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“Roxie and I thought about that, too, and I stopped by the hardware store this morning and got you a surprise,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “A surprise?”
Roxie leans over her desk and hands me the paper bag. Tucked inside are battery-operated LED candlesticks in brass settings with a handle.
I pull one out and click the power button on the bottom.
The candle glows to life and flickers like a true flame.
Cobie’s eyes light up as she sets the flashlight on the corner of the desk and takes the handle with her mitten-covered fingers.
“Yay! Thank you,” she exclaims.
I ruffle the curls at the top of her head. “You’re very welcome.”
I stand and greet Isaac and their guest.
“Sela, this is Dawn Taylor. She’s the journalist who will be writing the story about Lake Mistletoe forEpic Odysseys.”
The girl smiles brightly.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I greet as a sliver of jealousy slides through me at the sight of her arm in Isaac’s elbow.
“You too. I hope you don’t mind that I’m tagging along tonight,” Dawn states warmly.
I shake myself from my ridiculous reaction and return her smile. “Not at all. I just finished up, and I’m going to change into something more comfortable. If you guys can give me ten minutes, I’ll be right back,” I reply.
“Take your time,” Isaac prompts.
I hurry back to my office and grab my tote, then make my way to the ladies’ room to change.
I slip into a pair of fleece-lined camel-colored leggings; a warm, oversized, off-shoulder brown sweater; and thick, fuzzy socks. Then, I tug on a pair of tall dark brown duck boots and pull the laces tight.
Grabbing my rust-hued felt fedora and tossing it on my head, I wrap my neck with a thick cream-colored scarf my mother knit for me and tuck the matching gloves in my crossbody.
I throw my pantsuit and heels into the tote, drop it off on my desk, and lock up.
As we stroll down the sidewalk, Isaac tells us a story of the nisse, which are festive gnomes with long white beards that travel on a yule goat on Christmas Eve, knocking on the doors of homes in Denmark and passing out presents. Boys and girls leave a bowl of warm oatmeal, topped with butter, for the nisse as a show of gratitude.
“So, they don’t leave cookies and milk for Santa?” Cobie asks.
“The nisse are Santa’s helpers in Denmark, and they prefer porridge,” Isaac explains.
“Like elves?” Cobie asks.
“Yes. Like elves. Maybe one day, we can spend Christmas in Copenhagen and see the nisse,” he says.
Cobie frowns. “I like cookies better than oatmeal, Daddy.”
He chuckles. “That’s not the point. It’s experiencing the new traditions. Every country has its own way of celebrating the holidays. Like this year, we’ll go to midnight mass with friends of mine in Paris, and then we’ll sit for theLe Réveillonfeast of oysters and foie gras and yule log cake. Then, we’ll wait forPère Noël, who we call Santa Claus, to come and bring the presents.”
Her nose wrinkles. “What’s foy grot?”
“Foie gras. It’s goose liver, a French delicacy.”
“Liver? Yuck!”
He chuckles. “It’s quite good, rich and buttery, with a delicious gravy.”
