Christmas in Snow Valley
Page 59
Grandma wasn’t close to done, but if she wanted to rest, Reese could take over. Still, she needed to wait and see how things went. If Reese moved into the dipping seat too soon, Grandma would get angry at her.
Reese exchanged a look with Andy. He was well aware of Grandma’s growing dementia. To his credit, he didn’t treat her any differently than he had before. In some ways, it made it easier for Reese, because Andy took the crazy things Grandma said or did in stride. In some ways, it made it harder, because Grandma was different, and it was hard to watch her forget things or feel scared when she didn’t know where she was.
Andy bumped Reese’s shoulder with his, giving her a conspiratorial wink. He snuck his hand across the counter and snatched one of Grandma’s chocolates, popping it into his mouth before Joy could notice. Reese grinned, waiting for the flavor to hit, sure that Andy would have an opinion. He always did.
“Lemon.” Andy’s brow furrowed and his lips puckered.
Reese’s jaw dropped, and she blinked several times. “You don’t like our lemon?”
“Shh.” Andy put his finger to his lips and glanced to make sure Ruth and Joy weren’t listening. They were done wiping off the chocolate and had moved to the sink to wash Grandma’s hands. “I thought they were banana,” he whispered.
Relishing having him close, Reese rose on her tiptoes to whisper back, “We don’t make banana.”
“Yeah-huh. You did when I was a kid. I remember it. Best chocolate I ever stole.”
Reese laughed, her hands expertly wrapping as she spoke. “Okay, we made it once and you were one of three people in Echo Ridge who liked it.”
“I love everything you guys make,” Andy said with a touch of reverence.
Reese paused in her wrapping. “Is that why you deliver our supplies instead of Pop? You’re hoping for free chocolate?”
Andy grabbed another one to taste. Reese pressed her lips together to stifle her smile. She’d made that fondant and was proud of it.
“This is the best way to start the day,” said Andy.
Reese found herself staring into his nut-brown eyes, lost in the deep walnut and tripping over the obsidian flecks. For all her observance of men’s eyes—after all, the eyes were the windows to the soul—she’d never seen eyes as interesting as Andy’s. Not when she was in high school and dated Chad Butterfield, who had pale blue eyes that held no interesting features whatsoever; nor when she attended junior college and dated Evan Thomas, who had the kind of green eyes that girls oohed and aahed over but she found kind of yellow and flat. Nor when she’d locked gazes with thousands of customers over the years. Nope: ever since the day in first grade when Andy moved in three houses down and Reese had peeked out from behind her mom’s skirts to get a look at the new kid, she knew she’d never find eyes as wonderful as Andy’s.
He was two years older than Reese, but they hung out together after school until she was in the eighth grade and saw him kissing Heather Donaldson on his front porch. After staring in horror at the two of them mashing their lips together, Reese had run home and swore to never give her heart to another boy again, and especially Andy Edwards.
The memory of her adolescent anger snapped Reese out of the trance she’d so willingly fallen into and back to the reality of work to be done. “A billion chocoholics would agree with you,” she said.
“I wasn’t talking about the chocolate.” Andy winked once again and headed for the door to the house, leaving Reese with a half-melted Santa in her hands. “See you later, heiress.” He waved to Reese and was gone.
Reese held her breath until she heard him shut the front door.
“That boy is yummy,” said Grandma Ruth as she settled back into the dipping chair.
“Grandma!” Reese gaped at the woman, whose filters were wearing thin.
“I’m old, not dead.”
“Grandma!”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Grandma looked pointedly at the mangled Santa in Reese’s hands. “Andy’s got your heater going.”
Convinced her face had turned as red as the Santa boxes, Reese hurried to the sink to wash her hands. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder to her mom.
“I think we’ll have enough Santas to fill orders. Don’t worry.” Joy finished filling the box. A small crease appeared between her eyes, and Reese knew she was working something over. Finally she asked, “Why don’t you ask him out?”
Reese pulled two paper towels off the roll and dried her hands. Feigning innocence, she asked, “Who?”
“Andy.” Joy threw a spool of ribbon at Reese, who caught it easily.
“He likes you,” added Grandma.
Reese rolled her eyes. “He’s not my type,” she lied. Despite her resolve to keep Andy far enough away that her adolescent crush wouldn’t spark to life, she couldn’t share her true fear that Andy wouldn’t want her. Every girl he’d ever dated—that she knew of, anyway—was tall and willowy, with smoky eye shadow and the ability to win a wet T-shirt contest just by showing up. Reese was all too aware of the hazards that working in chocolate posed to her figure. Not that she was unhealthy. She ran most days and took care of herself. But she worked in a chocolate factory; sampling was part of the job.
“Then why does he get up before the sun to see you?” asked Joy.
“He likes chocolate.” Reese pointed to the empty spots on the wax paper. “And he didn’t come to see me.” Setting the ribbon on the counter, she stretched to reach Andy’s delivery on top of the fridge. “He came to deliver these.”
Reese opened the box with a pair of scissors. She pulled out one of the twenty packages and began placing the now-set lemon confections in the cups. From here they would go into airtight storage containers and be taken to Kenworth’s for sale. The process was as old as her grandmother, and the family was content with the way things worked.
Reese was not.
Everywhere she looked, she saw potential for growth and expansion. And every time she brought it up, she was reminded to be thankful for the blessings she had and not demand more from the Lord. Reese didn’t think she was demanding more from God than He was willing to give. After all, she wasn’t expecting Him to do all the work. Putting in her sweat equity was a given; she was only asking the Lord for the opportunity to try.
“I’m done here,” said Mom. “I’m going to get ready. Santa arrives at Kenworth’s today and it’s always busy.”
“Okay,” said Reese, thankful for the reminder. She should stop by her apartment and change into something more festive for the kids. Maybe she’d wear her Santa hat with the fur trim.
“Will you get me another tray of fondant?” asked Grandma.
“Sure.” Reese wiped her hands on her apron and went to the fridge. Because of the time involved in tempering chocolate, they dipped every other day, and there were always multiple batches to be done. The caramels Reese made today would be dipped on Wednesday. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, heiress.” Grandma’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Reese grimaced. “Don’t you start too.”
“Oh.” Grandma paused. “I think it’s sweet and elegant.”
Reese stared at her grandmother’s hands, one dusted with powdered sugar from the fondant balls and the other covered in chocolate. She took in the wrinkles and pronounced veins. Those hands had provided for the family for years without complaint. They’d dipped chocolates and wiped tears and swatted bottoms and been part of every day of Reese’s life.
She put her arm around Ruth and kissed her white hair. “You’re sweet and elegant, Grandma.”
“Get on with ya.” Grandma smiled, never faltering in her rhythm.
Reese went back to filling candy cups. As much as she tried, she couldn’t see herself being content with this life. She wanted to do something great, create a legacy of her own in the world of chocolate. There had to be a way. Dear Lord, please help me see opportunity when it comes and give me the courage to take the unbeaten path.
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Cindy Roland Anderson, Christmas in Snow Valley