“Excellent. Who am I to argue?” Sheila said.
Natalie led the way into Orene’s kitchen. “We were just setting out the food for tonight.”
“It smells like heaven in here.” Sheila closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Sweets. Savory. Citrus?”
“Yes,” Orene said. “Made my famous orange sherbet punch. It’s a favorite. Careful now, sometimes those boys spike theirs with a little moonshine.”
“Do they really still make that stuff?”
Orene’s hands hooked to her hips. “You better believe it. Moonshine started up here in these mountains, and some of those families are busy as ever. Some of them are even pretty good at it.”
“Don’t tell me you drink it. Doesn’t it taste like kerosene?” Sheila’s face twisted in disgust.
Orene nudged Natalie. “One would think, but no ma’am. When it’s done right, it’s very smooth.”
“She’s telling the truth.” Natalie shrugged.
“Really? You tried it?” Sheila couldn’t believe it. “You don’t even drink, Nat.”
“Hey, I had a cold a few months back, and Orene hooked me up. I swear it kicked that cold to Colorado.” Natalie smiled broadly. “Can’t deny good old-fashioned hometown cures.”
“That might’ve been a coincidence.”
“Could’ve been, but I wasn’t complaining at the time,” Natalie said. “I’d been miserable for a week by the time Orene came over to see me. I slept for two days and woke up feeling ready to roll.”
“Laugh all you want,” Orene said. “Everything in moderation has its place. It’s overindulgence that becomes a problem.”
They walked into the dining room, where the entire length of the table was filled with appetizers.
Sheila stopped, thinking about how much time and effort herlittle office party had taken. “You didn’t make all of this food by yourself, did you?”
Orene grinned. “Most of it.”
“I made the sugared pecans,” Natalie said. “Of course, Orene taught me how to make them. And she helped.”
“You must have started weeks ago.”
“No,” Orene said. “I’ve done this for as many years as I can remember. Helped my momma and grandma host too. It’s fun, and it really doesn’t take as long as you’d think. I enjoy it.”
“Well, tell me what all this stuff is,” Sheila said. “Can I taste any of it?”
“Sure. There’s plenty.”
Sheila picked up a triangle of toasted bread and took a bite. “Pimento cheese?”
“My family recipe. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It is. Oh my goodness.” She picked up a deviled egg. “These are my favorite picnic treats.”
“Mine too,” Natalie said. “She adds bacon and chives. Are they to die for?”
“Yes.” Sheila rolled her eyes. “This food goes on forever.”
“And this is just the appetizer stuff. The sweets are all on the sideboard. Go look.” Orene was about as relentless as that Border collie trying to move her along toward the other room.
Colorful cookies were piled high on raised Christmas plates. A coconut cake—at least four layers tall, with pretty red-and-green-frosting holly piped on top—was as professionally done as one in a bakery. “Even a bûche de Noël?”
“Don’t be so surprised. We do get the Food Network on satellite TV here, you know,” Orene said. “I just call it a Yule Log. It’s easier to say.”
