Page 37 of Christmas Bubble

While Coach is outside and I have free rein in the cabin, I rearrange the contents of the kitchen cabinets. Clearly, Coach doesn’t like or know how to cook because most of the stuff here is canned. I take a peek in his freezer, and as I suspected, it’s full of ready meals and frozen pizza.

If he thinks he’s going to have anything but a good meal while I’m staying with him, he’s got another think coming.

I play some music from my tablet and start taking out the ingredients I need for dinner. It’s early enough that I can cook the pork slowly, and it’ll be nice and tender by dinner. The only problem is that Coach only has one oven so I can’t bake a cake.

“Okay, let’s make a mousse instead. I think Coach is a chocolate man. What do you think, cabin?”

I sing along to the Christmas music as I create my chocolatey masterpiece. I have Indy to thank for the technique I use to make the mousse extra fluffy, and it never fails.

“You, my beautiful light and fluffy delight, are going to melt in Coach’s mouth and make him beg for more.”

I’m placing the ramekins with the mousse in the fridge when the video call app rings on my tablet. Juju’s photo appears on the screen, so I rush to answer.

“Hey, honey,” I say.

“Hey. You’re…happy for someone who’s been dumped by their best friend.”

I put all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and wipe the counter so it’s all clean again.

“Don’t make me sad again. I’ve had too much sad already,” I pout and grab the tablet, taking her to the couch where I get cozy in front of Coach’s fireplace.

“Hold on. You’re in a different place. Where are all the Christmas decorations?”

I gasp. “Oh. My. God! That’s what’s missing. The Christmas decorations. Stay right there, honey.”

“Where would I go?” She rolls her eyes, and I place the tablet on the couch.

One look out the window, and I see Coach is still stacking wood. There’s a big pile of cut logs near him, so he might be a while.

I put my boots on and grab my car keys.

“What on earth is going on, Bubble?” Juju calls from the table.

“Shh,” I say. “He can’t hear us.”

“Who’s he?”

I ignore her and don’t even bother putting on a coat before I step outside.

The biting cold takes my breath away, but this will be quick. I run over to the car and grab the only box that didn’t make it into the other cabin. I take it back to Coach’s place, but I’m missing one important element…

The thud from the other side of the cabin continues, which works perfectly to disguise my steps as I walk through the snow to the Crawford’s cabin again.

After a couple of knocks, Fletcher opens the door.

“Um…sorry to bother you. Do you have an axe?”

He stares at me.

“Oh, I’m not murdering anyone. I just need a tree.”

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “An axe murderer wouldn’t admit to being an axe murderer.”

“Have you ever heard of one asking around for an actual axe?”

“Fair point.”

“Besides. How many axe murderers do you know that wear pink?”