Page 10
“You’ll like it, I promise. It’s one of my favorite dinners, along with egg rolls.”
“Okay.”
She was grateful for his willingness to try new things.
Once back at the condo, Sage placed the order and added pork fried rice, another of her favorites. There’d be enough food to last for two meals. Perfect. They could eat the leftovers tomorrow night so she wouldn’t need to worry about what to cook for Tuesday night’s dinner.
While they waited for the delivery, Sage brought out the carefully boxed cookies. “I have a surprise,” she said, pleased with herself. Everyone likes surprises, right? She had Ricky’s full attention.
With flair, she presented the pink box like it was ambrosia from the heavens.
Ricky’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
Slowly, she opened the lid, knowing that once he saw the beautifully decorated Christmas cookies, Ricky would instantly recognize these were the cookies he’d requested for Santa.
“Ta-da,” she said dramatically.
Ricky stared at the cookies and then back at her. It looked as if he didn’t know what this was. His expressive face was completely devoid of emotion. Sage had assumed he’d be happy. Excited. He should be, for what she’d paid for these cookies.
“These are the cookies you wanted to take to Santa,” she said when he continued to stare blankly at the box.
Ricky shifted his gaze from the box to her. “We can’t give Santa those cookies,” he cried, as if this was the worst idea he’d ever heard.
Shocked, Sage’s mouth sagged open. “Why not?” Before he could answer, she added, “They’re perfect. Did you see how pretty they are?”
They were almost too pretty to eat; Santa would be in awe over these cookies.
“But…”
“Don’t you think Santa would appreciate such delicious-looking cookies?” she asked, sounding desperate.
Ricky looked back at the divinely decorated cookies. “They are really pretty,” he agreed with some reluctance, “but they aren’t homemade.”
“Homemade?” Sage repeated, making it more of a question than a statement.
“Yes, the cookies we take to Santa have to be homemade.”
“As in we bake them ourselves?” This new information overwhelmed Sage. It was on the tip of her tongue to explain to the boy that she didn’t bake. She’d never been interested in learning, either. She stopped herself in the nick of time when she saw the hopeful look that came over him.
“It’s what Mom would do,” he explained in a soft voice. “We baked cookies for Santa last year, and I want to do it again. It’s real important that I talk to Santa and bring him homemade cookies, because they are the best.”
His sweet face was full of intent and Sage could see how important this was to him. “Then we’ll bake the cookies ourselves,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. Baking required ingredients and equipment she didn’t have, like flour and a mixer, but it should be doable. Right?
She grew animated and enthused when she realized she could manage this. “I have salt.” Every baking recipe she knew called for salt. She wasn’t at a complete loss.
“That’s good,” Ricky said, looking pleased. “Do cookies need salt?”
“They do. It adds a certain panache to the batter,” she added, as if she and Betty Crocker often discussed baking techniques.
“What’s panache?” Ricky asked, wrinkling his nose like he wasn’t sure this was something Santa would enjoy.
“Flavor,” she said, as though she was an expert on the subject.
“Good.” He beamed her a smile. “I want the cookies we take to Santa to have pan…ac…he.”
Right away, Sage started making a mental list of what she’d need: measuring cups and spoons, cookie sheets, and parchment paper. Sage remembered from her childhood that her mother used parchment paper to line the baking sheets when she made cookies.
Their dinner arrived, and Sage gave the driver a generous tip. She got out paper plates, wanting to avoid washing dishes, and served both her and Ricky.
