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Cobie stops at the bakery, where an impressive gingerbread re-creation of the North Pole is displayed in the front window.
“Daddy, look,” she calls as she points to the sweet structure. “It’s where Santa Claus lives,” she cries.
Isaac instinctively reaches for his camera, and we go inside to visit with Mr. Bridgeman and admire his talent.
We find him punching holes in a cooling rack of gingerbread men and threading them with hooks for the Christmas tree by the display case.
Cobie sits on one of the barstools and chats away with him while Isaac walks around and snaps images of the bakery, the window display, and a few of the customers as they look over the confections in the case and make their selections.
We leave with a box of cookies and slices of yule log.
“You’ve had a successful day, kiddo—hot cocoa, friendship balls, candy canes, and a box of baked goods.” He ticks off her wares.
“Everyone is so nice here, and they have the best bakery,” she muses.
“You know, they have amazing bakeries in Paris too. Wait until you taste the macarons. They’re perfection,” he tells her.
“Yeah, you said,” she mumbles.
We make it to the end of the sidewalk just as my phone chimes with a message.
I fish it out of my purse and notice the time says 4:43.
“Where did the time go? It’s almost five,” I inform them.
“And we only made it down one street,” Isaac muses.
“I know. I have so much more to show you guys, but I need to get back to my office and do a few things before I head to the inn for pot roast.”
“Would you be available for round two tomorrow?” he asks.
“I’ll have to check with the mayor, but I’m sure I can clear some time on my schedule so we can start bright and early.”
The two of them walk me back to town hall before we say our good-byes.
I watch at the door until they are out of sight.
Roxie strides up behind me.
“That is one tall, sexy drink of water,” she says.
“Roxie,” I scold.
“What? I’m married, not dead,” she says.
Isaac
The inn is bustling with activity when we return. Guests are checking in at the front desk, children are laughing and singing in the great room as Trixie plays the piano, Alice and Hal are setting the dining room up for dinner, and Keller is carrying firewood in through the back door.
Cobie asks to join the other children.
“You have schoolwork to do,” I remind her.
She frowns.
Cobie is homeschooled by her mother. It’s been a point of contention between the two of us. I feel that she needs to be in a public-school setting to acquire the benefits of socialization while Lonnie feels she’ll be free to express herself and her feelings more openly at home. We compromised by agreeing that she would be homeschooled until she reached double digits, and then we would let her decide for herself.
The upside is that homeschooling allows her to travel with me for these four weeks, but I did promise that she would keep up with her studies.
