Page 30 of Miss Humbug
Okay, I was into this. Way into this.
I delivered Marlowe and our squadron of treats to the congregational church the moment its ancient doors creaked open. I nearly pushed Violet Muldron aside to be first seller in, but Marlowe had the sense to hold me back.
“Cool your jets, Ethan. We don’t want to be disqualified.”
“On what grounds?”
“Inciting a cookie riot? I don’t know. Let the old ladies pass.”
Violet Muldron paused and squinted at Marlowe over her glasses. “I heard that. Seventy-five is the new fifty-five. That’s what they say on the daytime talk shows.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” I blurted to cover for Marlowe.
Violet turned her reprimand on me. “And don’t call me ma’am. I’m seventy-five, not ninety.”
As we followed the elder baker inside, she turned to Marlowe again. “Aren’t you Emmaline’s youngest granddaughter? Are you back home now? Never thought it wise for you to run off to Hollywood the way you did. A young girl needs her family.”
“I’m twenty-six.” But Violet had already moved on. “This is why—” Marlowe started and waved the rest away to the air. “Never mind.”
I snickered, lowering my voice. “Naturally, you’d end up inHollywood—”
“The Bay Area is over three hundred miles from there.” Her nose scrunched. “Stop provoking me.”
But provoking her netted cute results. Why stop?
Carrying our loaded boxes, we headed downstairs to the church’s all-purpose room where linoleum and knotty pine lived out its last days. Folding tables topped with red tablecloths lined the room in a U-shape.
“Wow, this place is a time capsule,” Marlowe mused. “Look, here’s our table.” A little tent sign on the table notedHolly, M. She removed her coat and set it aside.
My jaw hit the linoleum.
Horror crossed her features. “What? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. “You’re wearing a holiday sweater.”
She sighed. “I thought you were going to say we forgot the almond tassies. We better have those almond tassies. Anyway, I found this sweater in Grans’ closet. It fit.”
“Brilliant.” It wasn’t her style at all, but it appeared well made. A knitted snowy scene with a holiday sleigh and snowflakes down the sleeves. Almost every baker coming through the doors wore a version of a holiday sweater.
I took off my own coat.
Marlowe’s horror returned. “Does your clothing…light up?”
I clicked a button and the reindeer nose on my sweatshirt blinked to red. “Like it?”
“Loveit.” She mimed doubling over and hurling into a nearby trash bin.
“Whatever helps. I really want to win—er, you to win.”
“This is definitely anusthing,” she said. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
I liked how this was an us thing. I liked it very much.
She moved to my side. “Should we have coordinated our outfits? I didn’t even think of that. Like those annoying couples who wear matching shirts.”
“If you’re into plaid flannel and light-up reindeer sweatshirts, you’re on. That’s my entire wardrobe.”
“It’s not.” She swatted me, but hung onto my arm, giving me a little extra caress.
