Page 12 of Tying the Knot with her Sweet Scrooge

“Have been for a while now, Darling. You just never noticed because of my rugged good looks.”

“I do have a thing for plucked-chicken-butt chins…”

“Ouch, Jill,” he laughed, smiling at her. “Want me to grow the beard again?”

“I kinda liked my scruffy mountain man… and I miss him.”

“Then you shall have him,” he murmured tenderly – and slapped a bowl onto the countertop, lifting an eyebrow. “We might have a problem to correct first.”

“What’s that?”

“The kids were eating the cookies earlier, so I thought we could make them instead… if you don’t mind helping me,” he said simply. “I bought red and green sugar crystals to sprinkle on the top so they are ‘crunchified’…”

“Okay,” Jill glared, putting her hands on her hips.What in the world was going on with him?First, he shaved his face, then he started ignoring her, and now he was acting all playfuland loving? “Who are you, and what have you done with my husband? Is he bound and gagged in the basement? Are you a body double? He’s been snagged by little green men, hasn’t he?”

Her husband simply smiled at her – and slid the crock of cold butter toward her that Christina had made before leaving for Texas to go see Gideon’s family.

“What are you up to?”

“I told you,” he replied innocently. “I want to make cookies.”

“You don’t even like cookies,” she retorted in confusion. “Every time you ask for something, it’s Chantilly cake – in fact, I have a bowl of the frosting waiting in the fridge for tomorrow. I was going to make you one instead of a Yule log for Christmas.”

“Maybe I wanted to do something foryou,” he mumbled, turning away.

She saw him slide the massive glass container of sugar that was stored in an old tea decanter that she loved. They had bought it together at a rummage sale in Laramie one afternoon when he was home. She had fallen in love with the pink clear glass with the round thumb-shaped presses and sculpted flowers – not caring in the slightest that there was a spigot for tea. Her house, her rules, her kitchen, and she used it as her sugar jar because it made her happy.

“Here,” she said finally, moving beside him. “So you want cookies now?”

“I thought we could make them together – and talk.”

Jill looked up at his beloved face, seeing the ravaged expression in his eyes as he looked at her. He knew she had been upset, but stayed away regardless? Why?

“Talk about what?” she asked, moving deftly around the kitchen to get the rest of the ingredients. “Can you put a half a cup of butter in the bowl? I’ll be right there and…” as she turned, words failed her as she watched her husband shove a spoon intothe butter, upending a massive wad of the golden spread before plopping it into the bowl. “That’s not half a cup.”

“My cup is different than yours.”

“Babe,” she sighed heavily. “Everyone uses the same measuring tools here – the rest of the world uses other stuff, but in ‘America’s Freedom Fractions,’ a half a cup is the blue plastic one that says one-slash-two, buster…”

“I know what I did,” he smirked and didn’t look away from her as she set down the plastic container of flour.

“Fine. I want two cups of fine cake flour,” she replied, shoving the container toward him… and watched in disbelief as he took the same spoon he used on the butter and put it in the flour. “No, no, no!” she wailed, rushing to the other side of the island to where he was, scooping the soft flour into the bowl like a mad fiend. It must have been six or seven heaping scoops that he put in the bowl before she could wrestle it away from him.

And he was laughing.

“It’s not funny,” she replied, pointing to the container. “You left butter in the flour, and this is the good stuff…”

“Come here,” he said tenderly, pulling her into the shelter of his arms but facing away from him. “Look at the bowl, Jill. What do you see?”

“A mess that is never going to set up. We’re going to end up with cookies the size of dinner plates that will probably be crispy or…”

“But it’s ours,” he whispered softly against her ear. “A little mix of this, a dollop of that, and at any other time – it’s nothing, but when you put them together, something special happens.”

“What are you doing?” she breathed, trying to turn toward him but he held her firmly in place, kissing her cheek softly as he nuzzled her ear.

“Explaining stuff,” he continued, picking up the clotted butter spoon that was caked with flour and pulled the bowl close,awkwardly stirring and beginning to cream the two ingredients. “I mean, Jill, look at this – and you are right. It’s a mess because I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying, and it’s never worked until you said ‘hello’ to me… and again, our recipe is changing.”

Jill swallowed silently as he shoved the filthy spoon into the sugar container – and she slapped her forehead in annoyance, but treasured his laugh as he dragged sugar across the countertop to the bowl and kept stirring.

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