Page 17 of Christmas Kisses

Someone had been cleaning since Doris had died. And obviously, someone had stocked up for me. God, I was oblivious. I’d been here a week, and it hadn’t occurred to me to thank Maple for taking care of me, of my place, because I hadn’t even realized she was doing it here, as well as at the store. I was quite sure it was her, and not someone else.

I opened the fridge, unsurprised to find it fully stocked, then wandered around, looking in the cupboards and the pantry, running my fingers over the sealed packages of baking supplies. I was just about to step out of the little baking cubby, when I noticed a hinged box sitting in the corner of one of the shelves.

Slowly, I popped open the lid, feeling as if Doris was here, as if she were watching me, waiting for me to get a grip and figure out what I was doing here.

The box was jammed full of handwritten recipe cards. Dorishadrecorded her recipes! Tears burned in my eyes, the feeling of having a piece of my grandmother overwhelming me. I hugged the treasure to my chest. This was the closest I’d been to her in years because of a stupid fight. Because the two adults in my life had been unable to accept one another—well, one of them had been unaccepting, anyway.

“I don’t know what to do,’ I whispered, desperately wishing she was here to give me advice. She’d found love. She knew love.

Follow your heart.

Still hugging the recipes with one arm, I swiped at my eyes with my other hand.

Follow my heart? I wasn’t sure it was that easy. I wasn’t sure I knew how or even if I could.

Weirdly hoping for answers while I blinked back the emotions trying to escape my eyes, I brought the box to the kitchen island and climbed up on a stool to flip through the treasure I’d just found.

There were decades worth of cards, with notes and amendments obviously marked as Doris’ recipes evolved, probably through her own trial and error. Maybe, in this very kitchen.

One card caught my eye, and I pulled it out, smiling softly at the crooked handwriting. It was labeledMaple Changed My LifeBars. The recipe included five different kinds of sugar. I’d had no idea therewerethat many different sugars.

Maple changed my life…

Micha was changing mine.

As I stared at the card, I felt an overwhelming need to make the bars, as if they’d give me all the answers I needed.

I stood and started collecting the ingredients, glad that everything was clearly labeled and the instructions were detailed. Back home, I’d often watched baking challenges on television, so even though I’d never made anything that hadn’t come from a box, at least I understood some of the steps required.

I carefully measured everything first, putting the ingredients into their own bowls on the counter in front of me. After I preheated the oven and greased the baking pan, I added the ingredients in the order stated on the recipe card to the bowl of Doris’ giant mixer.

When the batter looked reasonably like the recipe said it should, I pulled the bowl free and poured the mixture into the prepared pan. I popped it into the oven and set the timer.

Twenty minutes later, I removed the pan and stared down at the flat, hard-looking concoction inside it. That wasn’t right at all. I turned with a sigh, staring over at the counter and found I’d missed the little ramekin containing baking powder.

Damn.

I threw away the ruined bars, washed the dishes and started over, double checking each step as I went. When the batter wasall mixed, I poured it into the prepared pan again then slid it into the oven, feeling pretty proud of myself.

This time, it looked perfect. After cooling it for the prescribed amount of time, I removed the slab of baked perfection from the pan, setting it on the cooling rack until it was time to cut it into bars. I glanced at the clock, shocked to see it was almost midnight. I knew I should go to bed, but I wanted to complete the project.

I sat at the island again and stared at what I’d just accomplished. Somehow, I felt closer to my grandmother in that moment than I ever had. How many of these bars had she baked in this very kitchen? How hard had she worked to create something for the woman she loved?

Doris had given up her family for Maple. And while she probably regretted that it had come down to the choice, somehow, I knew it had been the right one. I would have loved to have known my grandmother, but her legacy lived on in Maple. In this home. In Majestic Falls. In her shop—my shop, now…if I chose to keep it.

Could I be that brave? Could I walk away from everything and everyone I knew to stay here? For love?

Everything and everyone… I wasn’t attached to anything but familiarity. I didn’t own property. I didn’t have any particularly close friends. Hell, my closest friends were on the internet.

Maybe, my decision wasn’t as difficult as I was making it.

I got up and sliced the bars, laying them onto a pretty platter. After I put one aside to test, I covered the rest with plastic wrap. When I bit into my test bar, I smiled as its sweetness explodedover my tastebuds. The texture was light and crumbly, the maple and the multiple sugars hitting different notes.

I’d done it—with help from my grandma, of course. I’d actually baked something from scratch, and it was delicious. If I could do this, I was pretty sure I could do anything—even learn to proficiently dip strawberries.

And maybe…I could learn to let love guide my life the way my grandmother had, too.

Eight