Page 10 of Savoring Christmas (Sugarville Grove #8)

“It’s too bad we can’t have youth and that perspective at the same time,” Abby said.

Wasn’t that the truth?

When all the pasta was in balls and resting, Mia turned her attention to the sauce. “While the dough relaxes, we’ll start on the lemon butter white wine sauce. It’s quick, so timing matters.”

She set a skillet on the burner at her station. “Butter first, with a little olive oil so it doesn’t burn. Medium heat—don’t let it get too hot, or the butter will brown before we want it to.”

The butter foamed lightly. She tossed her chopped garlic into the pan. Immediately, the tangy aroma wafted up from the pan. “Remember not to get the pan too hot. You want a quiet sizzle.”

“No shouting garlic,” Logan said.

“Good. You’re remembering your lesson from class one,” Mia said. “Especially with butter, it’s easy to burn both it and the garlic.”

“That smells incredible already,” Kris said. “Please don’t mind my growling stomach.”

“Wine’s next,” Mia said, pouring in a half cup. The liquid hissed against the pan. “Let it simmer for two or three minutes to reduce. We just want the flavor.”

When it was time, she added lemon zest and juice. “Zest for fragrance, juice for brightness. Don’t overdo it or the sauce will turn bitter.”

At Logan’s station, his zest was stubbornly clinging to the microplane. “Mine’s all stuck.”

“Tap the side to knock it loose,” Mia said, coming over to show him. “There you go.” Her arm brushed his, sending tingles up her spine.

“Is that better?” Logan glanced down at her, and their gazes locked once more. His eyes were such a remarkable shade of blue. Almost like the sky at twilight.

She swallowed. “Yes, much.”

Once the sauce had come together, she had them all roll out their pasta and try cutting it into strips. Soon enough, they all had completed the task. They’d all done remarkably well for their first time, even if the pieces were of varying lengths.

“Cook your pasta until just al dente, then move it straight into the pan,” Mia said. “Save a little of the pasta water—it’ll loosen the sauce and help it cling to the noodles.”

When their pastas had cooked, she had them combine it with the sauce.

“Plate it and we’ll taste together,” Mia said. “I want everyone to sample one another’s dishes, so grab six forks from the stack here.”

Once the pasta was plated, Mia encouraged everyone to bring their dishes to the tables they’d pushed together.

“Let’s try them while they’re hot. Pasta waits for no one.

” She had a sudden image of her mother serving her a bowl of pasta.

When had that been? And where? The memory of the long forgotten meal remained at the edges of her mind.

If only she could have one more night with her mother.

What a gift it was to share a meal with someone you loved.

They settled in, plates steaming in front of them, the warm light catching the hesitation and hope on each face.

Cannoli settled at Mia’s feet under the table.

Logan’s noodles looked surprisingly uniform for someone who’d sworn he could barely boil water.

Abby’s sauce was bright and well-seasoned, with the kind of zest that promised her kids would clean their plates.

Kris bragged about his own dish. “I can already see Maria’s face when I surprise her with a bowl of this.”

Reese took a small, careful bite and actually relaxed her shoulders when she swallowed, as if the simple act of nourishing herself without guilt was a small victory.

“Now comes the fun part,” Mia said, gesturing with her fork. “Pass your plates around. Everyone gets a taste of the same dish, but notice how different they all turned out.”

They tried Harold’s first. The noodles were slightly thicker than Mia’s demonstration but had a satisfying chew, and the sauce clung perfectly.

“This is very well done,” Mia said. “Perfect balance of ingredients in your sauce too.”

Harold’s chest puffed with quiet pride. “Why, thank you kindly, Miss Mia. I struggled to get my noodles thin but I guess they turned out all right.”

On the other hand, Reese’s noodles had come out remarkably thin. Thelma sampled Reese’s delicate creation, the pasta almost translucent and the lemon butter sauce light as air. “Oh, honey, this is like eating sunshine,” Thelma said. “How did you get your noodles so fine?”

Reese’s cheeks flushed pink. “I just kept rolling and rolling. I guess I’m used to precision from dancing.”

When Reese tried Thelma’s version, her eyes widened. The noodles were substantial, almost rustic in their thickness, swimming in a sauce rich with butter. “This is comforting,” Reese said softly. “I’ve never thought of food in that way.”

Thelma reached over and patted her hand. “That must be very difficult.”

