24

“Oh, my goodness, those smell amazing!” Harper wanted to plop face first into the pan of chocolate mint brownies. She inhaled to the point her lungs burned in protest, but her taste buds salivated at the prospect of one of the chewy, chocolate-y treats melting in her mouth.

She slid the pan onto the waiting cooling racks, while the Wonder Twins conspired over the next batch. “I can’t believe they won’t tell us the recipe,” she said to Finn.

“Well, you can’t blame them. Lulu was quite adamant about secrecy. She texted. I mean, I am surprised the woman even knows how to text. But to ensure secrecy we all make sacrifices.”

“But man, I really wanted to know what’s in those brownies.” Harper laced her arms across her chest and watched the brother and sister work in perfect harmony. Whatever was in those letters must have been transcendent. Their hushed tones and perfectly timed movements rivaled her own set of twin siblings, Marian and Elinor. Her sisters twinning made them special, excluding Harper and making her feel she didn’t pass the test to be a member of their club.

Her lips tightened to a single line. She tore off the oven mitts and tossed them onto the breakfast nook bench beside her. Sliding the stack of velum bags over, she lifted the lid on the swoon pie box and began filling each of the empty bags.

“Would you like some help?”

Ben’s smooth as honey voice slid through her, warming her from toes to fingers. She would be surprised if the flame burning her cheeks didn’t singe her eyelashes.

“Umm…sure.”

He folded his long body onto the bench across from her. “Put me in coach.”

“Well, each pie needs to be in its own bag. They’re a little sticky which is why they go from fridge to bag to fridge. If you’d rather tie, Mrs. Penhearst likes double knotted bows.” She nodded toward the thin strips of ribbon piled up by the bags.

“Umm…I haven’t operated in a long time. I better stick with bagging.”

“Fair enough.” She pushed the bags to him.

Reaching for the first filled bag, she began the tedious task of sealing each of the hundred plus bags. Since the inaugural LAS Christmas Cookie and Baked Goods sale fifteen years ago, Harper had been bagging and tagging. The process was cathartic.

Right over left.

Under, over and through.

Repeat.

The mind blissfully stilled with the monotony.

Harper longed for the blissful emptiness, but her mind was not cooperating. Since the collision of baked goods and periodicals, she had tried to focus her thoughts on anything but the compassionate, dreamy doctor who was bagging treats without complaint. She was failing. He was the sent-from-heaven doctor of doctor-nephews: practically perfect in every way.

“You’re pretty good,” Ben said.

“Huh?” Harper shook her head to focus on his words.

“Those bows look professional.”

“Years of practice.”

“Really?”

“I think my mom taught me and my sisters how to bake in the womb. And to her, presentation is ninety percent of the effort.”

“I would think taste would be paramount.”

“One would think, but Nancy Jessup will tell you, one first eats with the eyes, next with the nose, then the fingers, and only at the end does taste come into consideration. No ugly cookies in my house. It would have been a mortal sin if my mother could convince God.”

“Hmmm. My mother wasn’t much of a baker.” He bagged a few more cookies, sliding each one to her for the finishing touch. “Well, that’s not true, she was pretty good at making cereal treats.”

“You know those don’t require any actual baking, right? Just melting some butter with marshmallow cream and mixing in the cereal.”

“Of course.” He dropped his focus to the table, bagging swoon pies with a deep intensity.

“You didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “Not a clue.” Laughter bubbled from the depths of his chest and washed over Harper.

“I’m glad to know you aren’t actually perfect, Dr. Langston.”

“Definitely not perfect.” His laughter sparkled through his gaze. “Will I still be acceptable company?”

Breathe.

In. Out.

Swallowing against the growing tightness in her chest, she nodded.

“Good. Because I’m becoming quite fond of yours.” He gave her a quick wink and refocused on bagging.

“Whoa, boy,” she said on a whisper.

“Hmm?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Her fingers fumbled with the ribbon in her hand. She was in trouble with a capital B for Bennett.