and Pax only seven years away from college, accepting was a no-brainer.
Except on days like today, when Shelby was watching Pax and Faith was nearing her second shift of a fourteen-hour marathon on her feet. She had to admit she was running on fumes.
So it felt good when someone validated her hard work.
“Thank you. You kind of made my day.” So much so that she felt tears prick her eyes. “If you don’t have anything specific in mind, I highly recommend the peppermint bark cookies.” She did a Vanna White move, displaying the tray of dog-shaped cookies with peppermint bark icing on the paws. “Or my ginger bear cookies. They come individually wrapped and make a delicious holiday gift for a neighbor or the postman. And perfect stocking stuffers.”
And dang it, Gina was right. It hadn’t been just tingles. The reminder of a particular stocking stuffer had parts of her, she’d thought long ago closed for the winter, whipping up a blizzard of flutters.
“No, dear, your special cookies.” Ester lowered her sunglasses to peer over their rims, giving Faith a You got me, right? wink.
The only kind of special baked items Faith had ever heard of were still illegal in the great state of Texas. And she’d only done one illegal thing in her life—the repercussions of which were so horrifying she’d vowed to never again find herself on the wrong side of the law.
“Mrs. Rayborn, are you asking if there’s marijuana in my cookies?”
Ester gasped, her hand going to her pearls. “Heavens, no. I’m looking for the cookies with the Viagra icing.”
Faith choked. “You think I’m grinding up Viagra and sneaking it in my icing?”
“That’s the word on the street.” She wrapped her scarf higher as if the flimsy disguise would distract from her bright red canvas RAYBORN MORTUARY: TAKE THAT FINAL RIDE IN STYLE bag hanging off her shoulder. “Last night at Bea’s Quilting Barn, I was getting some yarn to knit a baby blanket for Mable’s granddaughter. She’s expecting her first. And I overheard Luella talking to Bea about these cookies she bought for Mister. Said it was like they were teenagers again.” Ester leaned all the way in and whispered, “Six hours. Feet to Jesus-style. Only taking a break to find Mister’s dentures when things got a little spicy.”
“Those must be some cookies.”
“Cookies to get your cookies,” Ester clarified as if Faith wasn’t uncomfortable enough. “It got me thinking. What gift do you get the man who says he has everything?”
“Cookies to get your cookies?” Faith guessed.
Ester clasped her frail hands together in excitement. “So you do have some?”
“I’m sorry,” Faith said. “I swapped out the traditional icing for my maple cream frosting, but these days that’s as spicy as I get.”
“Oh.” Ester looked disappointed. “This will be my and Woodrow’s fifty-fifth Christmas together and I was hoping to get the spark back. Maybe go sledding, then sit by the fire and have some hot cocoa spiked with peppermint schnapps like we did on our first date. And when the sun went down, we’d have a cookie and well . . .” Ester wiggled her brows.
Listening to Ester’s plan had Faith feeling a little disappointed, too. An eighty-year-old woman was planning to seduce her husband of more than half a century with some pharmaceutical-aided romance. And the spiciest Faith had gotten lately was swapping ingredients.
She wasn’t interested in Viagra-spiked cookies, but she’d welcome a little romance in her life. Someone with whom to share her day or watch the occasional movie. Someone to give her a desperately needed cookie—or two.
There wasn’t space in her calendar to date. It was a stroke of luck if she had a spare five minutes to swipe on lipstick and mascara. Relationships, as far as she could tell, took a lot of time—and trust.
Two things she was short of.
Faith handed over a cookie and Ester took a big bite.
“Oh my.” Ester’s brows shot right over those bug-eyed sunglasses. “Viagra or not, this is the best gingerbread I’ve tasted in years. It’s even better than my recipe.” The older woman took another bite and moaned. “Have you thought about selling these?”
“I have, and I do. Here.” Again with the Vanna White move.
“Have you considered selling these at the bake sale?”
Only every year when the sign-up sheet went around. But Faith was never able to scrounge up the 300 dollars to pay the booth fee. And unless she could get her hands on one of Hermione’s Time Turners and be in two places