She smiled at the three of them, her face relaxed, cheeks pink with the cold.
‘Wow, what a cool idea. I’d love to help but why don’t we make it more than a house? Why don’t we make a gingerbread house of Pudding Hall?’
The boys started to yell ideas at each other. ‘We can do all the windows and the stairs. What do we make stairs out of? Can we do the garden?’
They started to walk again, the boys running ahead to talk excitedly about the gingerbread house and the Christmas tree.
‘It doesn’t take much to make them happy. I need to remember that,’ he said. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
‘I hope I’m not some morality tale for you because I’m low on cash and have to work through my birthday and Christmas.’ She laughed.
Marc felt embarrassed. He was always terrible at explaining anything other than a business deal.
They came to a café in an old Tudor-style building. The window was filled with delicious-looking pies and sandwiches and cakes and slices. Someone walked outside and a gust of warm air and the scent of coffee escaped.
‘This looks good?’ he said but it was more of a question to Christa who was peering in the window.
‘It looks fantastic,’ she said. ‘I’m hungry.’
Soon they were seated and the boys were happily discussing Minecraft blocks, which Christa knew nothing about.
Marc was studying the menu when the waitress came to them.
‘Hello, is this lovely family ready to order? Your boys are very well behaved,’ she said to Christa, who seemed to be grasping for words. For a moment, Marc wondered if this was what it would be like as a family. His ex-wife didn’t like going out with the boys because she said they weren’t old enough to behave. They had always eaten separately at home in San Francisco, eating different food, prepared by a different chef. He had eaten out with the boys many times but not as a nuclear family, he realised.
He smiled at the waitress. ‘Thank you, and yes, we’re ready to order. Christa? What would you like, darling?’ He tried not to laugh as she gasped.
And then he saw her blush from her neck to her hairline and he realised he liked teasing her. In fact, he liked it more than anything else he had done in a very long time.
8
On Monday morning, Christa called the number Petey had given her and asked for Zane. She had spent Sunday evening cooking two roast chickens with all the trimmings for the family and had eaten with them but quickly cleaned up after and headed upstairs.
‘Sorry, Zane is out but he can return your call when he’s back. What’s your number?’ said the person on the end of the line.
Christa gave her number and then put down the phone.
She felt slightly dithery, hoping Marc would come into the kitchen but also hoping he didn’t because she needed to get on with her work.
She would make some stock for the soups using the quail, which would give her a beautiful broth.
Soon she had the birds in the roasting pan and in the oven. Then she started chopping the onions, carrots, celery and garlic. She used the fresh parsley from the market and the pig’s foot she had bought at the butcher before she’d seen Marc and the boys. Then she dug into the shopping bag, hoping she hadn’t lost the precious small ingredient.
‘There you are,’ she said and she opened the bag and held it to her nose and took a deep inhalation and then sighed.
‘Wow. Seems like you have some good stuff there. Is it legal?’ she heard Marc’s voice say and she felt her stomach flip.
Damn, it was a crush. How embarrassing.
Pulling the bag away from her nose, she handed it to him. ‘Take a sniff and tell me what you think it is.’
‘Oh a sniff test – I’m good at this. I once smelled a baloney sandwich that had been in my sister’s school backpack for a full semester.’
He held the bag to his nose and closed his eyes.
‘I can smell…’ he opened his eyes and looked at her ‘…spice. Wood. Something like incense but not cheap stuff like at Venice Beach but something like I smelled in the Atlas Mountains in Morocco.’
Christa wasn’t sure if he was being pretentious or silly but he seemed serious.
