Call Me Mrs Miracle. Debbie Macomber
nodded again. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Mrs. Miracle finished the sale and joined them. “Very nice meeting you, Gabe and Holly,” she said warmly.
Holly didn’t remember giving the older woman her name. Gabe must have mentioned it.
“You, too, Emily,” she said.
“Oh, please,” she said with a charming smile. “Just call me Mrs. Miracle.”
“Okay,” Gabe piped up. “We will.”
Lead me not into temptation.
I can find the way myself.
—J. R. Finley
“I thought we’d bake cookies today,” Holly said on Saturday morning as Gabe sat at the kitchen counter eating his breakfast cereal. When he didn’t think she was looking, he picked up the bowl and slurped what was left of his milk.
“Cookies?” Gabe said, frowning. “Can’t we just buy them?”
“We could,” Holly answered, “but I figured it would be fun to bake them ourselves.”
Gabe didn’t seem convinced. “Dad and I always got ours at the store. We never had to work to get them.”
“But it’s fun,” Holly insisted, unwilling to give up quite so easily. “You can roll out the dough. I even have special cookie cutters. After the cookies are baked and they’ve cooled down, we can frost and decorate them.” She’d hoped this Christmas tradition would appeal to Gabe.
He slid down from his chair and carried his bowl to the dishwasher. “Can I go on the computer?”
“Sure.” Holly made an effort to hide her disappointment. She’d really hoped the two of them would bond while they were baking Christmas cookies. Later, she intended to go into the office and put up decorations—with Gabe’s help. She wanted that to be fun for him, too.
Gabe moved to the alcove between the kitchen and small living room with its sofa and television. Holly was astonished at how adept the eight-year-old was on the computer. While he logged on, she brought out the eggs and flour and the rest of the ingredients for sugar cookies and set them on the kitchen counter.
Gabe obviously didn’t realize she could see the computer screen from her position. She was pleased that he was writing his father a note.
From: “Gabe Larson”<[email protected]>
To: “Lieutenant Mickey Larson” <[email protected]>
Sent: December 11
Subject: Cookies
Hi, Dad,
Guess what? Aunt Holly wants me to bake cookies. Doesn’t she know I’m a BOY? Boys don’t bake cookies. It’s bad enough that I have to put the toilet seat down for her. I hope you get home soon because I’m afraid she’s going to turn me into a girl!
Gabe
Holly tried to conceal her smile. “Would you like to go into the city this afternoon?” she asked as she added the butter she’d cubed to the sugar in the mixing bowl.
Gabe turned around to look at her. “You aren’t going to make me go shopping, are you?”
“No. I’ll take you to my office. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Yes,” he said halfheartedly.
“I have to put up a few decorations. You can help me.”
“Okay.” Again he showed a decided lack of enthusiasm.
“The Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is up,” she told him next.
Now that caught his interest. “Can we go ice-skating?”
“Ah...” Holly had never gone skating. “Maybe another time, okay?”
Gabe shrugged. “Okay. I bet Billy and his dad will take me.”
The kid had no idea how much that comment irritated her. However, Holly knew she had to be an adult about it. She hadn’t phoned Bill to discuss the fact that his son and her nephew were friends. She would, though, in order to arrange a playdate for the two boys.
“I thought we’d leave after lunch,” she said, resuming their original conversation.
“Okay.” Gabe returned to the computer and was soon involved in a game featuring beasts in some alien kingdom. Whatever it was held his attention for the next ten minutes.
Using the electric mixer, Holly blended the sugar, butter and eggs and was about to add the dry ingredients when Gabe climbed up on the stool beside her.
“I’ve never seen anyone make cookies before,” he said.
“You can watch if you want.” She made an effort to sound matter-of-fact, not revealing how pleased she was at his interest.
“When we go into the city, would it be all right if we went to Finley’s?” he asked.
Holly looked up. “I suppose so. Any particular reason?”
He stared at her as if it should be obvious. “I want to see Telly. He can do all kinds of tricks and stuff, and maybe Mrs. Miracle will be there.”
“Oh.”
“Mrs. Miracle said I could stop by anytime I want and she’d let me work the controls. She said they don’t normally let kids play with the toys but she’d make an exception.” He drew in a deep breath. “What’s an ‘exception’?”
“It means she’ll allow you to do it even though other people can’t.”
“That’s what I thought.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on the counter, nodding solemnly at this evidence of his elevated status—at least in Mrs. Miracle’s view.
As soon as the dough was mixed, Holly covered it with plastic wrap and put it inside the refrigerator to chill. When she’d finished, she cleaned off the kitchen counter. “You want to lick the beaters?” she asked.
Gabe straightened and looked skeptically at the mixer. “You can do that?”
“Sure. That’s one of the best parts of baking cookies.”
“Okay.”
She handed him one beater and took the second herself.
Gabe’s eyes widened after his first lick. “Hey, this tastes good.”
“Told you,” she said with a smug smile.
“Why can’t we just eat the dough? Why ruin cookies by baking ’em?”
“Well, they’re not cookies unless you bake them.”
“Oh.”
Her response seemed to satisfy him.
“I’m going to roll the dough out in a few minutes. Would you help me decide which cookie cutters to use?”
“I guess.” Gabe didn’t display a lot of enthusiasm at the request.
Holly stood on tiptoe to take down the plastic bag she kept on the upper kitchen shelf. “Your grandma Larson gave these to me last year. When your dad and I were your age, we used to make sugar cookies.”
Gabe sat up straighter. “You mean my dad baked cookies?”
“Every Christmas. After we decorated them, we chose special people to give them to.”
Gabe was always interested in learning facts about Mickey. Every night he asked Holly to tell him a story about his father as a boy. She’d run out of stories, but it didn’t