Page 76 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“No, but speaking of trapped, just last night, you were trapped in the wall. Have you looked through your loot yet?”

She laughs. “Lots of vintage Christmas decorations, including a little wooden village kind of like the ceramic one Betsy has at the salon, but the buildings are miniatures of some here in town. It has to be one of a kind. I just can’t fathom why they were hidden away.”

“And I can’t fathom why I haven’t dug into breakfast yet. It smells amazing.”

She dishes me up a plate. “Presenting, flapjacks.”

I look up sharply, wondering just how much she’s changed because, truth be told, I liked Honey the way she was. More than liked ... “You mean pancakes?”

“Officially, the recipe says they’re flapjacks.” She reminds me about the cookbook she found that belonged to Eloise Tickle.

I take a hearty bite. “They’re delicious. Like a mouth hug.”

“And there I thought I was thepancakequeen.”

I hug her waist. “You’re my queen whether you make pancakes or flapjacks.”

She tips her head back with laughter. Gone is the uptight, tense woman who argued with me about flapjacks and Hugwash. I’ll give her credit for setting me straight and I’ll take an equal portion for setting her at ease. She’s not alone. She can trust me. I care about her more than I’ve done anyone and nothing is going to change that.

I ask, “Speaking of food, what’s on our Christmas meal menu? We can head to the market later before they close.”

“Since this is our first Christmas in the chateau, we could make Eloise’s traditional meal.” She opens the cookbook and shows me recipes for roast duck, crawfish dressing, collards, and pie.

“I like that idea.”

Honey frowns. “It says here Hogan loved liver pate.”

I wrinkle my nose. “That idea, not so much. What kind of pie?”

“Apple.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” I pat my belly.

“But not Leonie’s. She gets baby milk until next year,” Honey says.

Which is only a week away, meaning she’ll be six months old.

We focus our attention on her as we finish breakfast and I can’t help but feel this is the start of a new tradition—flapjacks for Christmas breakfast and pancakes the rest of the year.

The remainder of the day is spent decorating with holiday music playing in the background. It’s hard not to pause every few minutes and wonder about the relics from the Tickle’s Christmas collection.

“It feels like there are stories here. Literally. Look, this must be an original copy of the Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.” Honey holds it carefully in her hands.

“Is that the one with the ghosts?”

“Past, present, and yet to come.”

I rather like the notion of a future with Honey and Leonie. A smile makes my eyes crinkle.

“What?” Honey asks, noticing the change in my expression.

“This is a lot different from what I was doing last year.”

“Do I want to know what that was?”

“Probably not. Let’s just say it involved an empty and then broken bottle of wine called Fee-fi-fo-fum or something.”

“Do you meanFifolet?” Honey smoothly pronounces itfee foo lay.

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