Page 137 of The Holiday Fakers
My mother’s hands are on her hips as she stands in the middle of the kitchen.
Cramming another cookie into my mouth, I nod, even though I have no idea what she’s just been talking about. I tuned out the moment Brody put his hand on my thigh under the breakfast bar. With the sweetness of a homemade cinnamon cookie crumbling on my tongue, and my super-hot, fake-now-real boyfriend’s palm on my jeans, I was gone. Lost in memories from last night, with the warmth of arousal once more flooding my body.
My mom’s stance is stern, but her gaze is soft as she looks at us. Touching her heart, she lets out a happy sigh. “My baby’s in love.”
The heat that had been making my panties wet now rushes to my cheeks. I swallow the bite, then wash it down with a mouthful of cinnamon latte when the cookie sticks in my throat.Yes, I knowIlove Brody, but I need him to say those three words before I have the confidence to. It’s still all so new, and I keep having to pinch myself that we’re actually together.
“You were talking about Eileen,” I say, even though that’s the only word I can remember her saying.
“Only at the beginning.”
Mom lets out the kind of over-the-top sigh that Martha loves to copy, then starts up again.
“So we have to go to Hard to Find this morning for the calendar reveal, because no one else is going to be there.”
“Why not?”
“Because the owner, Fredrik, hasn’t advertised it and doesn’t want anyone showing up. His sister, Felicity, from our crochet club, put his name forward to try and force him, I don’t know, out of his shell a bit? You know, after his personal tragedy.”
I raise my eyebrows in question. My mom knows everyone in Hideaway Harbor and always assumes I do, too.
She moves forward, lowering her voice as if we’re in a public space and might be overheard.
“His wife died two years ago,” she whispers. “But we’re not allowed to talk about it, so pretend you don’t know.”
“Even though everyonedoesknow? It’s not like he’s Hideaway’s only villain and buried her body in the backyard.”
Mom straightens and crosses herself as Brody chuckles beside me. “Oh my Lord, no. He’s the sweetest man. Just a little … withdrawn. And we’ve also got to support Noelle. She’s the one we’re pinning our hopes on.”
I’m lost already. “Who’s Noelle?”
“I told you about her, honey. New in town and running the Christmas pop-up shop next to Frederik’s bookstore. She’s the sweetest thing and seems to have a connection with him, so we need to, you know, help them along.”
“By going to the calendar reveal this morning?”
“Yes! Noelle spent the night making pulla in Fredrik’s range after Ida had to leave town because her daughter gave birth early.”
I resist the urge to rub my forehead as my brain tries to make sense of it all. “And what does any of that have to do with the?—”
“It’s Pulla Appreciation Day today!” she tells me, like I ought to have known. “And Ida was in charge because she’s Finnish.” Mom turns to Brody. “Pulla’s a sweet bread with cardamom from Finland, topped with pearl sugar.”
He nods slowly. “I think I had it once. It’s delicious.”
“But Ida had to leave to be with her daughter, and Noelle offered to step in because her grandmother’s Finnish and has a family recipe. She’s using the old range in Fredrik’s house to make it, then giving it away outside Hard to Find this morning to try and tempt people inside. Felicity’s bringing the trestle tables in her van.”
“Okay. Let me get this straight,” I say slowly. “You need us to show up at the bookstore because you don’t think anyone’s going to come to the calendar reveal or eat any of the pulla that Noelle spent all night baking, and because you’re trying to set up Noelle and Fredrik?”
Mom claps her hands like I’ve just won a spelling bee. “Yes.”
“You had me at ‘pulla,’” Brody says, then squeezes my thigh. “What do you feel like doing?”
Er,you?I hide my face behind the coffee mug as my cheeks flush again. “Sounds great,” I mumble.
“Wonderful!” Mom says happily, then takes the landline phone from the wall. “I’ll let Eileen and the other girls know I’ve got you two on board.”
“Where’s Harper?” I ask.
“With Lola,” Mom replies as she taps on the screen. “There’s a unit opening up next door in the new year, so they’ve gone to look at it.”
