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Dawn laughs.
We continue to work until we’ve finished frosting two dozen cookies.
Cobie inspects each of our platters.
“What do you think?” Dawn asks.
“Yours are really pretty,” Cobie praises.
“Well, how’d I do?” I ask.
Cobie twists her lips.
“They’re good,” she chirps.
“Good, huh? But not as good as your mom’s?”
She shrugs. “Not quite. But all you need is some practice. We can make another batch tomorrow.”
I lean over and whisper in her ear, “You know where we can get amazing cookies? Paris. The shop in the lobby of our hotel sells perfect macarons.”
“Yeah, you said,” she mumbles.
“You’re going to love them,” I continue.
“I know. Can I show my cookies to Miss Trixie now?”
I stand and reach for my camera.
“Let’s get a few pictures of them first. You get beside Miss Dawn and hold up your creations for me.”
She climbs up in the seat, and Dawn scoots her chair closer. She hands Cobie one of the platters, and she takes the other.
They smile their widest smiles as I take photos of them, being sure to focus on the sticky fingers and color-smeared faces and Cobie’s delight as she bites into one of the reindeer’s antlers.
I tousle her hair affectionately. “We make a great team, don’t we?”
Cobie nods, and she beams. “Best team ever, Daddy!”
Trixie makes a round to all the tables and praises each child for their decorating skills before announcing that she can’t choose a favorite so she’s going to take a cookie from each child for Santa. “He’s going to love them all.”
“How will he know which one is from me?” Lexie asks.
Trixie gives her a wink. “Santa knows all. He’ll be able to taste the difference.”
I snap a picture of the tears of excitement as they leak down the little girl’s cheeks before lowering my camera and taking in this messy, laughter-filled room and the wonder on Cobie’s face, and I realize that it’s not just about the cookies for the kids.
They—no, we—created memories that will last a lifetime.
Sela
Imeet Hannah and Norah at the flower shop at lunch. The two of them are choosing the flowers for Willa’s baby shower, and I’m here for moral support and Hannah’s hash brown casserole.
They settle on a mix of freesias, delphiniums, and irises that Norah arranges with dried pampas grass and orange and green feathers.
“I like it. It’s whimsical, and it will match the table runners and the balloon arches I ordered,” Hannah chirps.
“Perfect. I’ll get an order in for twelve and a larger version for the gift table,” Norah says.
