Read Online Once Upon a List by Robin Gold - Free Book Online

Aunt Billie’s hand, which she held on to a little bit tighter.
    â€œIt’s okay, love. Shhhh . . .” Aunt Billie soothed. “Look!” she whispered a bit too loud. She tapped her puffy cornucopia appliqué. “Pretty lights! Like Broadway!”

 
    8.
    T he early morning sun beamed its gleaming brightness through the kitchen window, prompting Clara, immersed in the Saturday Chicago Tribune , to switch seats at the kitchen table to avoid a bothersome glare.
    â€œWhat is this, musical chairs?” Leo inquired.
    â€œIs it always so damn sunny in here at this hour?”
    â€œOnly when you’re present.” He buried his nose in the entertainment section. “What’s that pasty chef’s name who you love so much?”
    â€œWho? Alfred Guillaume?”
    â€œBingo. Check it out.” He flipped the paper around so that it was facing Clara and pointed to a large black-and-white photograph of the popular French chef, appearing under the headline, “Move Over, Santa. Celebrity Chef Storms Into the Windy City!”
    â€œLet me see.” Clara snatched the paper away from Leo and began reading. She gasped. “Wow. He’s teaching a one-day-only intensive class on advanced gingerbread architecture at the Cooking and Hospitality Institute of Chicago.”
    â€œAdvanced gingerbread architecture ? Sounds like it requires an engineering degree. What is that? Like a Frank Lloyd Wright cookie?”
    â€œIt means constructing houses and other edible edifices out of tasty spiced dough,” Clara replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. It dawned on her just then that she hadn’t baked a single item since Sebastian’s accident. Although she used to wear it all the time, she didn’t even know where her apron was.
    â€œAh, like on your time capsule list of things to accomplish,” Leo said. “How did you phrase it again? Build a gingerbread house without using a stupid farty kit?”
    â€œSomething like that.” She soaked up the article.
    â€œYou don’t hear farty enough these days.”
    â€œListen to this.” Clara read out loud: “Receiving rare, one-on-one guidance from Chef Guillaume — world-renowned pastry master and Oprah-endorsed author of the bestselling how-to book C Is for Cookie, Bitch!— each student will create their own unique, delicious, and 100 percent edible holiday gingerbread house guaranteed to wow even the grumpiest Scrooge. A scrumptious, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity not to be missed! Register now!” She put down the newspaper. “Wow. How great . . .”
    â€œDo it,” Leo suggested nonchalantly, leafing through the sports section.
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œRegister for the class. You’re obviously gaga for Chef Guillaume. You’re a terrific baker. And the subject clearly interests you. You just said it sounds great .” He gestured quotation marks.
    â€œI’m not gaga.”
    â€œSeriously.” Leo selected a muffin from the breadbasket on the table. “It sounds like you would really enjoy this class.”
    â€œYes,” agreed Clara. “But it’s two weeks from today. I have to be in Boston the Friday before for work. Even if I wanted to register, it’s not feasible.”
    â€œSo take a couple days off. Hell, take more than a couple days off. It’s not as if you’re exactly invested in your career at Scuppernong at the moment. You said so yourself the other night,” Leo reminded Clara. “Besides, Mr. Franklin urged you to take a sabbatical. This could be just what the doctor, or, in this case, The Beer King ordered.”
    â€œYeah. I don’t think so.”
    â€œThink about it,” he persuaded. “You don’t have anything else concrete or pressing keeping you in Boston right now. What if you were to take him up on his offer and spend some time back