Page 85 of Boxed In

“School.”

“For fun.”

“My mom taught me to bake cookies.”

She thought Luke was going to sleep, but he asked, “What kind?”

“Chocolate chips were my favorites. I also liked molasses.”

“You don’t like oatmeal raisin?”

“They’re good too.”

She wanted to ask questions about his childhood, but she knew he was in no shape to keep up his end of the conversation.

He murmured, “Christmas?”

“We’d go out in the country and cut down our own tree. And it was always so big we had to move the furniture around the living room. Then Dad would get the decorations from the attic. We made a lot of them ourselves—some from bread-dough clay.”

“What’s that?”

“A formula with a lot of salt. You can’t eat it. But when you bake it, it gets hard. Then you can paint the surface.”

“Um.”

“We made some ornaments out of real eggs. Mom would make a hole in each end and blow out the insides. After they dried, we’d glue on lace and paint on a base coat, then rub them with gold polish. And we'd put gold cord through one of the holes.”

“Um.”

“We made other ornaments out of felt for the lower branches, so the cats couldn’t break them or tear them up.”

“It sounds like a good family time.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you want for the future?” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

She went rigid. Was he asking about them? Or the personal plans she’d made? And how much did she dare to say?

“I want my own business. I want to be my own boss. I’d do that if I could afford it.”

“What . . . kind of business?”

“Antiques. I know the field. That’s one of the reasons Carl Peterbalm hired me.”

“And he wants . . . to get into your pants,” Luke muttered. Apparently the medicine had undermined his ability to censor his speech.

She laughed. “Yes. But he didn’t even get close.” Without elaborating, she went back to her own plans. “But I’d need a shop and also inventory.”

She got caught up in talking about what she’d been dreaming of for years—until Luke made a sharp noise, and her gaze flew to him. Then she saw he was snoring.

“So much for fascinating you with my daydreams,” she said in a low voice, then looked up to see Dr. Valero in the doorway.

“He wanted to stay awake,” she whispered.

“He needs to sleep.” The doctor gave her a considering look. “And so do you.”

She looked from the doctor to Luke. “What did you give him?” she asked.

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