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Chapter One Everly
“Preston, put that down!” I scold, sighing deeply and running a hand down my face. My hands are coated in a layer of cookie dough, but I grab desperately at my son, attempting to snatch the phone from his hands.
He giggles and dashes from my reach, a cookie hanging from his mouth. “But Mom,” he says when I finally grab my phone and toss it onto the counter.
He’s constantly messing with settings I don’t know how to change back. One time, the whole damn phone was in French.
I quickly wash my hands, then wipe the raw cookie dough from my phone case. “Preston, please.”
“I want to play games. This is boring.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, hun. I need it for the recipe.”
Preston stares at me and cocks his head to the side. “You have it memorized, though.”
I glance out the window and toward the bustling crowd outside. I haven’t opened yet, but already people are about, scouting for booths at the famous annual Findlay holiday craft bizarre.
The narrow rows of booths connected by illuminated string lights add warmth to the frosty December air. I straighten my apron and look in the tiny mirror hanging inside my trailer. The dark green fabric has the name of my company stitched into it,Jingled.Seeing myself wearing it is surreal.
I smooth my hair behind my ear. This is another first in a year of firsts. But it’s the realization of a dream, and my nerves have not calmed down. “There’s no room for error. This has to be perfect.” I talk aloud to myself.
Preston slouches in one of the chairs and puts his head in his hands. “What can I do then? You won’t let me help, and there’s nobody my age around. Can I call Aunt Edel and ask her to pick me up?”
“No, she and Uncle Shawn are out of town.” I close my eyes and think for a few moments. This is one of those times when single parenthood simply isn’t fair. “Why don’t you go out and explore some of the open booths?”
His eyes light up. “Really? By myself?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, drying my hands on a towel. “You’re almost ten now. I trust you not to run off. Don’t talk to strangers and, you know, be… reasonable. Okay?”
Ugh, my parenting bar has been significantly lowered by my divorce.
Preston nods enthusiastically. I know he doesn’t like being cooped up in the food truck for hours, and I don’t blame him. This isn’t his dream, and part of me feels selfish for making him participate in mine. In fact, being able to smell but not consume all the cookies is more like a nightmare for any kid. But I don’t have another solution.
It’s not like I have the funds to hire his nanny back, not without child support. And my ex-husband, along with his money, is long gone. I could hardly rely on Spence when we were married. Since we got divorced, he’s given us nothing but broken promises. We can’t depend on him for anything, and for Preston, it’s devastating.
“Wear your jacket!” I call as he reaches for the latch on the door.
He tugs it off the hook, smiling sheepishly at me before sliding it over his shoulders. Preston exits the truck but stops in front of the window and looks up at me as if this is some sort of trick. Even he can’t believe how lax my parenting has become.
I force a smile. “Go, have fun!”I hope I don’t regret this.
Preston saunters off, his hands in his pockets. He’s the light of my life and reminds me of everything good in this world. How on earth is he so opposite to his father?
I knew things weren’t going well in my marriage, but somehow, I never thought I’d end up here. When it comes down to it, I wasn’t given a choice. Spence decided for me by cheating, and in hindsight, I’m grateful.
At the time, I wasn’t willing to lose everything to find myself. I was grasping at the last straws of a life I thought I was supposed to be living. But now, I wouldn’t trade it. Even in the hard, lonely moments of being a single mom. Even when my son asks hard questions that I alone have to answer, this life is worth it.
I finish the batch of chocolate chip cookies with relative ease, and my stomach flutters as I open my window. I’m ready for sellers to come and order. The scent of warm cookies wafts onto the cold street. Within minutes my first customer gets in line, and my heart swells in my chest. It’s pure Christmas magic.
∞∞∞
There are a couple more orders within the first hour, and it’s thrilling. I remind myself that the bazaar isn’t even in full swing yet. More people will be hungry around lunch. So I make all sorts of cookies. Chocolate chip is the most popular, but I also bake a few batches of oatmeal raisin and some more festive-looking snickerdoodle. Trees, stars, and little gingerbread men decorate the trays cooling within my rack while I get started on the frosting.
“We’ve got a nice turn-out this weekend, haven’t we?” an older man asks from the window. “Phelma’s jewelry is selling out already.”
I peer out and grin when I see Mr. Wiley leaning against his cane. He’s a gruff-looking fellow but the kindest person I’ve ever met and practically Findlay royalty.
“That’s awesome!” I grab a bag of cookies to hand him. “Take this to her, will you?”
