Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,62
morning when the child’s fussiness hadn’t abated, Hannah didn’t feel quite so accepting. She rubbed her fingers over her tight scalp. “Believe me, babies are anything but easy.”
“Don’t worry. Your aunt has everything under control.”
Poor Aunt Phiz. Only back in town an hour, and already pressed into service walking Tessa through the neighborhood so Hannah and Lauren could try to make some progress on their school fund-raising project.
She lifted up the empty beanbag frog she was supposed to turn right side out. “So, absolutely no way we could just throw together a bake sale?”
“None.” Lauren grabbed her frog by the feet, gave it a flap and the fabric popped. A little shake. A prod with a pencil for the arms and legs and done. A bullfrog-shaped bag ready for stuffing.
“Why not?” Hannah tugged this way and that. A foot here, and arm there. A twist. A shout. And…the poor thing looked like one right-side-out plaid frog swallowing one of its inside-out brethren. “Is the school worried about kids with allergies? We could label everything clearly to get around that.”
Lauren dropped her third expertly turned frog onto a stack. “Hannah, I didn’t want to admit this, but you leave me no choice.”
Hannah ditched her feetfirst frog behind her back. “What?”
Lauren batted her gorgeous lashes, shifted her size-six hips then tucked a strand of highlighted golden hair behind her ear. Her diamond stud earring flashed. She cleared her throat. “I am the one who put the kibosh on having a bake sale as a fund-raiser.”
“Kibosh?” Hannah picked a wayward thread from the tip of her tongue.
“Nixed. Eighty-sixed. No deal.”
“I know what it means, but I don’t understand why you feel that way.”
“Why? Isn’t it obvious?”
You don’t want to risk me poisoning small children? Listen, Hannah. The woman never said anything like that. Not every statement is a judgment. Get a clear answer before you start assuming the worst.
“I’m sorry, it’s not obvious to me. Seems like getting together a few dozen cookies and cupcakes would be a lot easier than this.” She dangled her wad-o-frog mess before Lauren’s eyes, dropped it in her lap, then spread her arms to indicate the two dozen forms draped over every surface of her living room.
“Well, yeah, sure. If we could just ‘get together’ the goods. But a bake sale requires a bit more than that.”
“Like what?”
“Baking, for starters.”
Hannah nodded, chuckling. “One would think.”
“And mixing and pouring.”
“Yep. With you so far.”
“And preheating and cooling on racks and, well, I shudder to mention…”
Hannah braced herself. If something made Lauren Faison quake, it might likely send Hannah into convulsions.
“Frosting.” Lauren winced.
Convulsions? No. But she did suddenly have the urge to bang her head on the floor in humiliation. “I see.”
“Oh, don’t take it personally, Hannah. It’s a good idea but it’s just—”
Don’t take it personally? How could she not? The most together mom in the world, whose son had actually bragged about her homemade goodies, who had literally caught Hannah spreading spackling compound on a children’s cake, had just invoked the F-word—frosting!
“Besides, these frogs will make more money, and we can store whatever we don’t sell in the garage, unlike most baked goods.”
Most baked goods. Not yours, Hannah. Yours would be right at home on a workbench, but the rest of ours…
“I understand.”
“I knew you would. Not like you have time to bake right now anyway, not with the big trip just looming.”
“Looming. Good word.”
“You don’t sound enthused.”
“Oh, I am. I…am.”
“But?”
Hannah picked up another limp froggy and skimmed her fingers along the quarter-inch seam. “Stilton’s your only child, isn’t he?”
“Oh, I get it.” Lauren slipped orange plaid fabric over itself and deposited another finished frog body onto her growing pile. “Worried about leaving the kids behind, right?”
“No.” Hannah’s second attempt fell into her lap half-done. “Worried about bringing another one home with us.”
“Oh, Hannah! Another baby? That’s terrific. Are you?”
“No. Not yet.” She sighed. “But Payt thinks it’s time we started, um, a family expansion project.”
“And perhaps you don’t feel ready?”
Hannah could only nod.
“Hmm.” Lauren kept at her work. “How old is Tessa?”
“Right at eight months, but the thing is, it took me almost two years to get pregnant with her. And as my darling husband pointed out at the pizza parlor last night—I’m not getting any younger.”
Work stopped. Lauren leaned in, placing her chin in one manicured hand, to study Hannah with her eyes narrowed. “Cheese or pepperoni?”
“Huh?”
“Just wondering which kind of pizza you dumped in his lap for that remark.”
Hannah laughed. “Neither. I just sat there,