Page 21 of Theirs for the Holidays

We’re all about halfway into our food when someone comes up to the table, and I look up and smile to see one of my grandmother’s friends standing there.

“Hi, Simon,” I say, greeting him with a smile.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Violet,” he replies. “You keeping warm?”

“Doing my best. Oh um, this is Lennox, Rhett, and Sawyer Sullivan.” I gesture to each of them. “They’re from here.”

Simon nods. “I know the family name. I thought you’d all moved away from Sweetwater Lake. Only one of you is left… what’s his name? Andy?”

“Andrew,” I correct.

“That’s right. Well, it’s nice of you all to come back to visit.”

“It’s nice to be back,” Lennox says politely.

Simon pulls his coat on, hands shaking a bit as he buttons it up. I’m not sure exactly how old he is, but he shows his age in his stiff movements. That never stops him from being incredibly kind to me whenever we run into each other, and he always makes me think of my grandmother, which is bittersweet.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Simon says. “I’ve got a standing date to play chess in the park.”

“It’s amazing to me that you do that even in winter. Isn’t it cold out there?”

He nods with a smile. “That’s what the coffee is for, young lady.” He holds up a thermos of Porter’s famous dark roast.

Rhett perks up at the mention of chess. “You play?” he asks.

“I sure do. You look like someone who would enjoy a game. Assuming it’s not too cold out there for you.” He winks.

“I don’t mind the cold,” Rhett says. “Maybe I’ll stop by for a game.”

“I’ll look forward to it. You all take care. Don’t work too hard, Ms. Violet.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Once he’s gone, slipping out the door and back into the cold afternoon, I look at Rhett. “Chess, huh?”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” he says with a shrug. “Do you have time for hobbies, or is it all baking all the time?”

“It’s basically all baking all the time,” I admit. “But I don’t mind that. It’s fun for me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do, and one of the few things I’m actually good at.”

“Is it as hard as it seems?” he asks.

I shake my head, smiling at him. “Not really. Hard to master, probably, especially if you’re a perfectionist, but you just have to jump in. Everyone always says that baking is rigid because you can’t play around with ingredients the way you can with regular cooking, but I say those people lack imagination. Once you know the basics, you can do whatever you want.”

“What were all the spices for? And the cheeses?”

Something in me lights up to talk about my bakery. My mother never wants to hear about it, and while my dad will listen, he never asks the right questions or seems excited about anything.

“So, you know how people have little holiday parties and they put out trays of appetizers and treats for their guests?” Rhett nods. “I had the thought of making a bunch of little things like that, so people can build their own party platters. Little cookies in all kinds of flavors and cream puffs and Danishes. And gougères.”

“What’s a gougère?”

I lean forward, making a little circle with my thumb and pointer finger. “So imagine a little ball of puffed dough that tastes like cheese.”

Rhett’s lips tick up in a smile. “There’s no way that could be bad.”

“Right? I think it’ll be good for this time of year, but it’s one of those things that came to me in a dream, so I haven’t pinnedanything down yet. Lots of experimentation to do. On top of everything else I’m already doing.”

“Hence you working on your day off.”