Page 5 of A Christmas Spark
“Mm-hm.” Katie took a sip of her apple cider, clearly pondering what her mother had just said. “What I’m asking for is very important,” she said, taking a napkin from Imogen as a little apple cider dripped from one lip. “So I wanna make sure I do it just right.”
Imogen smiled, standing up quickly to dampen another paper towel and wipe her daughter’s sticky face before heading back out to help the customers—of which there were now five that she could see, milling about. “I’m sure whatever you’re asking Santa for, he’ll understand how much it means to you,” she said, gently wiping Katie’s cheeks and chin before releasing her daughter back to her letter. “Santa just wants to make sure all the children have a wonderful Christmas. So as long as you ask politely, I’m sure he’ll do his best.”
“I hope so.” Katie turned away, leaning over her letter, once again entirely focused on her task.
Imogen took one last look at her before retreating back into the shop, both relieved that her daughter had something that was occupying her so well, and curious as to what Katie had latched onto this season that was so important to her.
Whatever it was, she thought as she began to help a customer decide on which box of bark would be best for a white elephant gift exchange, she would do her best to make sure that Katie got it. Nothing about managing or providing for her tiny family of two had been easy since her husband had disappeared without warning or reason shortly after Katie was born, but Imogen had overcome the challenges one at a time, and she was proud of herself for it. As far as she knew, Katie had never felt a lack for anything. Well—not anything that Imogen could provide for her.
She felt a bittersweet sensation wash over her as she carried the box of maple crunch bark to the register to ring the customer out, thinking of how different Christmas might be if Katie had both parents to dote on her. Imogen herself had always loved Christmases growing up with her parents. Her father had been a delightful cook, always waking up early Christmas morning to make cinnamon buns that she could still taste if she thought about them long enough, and her mother had loved decorating, specially choosing a new ornament for the tree every year with Imogen.
Each parent had contributed something special and unique to the holiday season for Imogen growing up, things like how her father had always baked cookies with her for Santa, or how her mother would never miss an opportunity to go out into the snow and see which of them could make the most snow angels in fifteen minutes. Imogen wished, sometimes, that she could give Katie that feeling of having a full family on Christmas, that Katie could have a father to make traditions with as well as her mother. Sometimes she loved that she had Katie all to herself, that it was just the two of them, cozy and safe. But other times she knew that there were certain things that Katie was missing out on.
She always took comfort in the fact that Katie had never seemed sad or as if she were missing anything. Her daughter had always seemed to feel fulfilled with only Imogen there.
Imogen was determined to make sure that Katie continued to be as happy as she could possibly be.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday morning, bright and early, Mabel puttered around her kitchen making coffee. She had a new blend that Jackson had ordered in for the diner, and some of the local eggnog creamer that Vanessa had insisted she try last Christmas and that Mabel was now completely in love with. She still loved her old standby of peppermint creamer, but the eggnog lattes that Vanessa had shown her how to make were delicious, rich and creamy, and—as Vanessa had said when she’d shown her grandmother how to make them—added a little luxury to the holiday season.
She glanced at the clock as her small kitchen started to fill with the rich scent of brewing coffee, drawing in a deep breath of the relaxing scent. She didn’t need to leave to start opening the toy shop for another two hours, and usually she would have slept in a bit. But she hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before, and had woken up an hour before her alarm, wide awake.
She’d thought about just lying in bed to read for a bit, enjoying the early gray of the morning and relaxing in the warm nest of her duvet and soft pillows for a little while longer. But the thought of a cup of coffee had called to her, and when she’d remembered that she had fresh maple cinnamon rolls bought from the bakery to heat up for breakfast, she’d decided to getup, throw on her robe, and head down to the kitchen for a slow morning.
Her thoughts were anything but relaxed, though, and she thought that maybe that was why she’d had such a hard time sleeping. There was so much to do at the shop still to fully prepare for and get into the swing of the holiday season, and she figured she was just eager to get started on it all. There were the window displays to finish, the nutcrackers to set up, and a special display to organize for the sought-after toy of the season. She also had her annual Santa and Mrs. Claus event to organize, and she needed to start preparing and planning for that, soon.
