Page 32 of The Snuggle is Real
I still wanted that coffee, but the bakery, Ginger’s Breads, was closer than the coffeeshop, and besides I wanted to ask about that Secret Santa pie.
The scent of fresh-baked bread, sugar, and cinnamon greeted me when I stepped through the door. I stopped and inhaled, flooded by warm memories of my mother’s kitchen this time of year.
Not everyone was blessed with a mother who made magic in the kitchen, but I was. And that pie that’d been left on my doorstep had been almost as good as the ones from my childhood.
I walked up to the counter, where the big ginger, Joel McArthur, waited to take my order.
“Hey, Mason. What can I get ya?”
“Something hot,” I said with an exaggerated shiver.
He laughed. “It’s a nasty one today for sure. Well, we’ve got complimentary self-serve coffee, but how about a dirty chai brownie heated up and all gooey inside?”
“You’re making me drool already and I haven’t even tasted it.”
“We aim to please.”
While he rang up my order, I gave him a quick spiel about what I was trying to do with the Adopt-A-Family program.
Giving was easy—and the best part of my job. But asking for donations? That washard.The squirmy discomfort in my gut as Joel considered my proposition made me sympathize with Ford.
I kept telling him he could accept help. But the foundation needed help too. It was one big cycle of giving and receiving that made our nonprofit work.
“I really like the idea,” Joel said with a quick smile. “As long as the giving isn’t going to break my bank, I’m happy to give back to the community.”
“Thanks so much. Actually…” My eye caught on the Christmas cookie kits in the display case. Instantly, I remembered a story Ford had shared while we watched the parade. “One of those would be perfect for the family we’re adopting.”
“Oh, yeah? Do you want to take it now?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he said, reaching into the case for it.
“I’ll come back with a receipt for you. You can claim these donations on your taxes. In the meantime, I’ve got a question.”
“Fire away.”
“Do you bake a cranberry-apple pie here?”
“I do.”
“It’s amazing. My mom makes one for Thanksgiving, and I was totally missing her, and then someone gave me one, which I assume was yours. Just wow.”
Joel blushed a little. “Thanks. I appreciate that, Mason.”
“There was a note on the pie, from a Secret Santa.”
“Oh, really?”
“Do you know who it was?”
“No, sorry. I got quite a few orders this year. I always offer pies for folks to take home, and it’s pretty popular around Thanksgiving.”
“Maybe you could check your records though. I’d really like to thank them.”
“Just a minute.” Joel disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a heated-up brownie. “Sorry, Mason. I don’t feel comfortable giving out names since there were multiple orders. I’m sure if they wanted you to know, they’d have signed their actual name.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks again for contributing.”
