Page 31 of Lakehouse Mistletoe
Rising from her seat, she grabbed her apron, slipped it on, and moved into the kitchen.
She opened the cabinet and began pulling out items for baking. The familiar sound of mixing bowls and measuring spoons filled the room. Sugar and butter creamed together under the whir of the mixer, and slowly the tension in her shoulders loosened. The scent of orange zest and cloves began to bloom in the warm air as she shaped dough into small wreath-shaped cookies.
By the time the first tray came out, golden and fragrant, Helen was humming softly to herself. She carried a plate to the parlor and set it beside a half-finished garland, weaving more crimson ribbon through green boughs as the fire popped and cracked.
The debt wasn’t gone, but neither was she. She’d keep showing up. Keep making payments. Keep making something beautiful, even out of a difficult time.
Chapter 26
Three days before Christmas, the bell that Kacey had recently installed over the front door chimed just after lunch. Helen looked up from the kitchen island, hands dusted with flour from an early batch of cinnamon rolls. She quickly wiped off her hands on a tea towel and headed to the front door to welcome her new guest.
Her stomach dropped when she saw him.
Mr. Sykes stood in the foyer, shoes polished, wearing an expensive suit and an overly friendly smile. He carried a sleek leather duffel, the kind of bag that looked expensive but impersonal. “Well, Helen,” he said, drawing out her name like they were old friends. “We are together again. I couldn’t wait to get back to this charming little piece of paradise.”
Helen wiped her sweaty hands on the front of her apron and forced a professional smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Sykes. We’ve got your room ready. I’ll just need you to sign in.” She kept her tone purely professional. She didn’t want to give him any wrong ideas.
“If you just follow me to the office.” She walked ahead, keeping her steps quick and steady.
She stepped around the desk and sat. She pulled up his reservation and printed the reservation paper off. She handed him a pen to sign in.
His gaze lingered a fraction too long, and the way his mouth curled when he handed back the pen sent a small chill up her spine.
“Thank you. You are in room two.” She pulled the key out of the drawer and handed it to him. His fingers brushed against hers making her stomach churn.
She quickly stood up and headed for the door.
As they walked toward the stairs, he made casual comments that were a little too personal. “You must be working hard to keep this place so perfect. Do you ever get any time to yourself?”
Helen kept her tone light but cool. “There’s always work to do around here,” she said, stepping aside so he could go up first. “Plenty to keep me busy.”
She waited until he disappeared up the stairs before pulling out her cell phone. She had a battery full and strong signal. She debated texting Rebecca about Mr. Sykes but talked herself out of it.
She sent a quick text to Carolina just to say hello, then slid the device into her apron pocket.
All she had to do was stay busy and out of sight of Mr. Sykes.
For the rest of the afternoon, she kept herself busy. She finished up laundry, added a few more ribbons to the garland in the living room, set up the tea tray for afternoon cookies and swept off the front porch and steps. For the rest of the day, she made a fresh batch of sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas canes and listened to Christmas music.
Later that day, as the Christmas lights glowed across the porch garland and Christmas tree, she felt steadier. Busy hands kept the unease at bay, but she couldn’t ignore the prickle between her shoulder blades.
Three days until Christmas. Three days until she could breathe easy again.
Chapter 27
By late afternoon, Laurel Cove Bed and Breakfast smelled of cranberries and cloves. The kettle’s hiss echoed through the kitchen as Helen arranged a tiered tray of scones. Hannah had dropped off a tin of Christmas cookies that morning. She added a small pitcher of milk, a small bowl of sugar, a pot of homemade clotted cream, and some strawberry jam to the tray. The ginger stars and powdered-sugar snowballs added just the right sparkle and completed the holiday tea.
Helen carried the tray into the dining room, where the fire crackled against the winter chill. Mr. and Mrs. Edgar, a retired couple from Virginia, sat on the sofa, their voices low and companionable. She smiled warmly as she set the tea service on the coffee table.
“That looks lovely, dear.” Mrs. Edgar clasped her hands together. “And the teacups are just delightful. Do you know the name of the pattern?”
Helen poured Mrs. Edgar a cup and handed it to her. “I believe it’s called Merry Christmas.”
Mrs. Edgar took a sip of her tea. “Absolutely perfect. Thank you, dear.”
Helen smiled and handed Mr. Edgar his cup of coffee. “Thank you, Helen.”
“You are welcome. Please help yourself to the scones and cookies. All are homemade.”
