Happy Holidays to everyone.
I took this photo of our white birch tree after a morning of freezing fog. We've had snow on the ground since Thanksgiving, with a few inches more expected tonight and tomorrow morning.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Turkey for Dinner - conclusion
Turkey for Dinner - conclusion
Cate rubbed at her mouth with her fingers, but the sensation of Eric’s kiss lingered. What was he thinking? They were enemies, and had been for almost twenty years—ever since he’d put that half-eaten piece of pie on her chair. You just didn’t grab your enemy and lay one on her! Where were the ground rules?
She tried to pull away, but Eric tightened the arm he’d snaked around her waist.
“A five-minute wait is not going to make any difference in that turkey,” he said, as he lowered his head again. Cate froze, caught in his embrace, indecision running around her brain. Run, stay, run, stay. She’d almost decided to stay when she heard Gram come down the stairs. Pulling away from Eric, Cate bent over the turkey to hide her flaming face.
The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity. The onions bobbed gently in a saucepan, a mountain of potatoes was peeled and mashed, chairs collected from various parts of the house, and the table was set with Gram’s grandmother’s rose-patterned china. Eric slipped home to collect Aunt Ida and the house was crowded with guests.
Cate’s brother, Mark, and his fiancée, Anna, arrived just in time for dessert. Cate was just returning from the kitchen, a pumpkin pie balanced on one hand, apple pie on the other. Mark and Eric had been reminiscing about long summer days playing kickball during the day and card games in the evenings.
“Cate, remember the last time Eric was here for Thanksgiving? I left my pie on a chair when I went to get some milk and you sat on it. Never saw you so mad in all your life. And you thought Ricky—I mean, Eric, did it.”
Cate froze in the doorway, her eyes glued to Eric’s face.
“Oh no! You didn’t do that really did you, Mark?” Anna shook her head. “You’re always putting things down where they don’t belong. Can you believe he left his sunglasses in the freezer?”
Cate felt the heavy pie slip and she overbalanced to compensate. Suddenly, the weight was taken from her as Eric grabbed both pies and set them safely on the table. Without a word, he turned back to Cate, took her by the arm and led her out of the dining room.
“Where are they going?” Mark demanded, as the gathered company heard the front door open and close. “They’re going to miss dessert.”
“Excuse me a moment, everyone. I’m getting too old to sit here and my bones are aching. I think I’ll just walk a bit,” Aunt Ida explained as she stood up.
“Let me help you, Ida. Anna, will you serve the pies? Mark, there’s a bowl of whipped cream in the refrigerator.” Gram smiled graciously at the rest of the guests. “We’ll be right back.”
The late November afternoon was gray and swirls of snowflakes drifted down. Standing at the front window, Gram twitched the lace curtain aside just enough to allow Aunt Ida an unobstructed view.
“That went quite well, if I do say so, Ida.”
Aunt Ida nodded. “Summer wedding, do you think?”
“Could be. Now tell me again about your great-niece, Isabelle. My sister’s grandson, Jason, is just about her age...”
© 2007 by Susan Atwood
Cate rubbed at her mouth with her fingers, but the sensation of Eric’s kiss lingered. What was he thinking? They were enemies, and had been for almost twenty years—ever since he’d put that half-eaten piece of pie on her chair. You just didn’t grab your enemy and lay one on her! Where were the ground rules?
She tried to pull away, but Eric tightened the arm he’d snaked around her waist.
“A five-minute wait is not going to make any difference in that turkey,” he said, as he lowered his head again. Cate froze, caught in his embrace, indecision running around her brain. Run, stay, run, stay. She’d almost decided to stay when she heard Gram come down the stairs. Pulling away from Eric, Cate bent over the turkey to hide her flaming face.
The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity. The onions bobbed gently in a saucepan, a mountain of potatoes was peeled and mashed, chairs collected from various parts of the house, and the table was set with Gram’s grandmother’s rose-patterned china. Eric slipped home to collect Aunt Ida and the house was crowded with guests.
Cate’s brother, Mark, and his fiancée, Anna, arrived just in time for dessert. Cate was just returning from the kitchen, a pumpkin pie balanced on one hand, apple pie on the other. Mark and Eric had been reminiscing about long summer days playing kickball during the day and card games in the evenings.
“Cate, remember the last time Eric was here for Thanksgiving? I left my pie on a chair when I went to get some milk and you sat on it. Never saw you so mad in all your life. And you thought Ricky—I mean, Eric, did it.”
Cate froze in the doorway, her eyes glued to Eric’s face.
“Oh no! You didn’t do that really did you, Mark?” Anna shook her head. “You’re always putting things down where they don’t belong. Can you believe he left his sunglasses in the freezer?”
Cate felt the heavy pie slip and she overbalanced to compensate. Suddenly, the weight was taken from her as Eric grabbed both pies and set them safely on the table. Without a word, he turned back to Cate, took her by the arm and led her out of the dining room.
“Where are they going?” Mark demanded, as the gathered company heard the front door open and close. “They’re going to miss dessert.”
“Excuse me a moment, everyone. I’m getting too old to sit here and my bones are aching. I think I’ll just walk a bit,” Aunt Ida explained as she stood up.
