Page 11 of Christmas at Pine Ridge Inn
Lila laughed, holding her hands up. “No tests. I’m taking a much-needed break from work this week.”
“That must be interesting work. Traveling to different places and seeing how they do things.”
“It is. Though sometimes I think I’ve stayed in so many hotels that I’ve forgotten what home actually feels like.”
The admission surprised Lila. She hadn’t meant to reveal anything so personal, but something about Carol’s gentle presence made her want to share.
“Home isn’t always one specific place,” Carol said softly. “Sometimes it’s a feeling. A simple sense of belonging when you’re around people who matter to you.”
Before Lila could respond, the kitchen filled with voices as the other guests arrived, some with hair still damp from showers. The space that had felt intimate only moments before was now filled with activity.
“I see we’re all ready to go,” said Sophie, rolling up her sleeves. “Miles, find me an apron before I get flour all over this sweater.”
“I call dibs on the mixer,” announced Kimberly, making a beeline for the stand mixer on the counter.
“You always get the mixer,” protested her sister. “It’s my turn.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Tom intervened with mock seriousness, “we have multiple mixing bowls. No need for a cookie war.”
Lila found herself swept into the cheerful chaos as Carol assigned tasks. Ali and Mike took charge of measuring dry ingredients while debating whether their Miami apartment had enough counter space for serious baking. The sisters stationed themselves at opposite ends of the island, each claiming their own territory for what was clearly a long-standing sibling rivalry.
“Sarah, would you mind helping Lila with the sugar cookies?” Carol asked. “She’s got excellent organizational skills.” She winked at Lila.
Sarah appeared at Lila’s elbow with a gentle smile. “I promise not to mess up your system,” she said quietly.
“I’m not sure it’s a system so much as controlled chaos at this point.” Lila laughed.
They worked side by side, Sarah’s steady presence a calming influence as Lila tried to keep track of multiple cookie batches. Sarah had a way of anticipating what was needed, handing Lila ingredients before she even asked. They fell into an easy rhythm while the others buzzed around them.
“Do you bake much at home?” Lila asked. “You seem like you know what you’re doing.”
“My grandmother taught me when I was little. She always said that baking is like an edible love letter.” Sarah’s voice carried a note of wistfulness. “I don’t bake much anymore, but being in a kitchen like this brings back some really lovely memories.”
Across the island, Kimberly had managed to get flour not just in her bowl but somehow in her hair and across her cheek. “How does this even happen?” She laughed, trying to brush the white powder from her face but only succeeding in adding more.
“It’s a gift,” her sister teased. “Remember when you tried to make Dad’s birthday cake, and it looked like a flour bomb had gone off?”
“That cake was delicious, thank you very much.”
“The parts that weren’t crunchy from the eggshells you left in,” her sister shot back.
Their playful banter filled the kitchen with laughter, and Lila found herself smiling as she worked. Maybe taking part in some of the inn’s Christmas activities wouldn’t be as painful as she’d anticipated. Sure, baking made her think back on the many Christmases she spent in the kitchen baking with her mother, but Lila was surprised to find she felt closer to her as she worked alongside the others instead of saddened by her absence.
Brady appeared in the doorway, surveying the scene with amusement. “How’s it going in here? I can hear the laughter from the lobby.”
“We’re making excellent progress,” Carol said, “though I think we’re using twice as much flour as necessary.”
“That’s because Kimberly keeps flinging it around,” accused her sister.
“I do not fling. I’m just ... enthusiastic.”
“Need any help?” Brady asked, as he came closer to inspect Sophie’s first batch of cookies that had just come from the oven. “I make an excellent taste-testing assistant.”
“Absolutely not,” Carol said firmly. “You’ll eat half of them before we can even get them decorated.”
“She’s right,” Tom agreed, appearing behind Brady. “Remember last year when half the gingerbread men mysteriously lost their heads?”
“That was clearly a cookie emergency,” Brady said solemnly. “They were suffering. I put them out of their misery.”
