Page 37 of The Sweetest Thing
The problem was, it didn’t.
“What are we talking about?” Astrid backed out the screen door carrying a tray stacked high with cookies. “And are you hungry? Because these look remotely edible.” She stooped and slid the tray on top of the wicker table.
Over Astrid’s shoulder, Aunt Camellia shrugged.
Astrid might be the bee whisperer but she was a terrible cook. Like scorched-cobbler-to-the-point-that-there-was-no-saving-the-baking-pan terrible. Still, Aunt Camellia was an eternal encourager. If Astrid wanted to try again, Camellia would stay close with advice—and a fire extinguisher.
“Edible is always good.” Tansy leaned forward to inspect her sister’s latest baking endeavors. “They’re pretty.”
“Aunt Camellia might have helped with the glaze.” Astrid smiled back, over her shoulder, at Aunt Camellia.
“It was a trifle too tart is all.” Aunt Camellia slipped an arm around Astrid’s waist. “A pinch or two of sugar set it all to rights.”
“I figured this time, instead of trying a tea cake, I’d start small.” Astrid watched as Tansy reached for one of the beehive-shaped cookies. “Honey sugar cookies.” Her unsteady voice was all nerves. “Auntie Mags, are you going to try one?”
Aunt Mags was convinced that keeping her facial expressions to a minimum prevented wrinkles so she had one hell of a poker face. Reading Aunt Camellia was easy—her facial expressions were often overly animated to the point of melodrama. At the moment, the “Try one or else” glare she was sending her sister’s way left no room for misunderstanding.
“Of course.” Aunt Mags sat forward to select a cookie. “They do, indeed, look edible.”
Astrid was a ball of apprehension so Tansy lifted the thin cookie and took a massive bite. It was hard not to choke as Astrid, Aunt Camellia and Auntie Mags all leaned forward, waiting.
“They’re good.” Tansy ate the rest of the cookie and reached for another one. “Light and crisp, with the perfect hint of honey and sweetness.”
Aunt Magnolia took a tentative bite, chewing carefully, before nodding in agreement. “Well done.”
The tires on gravel and approaching roar of a car engine drew all eyes to the long drive that led from the county road to the main house. Poppa Tom had installed old-fashioned streetlamps from the bend in the drive up to the flagstone path leading from the white picket gate to the wide porch steps. It was welcoming—and also gave the Hills a heads-up on who was coming to visit. Granna Hazel didn’t mind surprise visitors, but she preferred a few seconds to get together refreshments and make the porch presentable.
Tansy smiled as Aunt Camellia stood, absentmindedly fluffing the pillows and straightening the tea tray just so.Just like Granna Hazel.
“Are we expecting someone?” Aunt Mags finished her cookie and set Butters on the porch. She stood, running her hands over her skirt and smoothing her hair.
“Maybe Abner found more mail?” Tansy leaned forward for another cookie. Abner Jones had been the mailman as far back as Tansy could remember.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Aunt Camellia sighed. “I can’t imagine the gas he goes through, meandering back and forth with lost or misplaced mail instead of making one stop a day. If you ask me, it’s time he started thinking about retirement.”
Aunt Mags nodded, staring down the road. “You can’t blame the poor man for staying busy.” It was a gentle reprimand, just enough to remind them that Abner was widowed and on his own.
“No, no, of course not.” Aunt Camellia chimed in. “If it is Abner, I’m sure he’d love to sample your cookies, too, Astrid.” She patted the back of the porch swing pillow until she was satisfied with its appearance.
Astrid took one. “I’ve been too scared to try one because...well, you know.” She lifted Jammie, squished into the chair beside Tansy and draped the cat across her lap. “At least nothing caught on fire this time.”
Aunt Camellia snorted with laughter. “At least we have a fire extinguisher this time.”
Finally, a car appeared around the bend in the drive.
“It’s not Abner,” Aunt Mags said, resting her hip on the porch railing. “Someone lost, maybe?”
Occasionally, a traveler would wind up here, needing directions. More than likely, that was the case. The small white car stopped at the gate but the engine didn’t turn off and no one emerged. The four of them exchanged a long look.
“I’ll go check.” Tansy stood. “Come on, Butters, you can protect me.” The tiny dog jumped up, his curly tail wagging. “Aunt Mags, you need to teach your dog how to be intimidating.” She walked down the steps.
“He’s not my dog,” Aunt Mags argued.
“Sure he’s not.” Tansy stared down at the dog scampering around her in circles. “Butters and I know the truth.”
Tansy had barely taken two steps when the driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out. In the fading light, it was hard to get a good look at her. But she’d turned and was getting something from the back seat. A...baby? Finally, the woman straightened. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Tansy waved. “Can we help you? Are you lost? The back roads are a little confusing—”