“Let me help you, Ida. Anna, will you serve the pies? Mark, there’s a bowl of whipped cream in the refrigerator.” Gram smiled graciously at the rest of the guests. “We’ll be right back.”
The late November afternoon was gray and swirls of snowflakes drifted down. Standing at the front window, Gram twitched the lace curtain aside just enough to allow Aunt Ida an unobstructed view.
“That went quite well, if I do say so, Ida.”
Aunt Ida nodded. “Summer wedding, do you think?”
“Could be. Now tell me again about your great-niece, Isabelle. My sister’s grandson, Jason, is just about her age...”
© 2007 by Susan Atwood
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Turkey for Dinner Part VI
Part VI ~
“How can you sit there and peel those onions without crying?” Cate demanded. It really wasn’t fair. Not fair? It was downright galling. All that plotting to get Eric to suffer was wasted. Cate took a step back as the pungent fumes threatened to unleash a torrent of tears from her stinging eyes.
“Same way you can eat pumpkin pie and not end up in the emergency ward,” Eric replied in a cool voice that irked Cate. “It’s all a matter of sensitivity.” Cate took another step back as Eric’s eyes met hers across the table. He looked...amused. “Glad to see you have some.”
“Auugh.” Cate gave up. She stalked back to the counter and spooned stuffing into the turkey. There was silence in the kitchen for a few minutes. Cate flipped the turkey over with a grunt and a clatter as the heavy bird hit the roasting pan.
“Need a hand?”
“Nope. Got it. You done with those onions yet?” Cate didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder to see. Instead, she grabbed the ball of kitchen twine and a heavy upholstery needle. She pulled the flaps of skin across the bulging ball of stuffing and popped the needle through the bird’s tough skin and into the tender skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Ow! Darn it!” She hopped up and before she came down, Eric had grabbed her hand and pulled her over to sink and was running cold water over her hand, which she’d balled up into a tight fist.
“Here, let me see.”
“I’m fine. Just let go.” But she wasn’t fine. Her heart was beating ten times faster than normal and she felt a flush crawl up her neck and suffuse across her face.
Eric’s hands were warm and gentle as he pried her fingers open and wiped a drop of blood away with a paper towel. They were even gentle as he applied pressure to the wound. Cate glanced up at him and saw none of the gloating she’d expected. In fact, there was nothing in his eyes but concern. Surprised, she raised her head and looked him square in the eye. She was even more surprised to find that his lips were warm and gentle as they met hers and he pulled her close.
Cate jumped back, her hand raised to her mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing it all better. What did you think I was doing?” Eric’s hand traced small circles on her back. It made her dizzy.
“I don’t know. Stop that and help me get this turkey in the oven.”
(c) by Susan Atwood 2007
“How can you sit there and peel those onions without crying?” Cate demanded. It really wasn’t fair. Not fair? It was downright galling. All that plotting to get Eric to suffer was wasted. Cate took a step back as the pungent fumes threatened to unleash a torrent of tears from her stinging eyes.
“Same way you can eat pumpkin pie and not end up in the emergency ward,” Eric replied in a cool voice that irked Cate. “It’s all a matter of sensitivity.” Cate took another step back as Eric’s eyes met hers across the table. He looked...amused. “Glad to see you have some.”
“Auugh.” Cate gave up. She stalked back to the counter and spooned stuffing into the turkey. There was silence in the kitchen for a few minutes. Cate flipped the turkey over with a grunt and a clatter as the heavy bird hit the roasting pan.
“Need a hand?”
“Nope. Got it. You done with those onions yet?” Cate didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder to see. Instead, she grabbed the ball of kitchen twine and a heavy upholstery needle. She pulled the flaps of skin across the bulging ball of stuffing and popped the needle through the bird’s tough skin and into the tender skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Ow! Darn it!” She hopped up and before she came down, Eric had grabbed her hand and pulled her over to sink and was running cold water over her hand, which she’d balled up into a tight fist.
“Here, let me see.”
“I’m fine. Just let go.” But she wasn’t fine. Her heart was beating ten times faster than normal and she felt a flush crawl up her neck and suffuse across her face.
Eric’s hands were warm and gentle as he pried her fingers open and wiped a drop of blood away with a paper towel. They were even gentle as he applied pressure to the wound. Cate glanced up at him and saw none of the gloating she’d expected. In fact, there was nothing in his eyes but concern. Surprised, she raised her head and looked him square in the eye. She was even more surprised to find that his lips were warm and gentle as they met hers and he pulled her close.
Cate jumped back, her hand raised to her mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing it all better. What did you think I was doing?” Eric’s hand traced small circles on her back. It made her dizzy.
“I don’t know. Stop that and help me get this turkey in the oven.”
(c) by Susan Atwood 2007
A Review
*The Pendant: Callie* just got its first review from Coffeetime Romance. 4 cups!
Read the whole review here:
http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Thependantcallie.html
And apologies for dropping Turkey for Dinner in mid-story. Between family demands and a nasty virus that's hit the family (me included! ) I've barely had a coherent thought in the past 10 days. A new installment will be up today.
Read the whole review here:
http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Thependantcallie.html
And apologies for dropping Turkey for Dinner in mid-story. Between family demands and a nasty virus that's hit the family (me included! ) I've barely had a coherent thought in the past 10 days. A new installment will be up today.
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