Every year for as long as she’d been running the event, she’d been Mrs. Claus, while George Lowery had always played Santa. Last year, because of the injury to her wrist, she’d had to drop out of the event and be content with running it from behind the scenes, while Vanessa and Jackson had stepped in to play Mrs. Claus and Santa. But this year, she was back to perfect health, and she was more than ready to pick up her former mantle and once again play her beloved role of Mrs. Claus.
She could admit that she was looking forward to the fact that George would once again be Santa. They always had a fantastic time together, greeting the children and listening to their requests for Santa and laughing over comments they both made in between taking pictures and letters and gift requests. George didn’t have children or grandchildren of his own, and of course, Mabel’s granddaughter was an adult now. They both loved cooing over and listening to the eager questions from all the children, and seeing how happy it made them to meet Santa and Mrs. Claus.
Every year, it was something she looked forward to. She was happy that this year would be a return to tradition.
Humming to herself, she got down a mug hand-painted with snowflakes that she’d made at a local pottery night, and pouredherself a cup of coffee. She added a bit of eggnog creamer, stirring it around with a spoon as she looked out of the small window above the sink. The tree just on the other side of it was coated with icicles, a sight that she always thought was incredibly beautiful. The little shards of ice hung from the branches like glass, the early morning sun glinting off of them, and Mabel watched for a moment longer, seeing a small finch hopping along one branch as she finished making her coffee.
She took a sip, enjoying the rich warmth of it, and went to the fridge to pull out the cinnamon roll she’d planned to have for breakfast. It was large and covered with maple icing, with extra on the side, and she turned her oven on to preheat, setting the cinnamon roll on a baking sheet. She was glad she’d gotten up early that morning after all; she tried hard not to have to rush in the mornings, but a slow morning like this was an extra special treat. Just like the coffee and cinnamon roll for breakfast.
Mabel was just sliding the cinnamon roll into the oven when she heard an odd scratching coming from outside.
She paused, and heard it again, coming from the same place. It seemed to be coming from the side of the kitchen where her small breakfast nook was, and she frowned, setting her coffee down as she walked over to open the window and peek out. The windows were the sort that latched in the middle and opened out to either side, which was lovely in the warmer seasons, when she could fling the windows open wide and enjoy the pleasant breeze that would then fill her entire kitchen.
When she opened the window to look, shivering a little as the frigid air came in, she couldn’t see anything unusual.
After a second, she heard the scratching again, a bit more insistently this time.
Frowning, she glanced at the timer over the oven and walked to the adjoining mudroom to slip on her snow boots. She tuggedher robe a little closer around herself as she walked out into the winter morning to investigate.
It was probably a mouse, she thought, or maybe a bird trying to burrow into the gutters or some crack to get out of the cold and find a warmer nook. Possibly even a raccoon. She didn’t usually have a mice problem, although she’d had to run one or two out of her house with a broom over the years. She felt bad at the thought of such a small creature being out in the cold, even though she knew she couldn’t possibly allow one to live in the house. That would create all kinds of havoc.
Walking around the edge of the house, she couldn’t see anything. There was no evidence of any creature, small or medium, trying to work its way into or underneath the house, and no tracks in the snow that she could see. She looked up at the gutters as she walked, trying to see if any birds were attempting to make a home up there, but there was nothing there that she noticed either. Even the finch that had been perched on the icicle tree had flown away, undoubtedly, to find a warmer spot.
She walked around the back of the cottage again, intending to head back inside before the timer for her cinnamon roll went off, when she suddenly heard the noise and caught sight of the culprit, all at the same moment.
A tiny ball of black and brown fluff was sitting in her bird feeder, scratching at the bottom of it with eager paws. Mabel blinked, squinting at it as she stepped closer, and realized that it was an adorable tortoiseshell kitten, with gleaming amber eyes that were now looking intently at her from the black puff of its face.
“Well hello there,” she said quietly, trying not to spook the kitten. It looked as if it might spring away at any second, and the last thing she wanted was for it to run off in the snow. It wasbelow freezing out, and there was no telling what might happen to the kitten if it got away.
It scratched at the feeder again, giving a tiny meow as it looked at Mabel. She held out a hand, still worried that it might spook and run away, but it just watched her as she slowly approached, her boots crunching in the snow.
