“Oh! That reminds me. Have you heard about the Thanksgiving Throwdown?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I found a shelf of cookbooks and flipped through a new one from Marcus Lee. “Let me guess, it’s a giant town-wide snowball fight?”
“No,” she said, cocking her head. “That’s a great idea, though. I might have to mention it at the next chamber of commerce meeting. The Thanksgiving Throwdown is an annual baking competition held over the course of a day. This year’s theme is gingerbread. You should enter.”
“I’d love to.” My pulse jumped at the thought and crashed back down just as quickly. “But my schedule’s sort of unpredictable. And I’m not sure it’s a great idea to ask for time off when I just started a new job. Something tells me Mrs. Hawthorne isn’t the accommodating type.”
“Maybe they don’t need to know,” she suggested with a coy smirk. “Like you said, they’re out of the house a lot. They probably wouldn’t even notice you’re gone.”
She had a point. My off hours were my own. As long as the family didn’t need me, I was free to roam around. The caveat being, I was always at their beck and call, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. But with a little clever coordination, I suppose it was possible.
“I’ll think about it,” I told her.
“Terrific. There’s an entry fee, and of course materials . . .”
Materials. That sounded ominous.
“But The Snowdrift will sponsor you. Plus, there’s a thousand-dollar prize to the winner.”
“Well, shoot. You should have led with that,” I laughed. ‘But thank you, that’s very generous.’
“Anyway, think it over. And when the Hawthornes don’t have you chained to the chalet, don’t be a stranger. Swing by the inn or come find us at The Foggy Goggle. I can introduce you to some people. If you’re going to be here a while, you might as well make some friends.”
“Thanks, I’d love that.”
A big part of me was missing home. I didn’t have a big social circle in Denver either, and maybe I was better known for canceling on plans than being the life of the party, but still, it could get a little lonely in the cottage all by myself. And I didn’t want to cling to Charles as my only source of entertainment. Wonderfully distracting as he was.
So, after leaving Bea at the bookstore, I called Hannah on my way to start my provision shopping.
“Elle, finally!” she answered.
“Hey there.” I strolled toward the looming white yeti peering above the rooftops in the distance. “You still at work?”
“Nope. Just got home. It’s about time you called. Feels like I haven’t heard from you in forever. Forget about me already?”
“Never. Calling to give you the full update now.”
“Hang on.” I heard the refrigerator open and close in the background and the sound of a soda can popping. “Okay, go. What’s it like so far?”
Children in ski suits ran up a hill across the street beside the post office, carrying their sleds and getting a running start before shooting down the snow-covered slope.
“I had the most amazing meal of my life at this incredible mountaintop restaurant,” I told her. “I’m going to send you the link. You’d absolutely die for the elk.”
“Oh, I’m so jealous. What else? Hook up with any hot ski instructors yet?”
Hannah always did get right to the point.
“Not quite. Though I did almost have to punt a first grader off a mountain.”
She barked out a sharp laugh. “I’d have paid to see that.”
“And I got on a ski lift.”
Christmas songs played like a radio changing channels every time a shop door opened. Tourists were pouring out of the storefronts with arms full of bags.
“Wow. You’ve changed. Where’s the girl I knew who hated getting up on the ladder to change the special on the menu board?”
“I killed her. Buried her in the snow behind the woodshed.”
