Page 95 of Slap Shot
“We’ll plan something.” Hudson rubs his hand up my arm. “Gosh. You really are something else, Mads. A sight for sore eyes.”
Funny.
Looking at him makes me think my heart needs to be jumpstarted because he’s so beautiful.
“You clean up well too, BB.”
He steps closer to me. Our chests almost press together. “You’re having fun, right?”
“I’m here with you.” I smile. “Of course I’m having fun. Are you?”
“Yeah.” His fingers bunch my dress in their hold, and I let out at shallow breath. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
HUDSON
My kitchen is a disaster,but it’s for a good cause.
Operation Christmas Eve Cookies for Santa commenced an hour ago, and Lucy, Madeline, and I can barely get through the recipe without laughing hysterically.
There are rolling pins in the sink and flour covers the floor. Ceramic mixing bowls with raw cookie dough sit on the island, and the oven is slowly preheating. ‘Jingle Bells’ blares from Madeline’s phone, and she signs the lyrics to Lucy who shimmies like she’s dancing.
I don’t care about the clean up, because I swear this is the most alive my kitchen has ever been.
“We’re going to put the cookies on the baking sheets,” Madeline tells us, and she hoists Lucy onto the island. “And get this show rolling.”
Lucy signs something to Madeline that makes her laugh again, and I wish more than anything I was part of their conversation. I’ve been using my notebook, but it’s not the same. It feels like a cop out, and I’m determined to try to pick up on some of the words they frequently use.
“Are y’all making fun of me?” I ask.
“Lucy wants you to know you have flour in your hair.” Madeline leans over the island and tugs on the strands near my ears. “She said you look like Frosty the Snowman.”
“It’s her fault. She’s the one who threw a handful in my face.” I offer Lucy the spatula covered in chocolate chips, and she takes it eagerly. “Pretend like you’re not seeing her eat raw cookie dough.”
“Eating the dough is the best part.Right, Luce?” Madeline grabs what looks like an ice cream scoop from a drawer and starts to dole out balls of dough onto the baking sheets. “Which one do you think is going to be Santa’s favorite?”
Lucy surveys the scene in front of her. I appreciate how she looks at the chocolate chip, the sugar and the peanut butter options before answering. After a few seconds, she points at the bowl full of chocolate chip dough, and I nod in agreement.
“Good choice,” I say, giving her a thumbs-up, and she beams. “Do y’all bake like this every year?”
“We do, but this Christmas is extra special. I didn’t want Lucy to think Santa skipped over our house because we moved. She’s worried she won’t have any presents from him tomorrow morning.”
I crane my neck to make sure Gus and Millie aren’t causing any havoc to the tree. There are already two dozen gifts tucked under the ten-foot fir we brought home last week, and they’re all addressed to Lucy from Madeline.
I have a feeling there will be more there tomorrow.
“How old are kids when they learn Santa isn’t real these days?” I ask, clueless. “I think I was like, nine, when I found out, and I was devastated. Has that changed?”
“That’s a hot topic on the parenting forums.”
“There are parenting forums?”
“Oh, yeah. The drama is hilarious. I was ten when I found out. A kid at school was the one to break the news, so I’m notgoing to mention anything until Lucy asks. It’s so nice to be carefree, you know? To believe in the magic of the holidays, and I’ll bake cookies every Christmas Eve for as long as I live if it makes her smile.”
Lucy uses her hands to roll a ball of sugar cookie dough and puts it on one of the sheet pans. She and Madeline exchange a few phrases of conversation, and Madeline gestures for me to join them on the other side of the island.
“Luce wants you to help her make a snowflake cookie,” Madeline says. “There are cookie cutters in the pantry.Could you grab them?”
