Call Me Mrs Miracle. Debbie Macomber
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vanilla extract or grated lemon peel
6 cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
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1 In a large bowl with electric mixer on medium speed, cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla; beat until combined.
2 In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Reduce mixer speed to low; beat in flour mixture just until combined. Shape dough into two disks; wrap and refrigerate at least 2 hours or up to overnight.
3 Preheat oven to 350ºF. Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Remove 1 dough disk from the refrigerator. Cut disk in half; cover remaining half. On a lightly floured surface with floured rolling pin, roll dough 1⁄4-inch thick. Using cookie cutters, cut dough into as many cookies as possible; reserve trimmings for rerolling.
4 Place cookies on prepared sheets about 1 inch apart. Bake 10 to 12 minutes (depending on the size of cookies) until pale gold. Transfer to wire rack to cool. Repeat with remaining dough and rerolled scraps.
TIP: Decorate baked cookies with prepared frosting or sprinkle unbaked cookies with colored sugars before putting them in the oven.
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Makes about 48 cookies.
People are like tea bags—you have to drop them in hot water before you know how strong they are.
—Mrs. Miracle
“Sugar cookies,” Jake said to himself. A rush of memories warmed him. Memories of his mother and sister at Christmas. Spicy scents in the air—cinnamon and ginger and cloves. Those sensory memories had been so deeply buried, he’d all but forgotten them.
“We sold three of the SuperRobots this afternoon,” Mrs. Miracle said, breaking into his thoughts.
Just three? Jake felt a sense of dread. He’d need to sell a lot more than three a day to unload the five hundred robots he’d ordered. He checked the computer, which instantly gave him the total number sold since Black Friday. When he saw the screen, his heart sank down to his shoes. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Jake had made a bold decision, hoping to prove himself to his father, and he was about to fall flat on his face.
“I’ll be leaving for the night,” Mrs. Miracle announced. “Karen—” the other sales associate “—is already gone.”
He glanced at his watch. Five after nine. “By all means. You’ve put in a full day.”
“So have you.”
As the owner’s son, Jake was expected to stay late. He wouldn’t ask anything of his staff that he wasn’t willing to do himself. That had been drilled into him by his father, who lived by the same rules.
“It’s a lovely night for a walk in the park, don’t you think?” the older woman said wistfully.
Jake lived directly across from Central Park. He often jogged through the grounds during the summer months, but winter was a different story.
Mrs. Miracle patted him on the back. “I appreciate that you let me stay here in the toy department,” she said.
Jake turned to look at her. He hadn’t said anything to the older woman about getting her transferred. He couldn’t imagine HR had, either. He wondered how she’d found out about his sudden decision to keep her with him. Actually, it’d been Holly’s comment about having a grandmotherly figure around that had influenced him. That, and Emily’s obvious rapport with children.
“Good night, Mrs. Miracle,” he said.
“Good night, Mr. Finley. Oh, and I don’t think you need to worry about that robot,” she said. “It’s going to do very well. Mark my words.”
Now it appeared the woman was a mind reader, too.
“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.
“I am,” she said, reaching for her purse. “And remember, this is a lovely evening for a stroll through the park. It’s an excellent way to clear your head of worries.”
Again, she’d caught him unawares. Jake had no idea he could be so easily read. Good thing he didn’t play high-stakes poker. That thought amused him as he finished up for the day and left the store.
He was grateful not to run into his father because J.R. would certainly question him about those robots. No doubt his father already knew the dismal truth; the click of a computer key would show him everything.
When Jake reached his apartment, he was hungry and restless. He unwrapped the plate of cookies and quickly ate two. If this wasn’t his mother’s recipe, then it was a very similar one. They tasted the same as the cookies he recalled from his childhood.
Standing by the picture window that overlooked the park, he remembered the Christmas his mother and sister had been killed. The shock and pain of it seemed as fresh now as it’d been all those years ago. No wonder his father still refused to celebrate the holiday. Jake couldn’t, either.
When he looked out, he noticed how brightly lit the park was. Horse-drawn carriages clattered past, and although he couldn’t hear the clopping of the horses’ hooves, it sounded in his mind as clearly as if he’d been out on the street. He suddenly saw himself with his parents and his sister, all huddled under a blanket in a carriage. The horse had been named Silver, he remembered, and the snow had drifted softly down. That was almost twenty-one years ago, the winter they’d died, and he hadn’t taken a carriage ride since.
Mrs. Miracle had suggested he go for a walk that evening. An odd idea, he thought, especially after a long day spent dealing with harried shoppers. The last thing he’d normally want to do was spend even more time on his feet. And yet he felt irresistibly attracted to the park. The cheerful lights, the elegant carriages, the man on the corner selling roasted chestnuts, drew him like a kid to a Christmas tree.
None of this made any sense. He was exhausted, doubting himself and his judgment, entangled in memories he’d rather ignore. Perhaps a swift walk would chase away the demons that hounded him.
Putting on his coat, he wrapped the cashmere scarf around his neck. George, the building doorman, opened the front door and, hunching his shoulders against the wind, Jake hurried across the street.
“Aunt Holly, can we buy hot chestnuts?”
The young boy’s voice immediately caught Jake’s attention. He turned abruptly and came face-to-face with Holly Larson. The fourth time in less than twenty-four hours.
“Jake!”
“Holly.”
They stared at each other, both apparently too shocked to speak.
She found her voice first. “What are you doing here?”
He pointed to the apartment building on the other side of the street. “I live over there. What are you doing here this late?”
“How late is it?”
He checked his watch. “Twenty to ten.”
“Ten!” she cried. “You’ve got to be kidding. I had no idea it was so late. Hurry up, Gabe, it’s time we got to the subway.”
“Can we buy some chestnuts first?” he asked, gazing longingly at the vendor’s cart.
“Not now. Come on, we have to go.”
“I’ve never had roasted chestnuts before,” the boy complained.
“Neither have I,” Jake said, although that wasn’t strictly true, and stepped up to the vendor. “Three, please.”
“Jake, you shouldn’t.”
“Oh,