Call Me Mrs Miracle. Debbie Macomber
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“—I was twelve and had a crush on a boy in my class, so I brought the cookies to school for him.”
“Who’d my dad give the cookies to?”
“I don’t remember. You’ll have to ask him.”
“I will.” Gabe propped his chin on one hand. “Can I take a plate of cookies to Mrs. Miracle?”
Holly was about to tell him that would be a wonderful idea, then hesitated. “The problem is, if I baked the cookies and decorated them, they’d be from me and not from you.”
Gabe frowned. “I could help with cutting them out and stuff. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want any of my friends to think I’m a sissy.”
She crossed her heart. “I promise not to say a word.”
“Okay, then, I’ll do it.” Gabe dug into the bag of cookie cutters and made his selections, removing the Christmas tree, the star and several others. Then, as if a thought had suddenly struck him, he pointed at her apron. “I don’t have to put on one of those, do I?”
“You don’t like my apron?”
“They’re okay for girls, but not boys.”
“You don’t have to wear one if you’d rather not.”
He shook his head adamantly.
“But you might get flour on your clothes, and your friends would guess you were baking.” This was a clever argument, if she did say so herself.
Gabe nibbled on his lower lip, apparently undecided. “Then I’ll change clothes. I’m not wearing any girlie apron.”
“That’s fine,” Holly said, grinning.
The rest of the morning was spent baking and decorating cookies. Once he got started, Gabe appeared to enjoy himself. He frosted the Christmas tree with green icing and sprinkled red sugar over it.
Then, with a sideways glance at Holly, he promptly ate the cookie. She let him assume she hadn’t noticed.
“Who are you giving your cookies to?” Gabe asked.
Actually, Holly hadn’t thought about it. “I’m not sure.” A heartbeat later, the decision was made. “Jake.”
“The man in the toy department at Finley’s?”
Holly nodded. “He did something kind for me on Friday. He bought my coffee.”
Gabe cocked his head. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“Oh, no. But he’s very nice and I want to repay him.” She got two plastic plates and, together, they arranged the cookies. Holly bundled each plate in green-tinted cellophane wrap and added silver bows for a festive look.
“You ready to head into town?” she asked.
Gabe raced into his bedroom for his coat, hat and mittens. “I’m ready.”
“Me, too.” The truth was, Holly felt excited about seeing Jake again. Of course, there was always the possibility that he wouldn’t be working today—but she had to admit she hoped he was. Her reaction surprised her; since Bill had broken off their relationship she’d been reluctant to even consider dating someone new.
Meeting Jake had been an unexpected bonus. He’d been so— She stopped abruptly. Here she was, doing it again. Jake had paid for her coffee. He was obviously a generous man... or he might’ve been in a rush to get back to the store. Either way, he’d been kind to her. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to her. In reality it meant nada. Zilch. Zip. Gazing down at the plate of cookies, Holly felt she might be pushing this too far.
“Aunt Holly?”
She looked at her nephew, who was staring quizzically at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry... No, nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking maybe I should give these cookies to someone else.”
“How come?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“Give them to Jake,” Gabe said without a second’s doubt. “Didn’t you say he bought your coffee?”
“He did.” Gabe was right. The cookies were simply a way of thanking him. That was all. She was returning a kindness. With her quandary settled, they walked over to the subway station.
When they arrived at Finley’s, the streets and the store were even more crowded than they’d been the night before. Again Holly kept a close eye on her nephew. She’d made a contingency plan—if they did happen to get separated, they were to meet in the toy department by the robots.
They rode up on the escalator, after braving the cosmetics aisles, with staff handing out perfume samples. Gabe held his nose, but Holly was delighted to accept several tiny vials of perfume. When they finally reached the toy department, it was far busier than it had been the previous evening. Both Gabe and Holly studied the display of robots. There did seem to be fewer of the large boxes, but Jake had assured her there’d be plenty left by the time she received her Christmas bonus. She sincerely hoped that was true.
The moment Gabe saw Mrs. Miracle, he rushed to her side. “We made you sugar cookies,” he said, giving her the plate.
“Oh, my, these are lovely.” The grandmotherly woman smiled. “They look good enough to eat.”
“You are supposed to eat them,” Gabe said with a giggle.
“And I will.” She bent down and hugged the boy. “Thank you so much.”
Gabe whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but I helped Aunt Holly make them.”
Holly was standing close enough to hear him and exchanged a smile with Mrs. Miracle.
“You should be proud of that,” Mrs. Miracle said as she led him toward the Intellytron display, holding the plate of cookies aloft. “Lots of men cook. You should have your aunt Holly turn on the Food Network so you see for yourself.”
“Men bake cookies?”
“Oh, my, yes,” she told him. “Now that you’re here, why don’t we go and show these other children how to work this special robot. You can be my assistant.”
“Can I?” Wide-eyed, Gabe looked at Holly for permission.
She nodded, and Mrs. Miracle and Gabe went to the other side of the toy department. Holly noticed that Jake was busy with customers, so she wandered down a randomly chosen aisle, examining the Barbie dolls and all their accoutrements. She felt a bit foolish carrying a plate of decorated cookies.
As soon as he was free, Jake made a beeline toward her. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Hi.” Looking away, she tried to explain the reason for her visit. “Gabe wanted to check out his robot again. After that, we’re going to my office and then Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree...but we decided to come here first.” The words tumbled out so quickly she wondered if he’d understood a thing she’d said.
He glanced at the cookies.
“These are for you,” she said, shoving the plate in his direction. “Sugar cookies. In appreciation for my latte.”
“Homemade sugar cookies,” he murmured as if he’d never seen anything like them before.
He continued to stare at the plate for an awkward moment. Holly was afraid she’d committed a social faux pas.
“My mother used to bake sugar cookies every Christmas,” Jake finally said. His eyes narrowed, and the memory seemed to bring him pain.
Holly had the absurd notion that she should apologize.
“I