presents once intended for Gram. She’d given them to him.
She pushed him lightly. “Don’t make Shane wait any longer. I’m sure Grady’s Garage is busy after all the snow.”
The blizzard had brought them together.
The sunshine now drove them apart.
Lander decided the moment he cleared the door that he wanted to not only spend this winter but each season in the year ahead with Abby Denton.
Chapter 5
Ten days had passed, and Abby hadn’t heard from Lander. It was as if their time on the mountain had been no more than a dream. Sadly, she’d wakened.
Tonight was her night, and she was about to celebrate her good fortune. She would be touring Chestnut Hill. She clutched the engraved invitation in her hand. Gold ink, heavy brocade white paper. First class all the way. She couldn’t believe a last-minute cancellation had landed her on the excursion. She’d never felt so lucky. She only wished her grandmother was here with her. She believed Ada was with her in spirit.
Abby had driven to Philadelphia, and left her SUV in the parking lot at the historical society. That’s where she’d boarded the luxury tour bus. The bus now dropped its passengers off in front of the first home.
She stood beneath a Victorian-style cast-iron street lamp. Pushing up the sleeve of her jacket, she glanced at her watch. It was seven o’clock. The pale-blue twilight now darkened to a deep navy sky. The night was cold but clear, with just enough stars to support the soft glow of the corner light.
Twelve of the city’s oldest mansions were included on the tour and she couldn’t wait to get started. Six homes bordered each side of the street. A park curved at the cul-de-sac, land recently purchased by the historical society.
The tour guide and historian, Winston Moore, collected his group and proceeded to the first Victorian mansion. The brick sidewalks were safely cleared, and the magnificent Christmas lights on each estate shone across the freshly powdered snow, lighting her way.
Winston appeared elderly with his white hair and rounded shoulders, but his step was spry and his manners spoke of an era gone by. He wore a herringbone wool coat with a red velvet vest and a white pocket square tucked into his lapel, perfectly pinched and standing up in a puff, Abby thought, smiling to herself.
His knowledge of Chestnut Hill was unmatched. He shared stories of old family money and the skeletons in turn-of-the-century closets. Passion and prejudice. Scandal and deception. Abby absorbed every word, her eyes widening. It was better than any family friction on TV reality shows, she decided. The details of fortunes lost and lovers taken seemed juicier somehow when the characters had that much money.
The 1870 Ebenezer Grange Mansion bore a striking resemblance to the home from the Addams Family, she thought, as she climbed the gray stone steps and entered the main hallway. An entry fire had been set. The hall was toasty. She unbuttoned her jacket and listened as Winston introduced three of Ebenezer Grange’s descendants presently gathered to greet the tour. A husband, wife, and their daughter. They were dressed formally.
Black tie and slicked-back hair gave the gentleman a GQ look, while the lady and young girl complemented each other in matching deep burgundy silk dresses trimmed with elegant black braid. The mother was stylish in black suede pumps and her daughter wore patent leather Mary Jane shoes.
The guide then gave an accounting of the cloth merchant’s fortune and family tree. “Ebenezer Grange primarily dealt in coarse twill and worsted weft, but he preferred silk and fine linen for his own shirts and undergarments,” he said with a smile. “Grange was known to be tight with his money, although he doted on his only son. A bit of a c
hauvinist as well, he was convinced his wife’s place was at home. He went on to travel the world with his heir.”
He next steered the group toward the drawing room to enjoy the Victorian Christmas tree. “The Blue Spruce has been traditionally decorated with apples, tangerines, walnuts dipped in egg white, and strings of cranberries and popcorn,” he told them. He added that sampling was not permitted.
Abby took it all in. The lighting came from wall sconces and clusters of pale tapers in crystal candle holders. Vintage holiday cards from days long past were displayed on the top of a baby grand piano. A pianist and trio of singers dressed in green velvet robes sang carols. “O Christmas Tree” followed “I Heard the Bells.”
The familiar melodies took on a rich, ebullient tone in this grand house, adding to the special holiday moment. Abby loved it, yet she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness. This beautiful family and their traditions reminded her that she would never again know the warm touch of her grandmother’s hand on her arm urging her to hurry and heat up the cocoa so they could enjoy the bubbling lights on the Christmas tree. But with sadness also came a different emotion.
Joy.
The memory of Lander’s arms around her. His lips on hers. Her body melting into his. She was grateful for the time they’d had together. He’d been caring, affectionate, and great in bed. He was a present under her tree that she’d never expected. She’d hold his memory in her heart forever.
Layne Marshall, the woman who’d sat next to Abby on the luxury bus, nudged Abby with her elbow. “It says in the brochure that Earl Grey tea, cinnamon scones, and shortbread cookies will be served in the formal dining room.”
“Sounds delicious,” Abby said, her voice catching in her throat. She breathed deeply, trying to keep her emotions at bay.
The two women walked down the hall, in search of the holiday fare. They were not the first to arrive. Others from the tour were already gathered around a circular table, sipping tea and enjoying the elegant service.
Their tour guide allowed them fifteen minutes to further explore the lower level of the mansion. The upper two stories were reserved strictly for family.
The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap Page 23