“I commend your effort,” Cassie told him with a smile. “But you have to work smarter, not harder.”
“What does that mean?”
Cassie strode toward the giant oak tree a few feet away and returned with a long, mossy branch. “Here, I’ll show you.” Standing on the top step, she grabbed a post for support and stretched onto her tiptoes, jabbing the stick at the baseball. “Come on,” she cajoled the branch. “A little bit further.”
Still a few inches shy, Cassie groaned. Why had she worn her most expensive pair of skinny jeans? Not to mention the incredibly impractical high-heeled boots.
Swinging her left leg, she placed one foot on the railing and tried again. In full lunge, she prayed her fitted jeans wouldn’t rip at the seams. She really couldn’t afford to buy another pair. Three months of unemployment meant her credit cards were maxed out on rent and ramen noodles.
This time the tip of the branch made contact with the scuffed leather, and with one solid nudge, it popped over the edge.
The boy cheered and raced over to collect his recovered treasure. “Wanna play?” He thrust the baseball toward her, his huge chocolate eyes filled with hope.
Cassie tossed the stick into the grass and brushed her palms together, scattering flecks of bark and moss. “Sorry, I can’t.”
“Okay.” The boy hung his head, tugging on Cassie’s heartstrings.
“I would,” she added. “But I’m meeting someone.” She gestured toward the door guarded by nutcracker infantry.
A delighted grin spread across the boy’s ruddy face. “Uncle Luke!”
Cassie offered a short, half-shrug in response. She supposed theLcould stand for Luke. But it didn’t really matter. “Be careful where you throw the ball, okay? Try to stay away from the corners.”
To her surprise, he sprang forward and threw his arms around her waist. “Thanks!”
She awkwardly patted his back. “No problem.”
“Say hi to Uncle Luke for me.”
“Sure. See you around.”
Cassie cringed as the perfunctory expression escaped her lips. Why had she said that? Once she signed the necessary paperwork to claim her inheritance, she’d put Poppy Creek in her rearview mirror quicker than jolly ole St. Nick could down a glass of ice-cold milk.
Gathering her things, Cassie said another silent prayer the proceedings with the attorney would be brief.
But once inside the law office, her stomach flipped with uncertainty. Had she mistakenly stepped into someone’s living room?
The expansive space boasted a fully decorated Christmas tree, complete with presents underneath, a cozy, crackling fire in a brick hearth, the mantel strung with homemade stockings, and…
Cassie blinked in surprise. An elderly woman swayed in a rocking chair by the fire, her knitting needles click-clacking in rhythm with Dean Martin’s “Jingle Bells” emanating from an antique record player. A gargantuan tabby cat purred by her feet on a plush ottoman, its ears twitching ever so slightly at Cassie’s entrance.
“Have a seat, dearie,” the woman said without glancing up. “Luke’s in with Frida Connelly, and you know that woman has the gift of gab.”
Confused, Cassie hesitated. Surely, she had to be in the wrong place. “Is this the law office of L. Davis?”
The knitting needles paused as the woman raised her head, studying Cassie through thick-rimmed glasses.
For the first time, Cassie noticed how much the woman resembled Mrs. Claus.
“You’re new in town?” Her question sounded rhetorical.
“Yes, I am.” Cassie didn’t bother to explain she’d been born in Poppy Creek, but her mother had relocated them to San Francisco before her first birthday.
The woman smiled, her plump, rosy cheeks appearing even rounder. “Well, welcome, dear! Always happy to see more young people moving into town. Luke should be out shortly. Help yourself to some coffee and gingersnaps. I made them myself. The cookies, not the coffee.” Tipping her head toward an empty chair, she added, “Sit a spell. Do you knit?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, that’s all right. There’s always time to learn. Harriet Parker hosts a knitting circle every Thursday night.”
