25

An hour later, Ben handed Harper the final bag. “I can’t believe we are finished.”

Her slim fingers made quick work of the delicate ribbon. The completed swoon pie packages nestled side by side and looked straight from a professional bakery.

“We will need to package the brownies once the frosting has set. And, there is the outstanding issue of some undecorated blanks.”

“Blanks?” There was more?

“Blank cookies. Most of the ladies’ pre-bake several dozen cut-out cookies a few weeks ahead of the bake sale and then decorate them the week of.”

Ben rubbed his temples, pressing tight circles against his skin. The pressure quickly sent a ripple of calm through his frame.

“It’s OK, big-boy. No one expects you to know how to decorate Christmas cookies.”

“Good.” Wait, he was a trained surgeon. He could decorate a cookie. “I mean, why not?” How hard was it to slap some green icing on a tree-shaped cookie and drop some sprinkles for lights?

“No offense, but these aren’t your last-day-of-school-before-Christmas-break cookies. These are borderline professional.”

She moved from the table and snatched her phone from the island. Swiping her fingers several times against the screen, she scooted onto the seat beside him. Her spicy, vanilla scent mixed with the hours of chocolate dipping. He bit his bottom lip and locked his hands in a tight grip on the top of the table.

She pointed to her phone screen. “See? Those are your aunt’s cookies last year.” She swiftly swiped twice. “Those are Mrs. Jenkins’.” One more swipe. “And these were my mother’s.”

He reached for the phone. Unbelievable.

Ben couldn’t quite comprehend what the gaggle of older ladies, who had sat vigil for his aunt, had created; works of edible art. The screen lit up with painted winter scenes on rectangle cookies next to three dimensional trees with perfect strings of colored lights. Laughing Santas were paired with a choir of angels and mittens glistening with what appeared to be actual snow.

“People eat these?”

“That’s kind of the idea.”

“They are kind of unreal.”

“It’s what makes the cookie sale such a big success.” Harper leaned into his side, stretching across him to swipe the screen. The simple connection made his skin feel both tight and loose. He swallowed his breath, trying to slow the sprint his heart had been running since the moment he opened the front door.

She was explaining something about the different decorating techniques each of the ladies had utilized, but her words were muffled by the buzz in his brain. Every cell in his body wanted to toss the phone and fill his hands with her beautiful face; to see if her hair was as silky as the shine hinted; to know if her lips tasted like spicy vanilla or warm chocolate; to feel her stretched tall against him.

“Can you believe they’re all self-taught?” Darcy’s voice cut through him as if she was an iceberg and he was the Titanic as she plopped onto the opposite bench.

“What’re you doing?” his words squeaked through his lips, echoing his thirteen-year-old self, hovering on puberty.

“What’s wrong with you?” Darcy asked, snatching the phone from Ben’s grip.

“What’re you looking at?” Finn asked, sliding onto the bench beside Darcy. “Oh, those are quite stunning. Those ladies sure do like to bake. In September there was quite the uproar when Sissy Jenkins and−”

“Has anyone checked the weather?” Ben pushed away from the table.

Three heads swiveled toward him on what appeared to be one pivot. From the consistent expression on each face, he wondered if he had spoken in Latin. “Weather? Winter storm? Snow? The reason we’re all here…together?”

Finn nodded. “When I looked an hour ago, the county was still under a level three.” He lifted his phone and flipped it to face Ben. “Weather still looks pretty rough. I don’t think it’ll let up until morning.”

Harper patted her long fingers against Ben’s bicep. “I should probably give my mom a call. Sounds like none of us will be leaving tonight.”

She slid from the bench and slip into the hallway.

“Well, some things never change,” Darcy said.

Ben tightened his arms over his chest. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Darcy shifted to face Finn. “My little brother is romantically challenged.”

“Darc!”

“Well, it’s true.”

It was true, but he didn’t need the revelation spoken with his long shot hope in the next room.

Finn turned to face Ben. “I feel your pain. I’m terrible with women.”

Darcy’s face rolled through roughly twenty shades of pink in under five seconds. Nearly shoving Finn from the bench, she mumbled something under her breath about getting the extra guest rooms ready and jogged out of the kitchen.

Well, well, well. Little Darcy had a crush. Good for her.

“What did I say?” Finn’s face twisted in confusion.

“Well, Pastor Finn, I believe we both may have our romantic hands full.”