Page 8 of Love, Lies and Sleigh Rides
“Nonsense. I’ve just spent the last three hours in here and I’m ready for a break.” She pushed three cookie sheets against the wall on the counter and looked pointedly at Kade. “Do not let Maggie anywhere near those.”
“Does she take things from the counter?” he asked, turning around to look at the dog who’d stepped tentatively into the hallway, tongue lolling out to one side. The poor dog shrank under their scrutiny, but Fallon could see a hint of trouble in that darling face.
Elaine gave him a bug-eyed look. “Any chance she gets.”
A cell phone vibrated on the island. Elaine put her finger in the air. “One second, hon. We’ve got a big party tomorrow and this thing has been ringing nonstop.” She put the phone to her ear and walked over to the sink, drawing water into a mixing bowl.
“You’ll have to excuse my mother,” Kade said behind her. “She’s a master of juggling many things at once.”
Fallon turned to face him. His features looked softer now that he was inside and away from the harsh elements. His dark brows were two perfect arcs, giving his expression a perpetually hopeful look.
“I can relate.”
“What brings you here? Can I get you anything to drink?” He took one last drink from a can of cola before crumpling it and tossing it into a bin underneath the counter.
The sound grated and Fallon clenched her jaw. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m helping with the Holly Days Festival.”
He blinked. “You’ve come all the way from the Twin Cities for that? And it’s not even happening for a few weeks.”
“Fifteen days to be exact.” She crossed her arms. “I work for a publicity firm. Agnes DeLina hired us.”
Elaine groaned on the other side of the room. “I don’t know why I do this to myself every year. Now your father says D & G is completely out of molasses.”
Fallon chewed on her lip, thinking. She’d never made gingerbread but tried to think of a close substitution. “Can you use corn syrup?”
“That’s all gone too.” Elaine scowled at the phone before she tucked it into her back pocket as if her husband, being the bearer of bad news, was at fault.
“I’m sure it will work out. You could post it on social media and I bet a half dozen people would come through for you. At least,” said Kade.
Elaine nodded as if the idea had occurred to her already. “Enough of gingerbread. Let’s head to the studio.”
Fallon gave Kade one last look over her shoulder as Elaine ushered her to a side door in the kitchen by way of the mudroom. With his head in the refrigerator, Kade was already preoccupied with other things.
The walk across the driveway to Elaine’s quaint little studio was a cold one. The snow had changed from soft yet robust flakes into tiny hardened pellets. They stung her face when the wind gusted.
Fallon breathed deeply when she followed Elaine inside. Again, the scent of the holidays hung in the room. This time it was cinnamon. Fallon fought to keep her expression neutral.
“Candles,” Elaine said with a smile. “My friend Alice makes them.”
“They smell heavenly.”
Elaine led her past a table displaying a pyramid of glass jars tied with red gingham ribbons. There were bowls of woolen finger puppets, mug rugs, and the most festive table runner with a red-and-white herringbone pattern and a pom-pom border. If Fallon entertained, she’d scoop that up. It wasn’t too Christmas-y; she could use it anytime.
In the adjoining room, the skeletal framework of Elaine’s two looms stood silent and waiting.
Fallon let her hand drift over the bulky, soft alpaca sweaters hanging from a rack nearby. She’d have to leave with a pair of the mittens. Or maybe a new scarf with the cat’s paws fringe.
“My open house starts next week, so the shop is especially full right now,” Elaine said while straightening the straw flower garland on a miniature Christmas tree. “You’ve come at a great time. This time of year is so stunning, inside and out.”
Fallon took in the shop again, smiling. “You’re very talented at decorating.”
“Thank you. How about you? Do you go all out at the holidays?”
“No, I don’t really.” She looked away.
“No?”
“Too busy, I guess. And it’s up for so short a time.” Fallon shrugged. “I’d rather spare myself the melancholy when January rolls around and my apartment looks bare.”