“Ballet was my life,” Reese said. “But it took a part of my soul, not to mention how it’s damaged my health. I have to admit, it’s really hard for me not to think about how many calories are in here.”

“You’re here,” Thelma said. “Baby steps, right?”

Mia swallowed a lump in her throat.

“Okay, taste mine now,” Kris said, sounding like an excited child.

Mia hid a smile at the sight of Kris’s dish.

His noodles were charmingly uneven—some thick as pappardelle, others thin as angel hair.

As for his sauce? Mia had watched him measure everything with the precision of a man following instructions to the letter, but he’d gotten carried away with the wine, which had made it too thin. Still, it tasted wonderful.

Thelma twirled the mismatched noodles around her fork. “Your Maria’s going to think you hired a chef from Tuscany.”

Kris beamed, his cheeks pink with obvious pride. “I know. Too much wine. I kept adding it because it smelled so good and how could any dish have too much wine?” His earnestness was so endearing that everyone started laughing.

“Maybe a lighter pour next time,” Mia said. “But it’s still very good.”

Abby went next. Her version made Kris close his eyes and sigh. Her sauce was bright and bold, heavy on the lemon zest, with the perfect amount of wine and butter.

“This is incredible,” Kris said. “Your kids will love it.”

“It’s pretty much perfect,” Mia said.

“Luke’s going to be very impressed,” Logan said.

The comment made Abby’s eyes well up. “Oh, guys, that makes me feel good. There are still so many moments I’m unsure about how to do this mom thing. I can’t tell you how many evenings I approach dinner with a pit in my stomach.”

“Well, you’re doing quite fine, if you ask me,” Kris said. “Those kids of yours seem to be thriving.”

"I hope so. There are days when I go to bed thinking I might not have done one thing right." The words came out in a rush, and Abby tugged at her earring as tears welled up, threatening to spill over.

“Dear girl, all mothers think that,” Thelma said. “I know I certainly did. But when you get to be my age and your kids are grown, you’ll see you didn’t harm them after all. No child has the perfect upbringing.”

Logan nodded, sending his sister-in-law an affectionate smile. “What you’ve done with those kids is nothing short of a miracle. You love them and they know it. You gave up your whole life when you took them on.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” Reese said. “Both Lily and Sophie take classes at my studio and they’re both such wonderful children. Abby, they talk about you as if you walk on water, by the way.”

Abby clutched the collar of her sweater. “They do?”

“See there,” Thelma said. “Proof that you’re doing just fine.”

“I may have given up my whole life, but they gave me a new, much richer, sweeter one,” Abby said. “Which is why I want to be a better cook.”

“You’re doing well,” Mia said. “As cheesy as it sounds, food made with love will nourish hearts and stomachs.”

They continued tasting one another’s dishes as they chatted. When Harold tried Logan’s surprisingly perfect al dente noodles swimming in a buttery, garlicky pool, he nodded approvingly. “Delicious. That pasta’s got real bite to it.”

Logan sat up straighter, as if he’d just received a James Beard nomination. “Do you think?”

“It’s marvelous,” Thelma said, helping herself to another bite. “I love all the garlic.”

“I might have gotten carried away,” Logan said, sounding sheepish. “But my mom always says you can’t have too much butter or garlic.”

“Grace is a wise woman,” Kris said. “About more than just food.”

“We all think so,” Abby said. “When I think over the last few years—I could not have done it without Grace or Walter. I never understood what it meant to be part of a village until I became a Hayes family member.”

“You know, Abby, you have me thinking about my wife,” Harold said.

“When we were young with small children, I was busy with work and trying to keep up with the bills and the kids and all that. I didn’t tell her enough how much it meant to me to open a drawer and see my socks all clean and lined up or the scent of dinner cooking when I came home from a long day.

She never complained or asked for much of anything, other than that we love her, which we did.

I hope she knows how much she gave to us. ”

“She does, I’m sure,” Thelma said. “My husband didn’t always say it, but I knew he appreciated all the ways I tried to make his life better.

Just as he did for me, taking the financial burden of our family so I could stay home with our kids.

He looked out for me and I looked out for him.

That’s how happy marriages are, I suppose. ”

“Amen to that,” Harold said. “My daughter said something to me the other day that really stuck with me. Even though she misses her mother terribly, she’s grateful to have loved her so much that the pain of losing her is so acute.

It’s the same for me. If we hadn’t had such a good relationship and so many happy times, I wouldn’t miss her so much. ”

Thelma patted his hand. “I know exactly how you feel.”