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“Want to meet us for lunch at Tillie’s? Will that help? We can split a piece of her Death by Chocolate cake.”
Tillie’s Tearoom was the town’s newest place to eat, and it catered to women with its lace curtains and tablecloths and mix-and-match fine china. Friends could go there for afternoon tea and enjoy cucumber sandwiches and little cakes and cookies, or they could opt for one of several salads along with freshly baked muffins. The salads were good, and the tea parties were fun, but the sisters went to Tillie’s strictly for the cakes—white wedding cake, strawberry cake, carrot cake, lemon pound cake and, of course, chocolate cake.
“I’ve got too much work to do,” Stef said. It was true. Mondays were always busy, and she was buried under Christmas.
“Okay, tomorrow then.”
“That sounds good. I’ll come by the shop,” Stef said just as a call came in from Adele. “Why is Mom calling?”
“Brace yourself. She had a dream,” Frankie said.
Sure enough, “I had a dream last night,” said Adele as soon as Stef had answered.
“Oh, Mom, not another,” Stef protested.
“It was about you.”
“Great. Did I just get eaten by a tiger?” If so, there was accurate symbolism in that dream.
“You were sitting on Santa’s lap.”
“Yeah? Was he hot?”
“I’m being serious,” Adele scolded.
“Okay, sorry. Tell me about Santa and me.”
“You said you didn’t know what you wanted, and he said that he did. Then he reached behind him and pulled out a huge box.”
“How did he manage that with me on his lap?”
Adele ignored her. “It was the size of a phone booth. You opened it, and there was a man in there.”
“Thank you, Santa. What did he look like?”
“He had short hair, kind of a dark red, and one of those boyish faces—the kind where the man never looks his age. He was quite cute.”
“I haven’t met any man who fits that description,” said Stef.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And I doubt there is any man who looks like your dream man anywhere in Carol. I’m sure I’ve dated every single one here in the last six months.” And been rejected by the newest one. The last thought made her frown. “Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’m up to my neck in work here.”
“Okay, but keep your eyes peeled. I think this is a sign.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you,” Stef said, and ended the call.
It would have been nice if her mother’s dreams could be more useful, like warning people not to put certain letters to Santa in the paper.
“Talk about a sexy red dress,” said Frankie, holding up a dress for Elinor’s inspection. They were hunting in one of the nearby mall’s department stores for new outfits for Elinor. It was red with a full skirt and a formfitting bodice that had a scooped neck trimmed with white faux fur. The cuffs on the long sleeves were also trimmed. “How do you like this?”
Elinor gnawed on her lower lip. “I don’t know.”
“Pair it with some black boots, and you’ll look darling in it,” Frankie assured her. “Why don’t you at least try it on?”
Elinor considered another moment, then nodded decisively. “Okay, I think I will.”
That gave them several items for Elinor to try on—a pale pink sweater (Elinor’s choice), a red one with a bias-cut V-neck dotted with white snowflakes (Frankie’s choice), a black sweater (a compromise between the two of them) to be paired with a red silk scarf and red pants. And black leggings to be paired with anything.
