Read Online The First Love Cookie Club by Lori Wilde - Free Book Online
Authors: Lori Wilde
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news? Hardly a week went by where some tragedy didn’t befall a kid who was too trusting. Teach your daughter about stranger danger.
Then again, she had to remember this was Twilight. Right or wrong, people were simply more trusting here.
“Father Christmas is my daddy.” Jazzy giggled and beamed up at Sarah.
Okay, all right, so the child could cure seasonal affective disorder with one of those million-watt grins. Now she knew how the Grinch felt when faced with spunky Cindy Lou Hoo. Outmatched. “My, aren’t you a lucky little girl,” Sarah mumbled, not knowing what else to say.
Jazzy’s blond corkscrew curls bobbed enthusiastically. “He’s the best daddy in the whole world.”
For the first time, Sarah noticed the girl was dressed exactly like her heroine Isabella from
The Magic Christmas Cookie.
And odd feeling ran through her that was at once both comfortable and ill-fitting.
“Have a seat, Miss Cool,” Belinda Murphey advised. “The parade is about to begin.”
Sarah looked around and realized there was only one place to sit—beside Santa in his sleigh.
He patted the seat beside him, his gray eyes twinkling mischievously behind wire-framed Santa glasses. Gray eyes that reminded her of Travis. “Park it, Sadie.”
A flippant Father Christmas? Not precisely Victorian. Reluctantly, Sarah settled in next to him as he pulled Jazzy into his lap. Underneath the float, she heard the truck engine rumble to life.
His voice reminded her of Travis too.
You’re hypersensitive. Get over it. He’s not Travis.
No, but sooner or later she was going to run into Travis and that’s what had her on edge. Nervously, she smoothed her unwrinkled skirt with her palms and avoided looking at Santa as the float lurchedforward following the other floats sliding from the football field. There were horse-drawn carriages mixed among the floats and a bagpipe band and the high school pep squad dressed in serving wench attire.
Jazzy was leaning over the side of the sleigh, waving enthusiastically at the crowd gathered along the parade route. As the sun slid down the horizon, sweetly kissing the lake, the gas lanterns, mounted on black wrought-iron streetlamps, flickered on. Street vendors hawked a variety of foods. From roasted turkey legs to steak on a stick to shepherd’s pie—the air lay rich with the scent of sautéing onions and garlic and robust spices.
Many people were dressed in Victorian period costumes. Sarah spied Beefeaters and London bobbies and characters from Dickens’s novels— Scrooge and Marley and Tiny Tim; Miss Havisham and Oliver Twist and David Copperfield. Children rode their fathers’ shoulders. Moms carried gaily decorated picnic baskets. Teenagers, forever cool, looked bored and texted on their cell phones. “Santa! Santa!” tots cried excitedly as their float motored past.
Jazzy leaned across her father’s lap to whisper in Sarah’s ear. “You gotta wave.”
“Huh?” Sarah looked startled.
“She’s a social butterfly,” Father Christmas said, waving madly to the crowd. “Jazzy knows these things. You better wave.”
“Oh, yes, right.” Feeling like a dunderhead, Sarah forced a smile, mentally cursed Benny for getting her into this, and waved like a Miss U.S.A. contestant.
“Perfect,” Jazzy approved.
“You’ve got your very own Miss Manners,” Sarah told Santa.
“She does keep me on my toes.” He draped an arm over Jazzy’s shoulder and a sense of longing so strong, it tasted like dark chocolate against her tongue, took hold of Sarah. How many times had she wished for this kind of loving, attentive relationship with her own father?
“Look, look, it’s Isabella with Santa,” a child in the throng called out.
How surreal, riding in a float with Father Christmas and the main character from her book. Sarah felt as if she’d stepped inside the pages of
The Magic Christmas Cookie
and she sort of liked it. Did that make her nuts?
Jazzy was standing up on the seat
Then again, she had to remember this was Twilight. Right or wrong, people were simply more trusting here.
“Father Christmas is my daddy.” Jazzy giggled and beamed up at Sarah.
Okay, all right, so the child could cure seasonal affective disorder with one of those million-watt grins. Now she knew how the Grinch felt when faced with spunky Cindy Lou Hoo. Outmatched. “My, aren’t you a lucky little girl,” Sarah mumbled, not knowing what else to say.
Jazzy’s blond corkscrew curls bobbed enthusiastically. “He’s the best daddy in the whole world.”
For the first time, Sarah noticed the girl was dressed exactly like her heroine Isabella from
The Magic Christmas Cookie.
And odd feeling ran through her that was at once both comfortable and ill-fitting.
“Have a seat, Miss Cool,” Belinda Murphey advised. “The parade is about to begin.”
Sarah looked around and realized there was only one place to sit—beside Santa in his sleigh.
He patted the seat beside him, his gray eyes twinkling mischievously behind wire-framed Santa glasses. Gray eyes that reminded her of Travis. “Park it, Sadie.”
A flippant Father Christmas? Not precisely Victorian. Reluctantly, Sarah settled in next to him as he pulled Jazzy into his lap. Underneath the float, she heard the truck engine rumble to life.
His voice reminded her of Travis too.
You’re hypersensitive. Get over it. He’s not Travis.
No, but sooner or later she was going to run into Travis and that’s what had her on edge. Nervously, she smoothed her unwrinkled skirt with her palms and avoided looking at Santa as the float lurchedforward following the other floats sliding from the football field. There were horse-drawn carriages mixed among the floats and a bagpipe band and the high school pep squad dressed in serving wench attire.
Jazzy was leaning over the side of the sleigh, waving enthusiastically at the crowd gathered along the parade route. As the sun slid down the horizon, sweetly kissing the lake, the gas lanterns, mounted on black wrought-iron streetlamps, flickered on. Street vendors hawked a variety of foods. From roasted turkey legs to steak on a stick to shepherd’s pie—the air lay rich with the scent of sautéing onions and garlic and robust spices.
Many people were dressed in Victorian period costumes. Sarah spied Beefeaters and London bobbies and characters from Dickens’s novels— Scrooge and Marley and Tiny Tim; Miss Havisham and Oliver Twist and David Copperfield. Children rode their fathers’ shoulders. Moms carried gaily decorated picnic baskets. Teenagers, forever cool, looked bored and texted on their cell phones. “Santa! Santa!” tots cried excitedly as their float motored past.
Jazzy leaned across her father’s lap to whisper in Sarah’s ear. “You gotta wave.”
“Huh?” Sarah looked startled.
“She’s a social butterfly,” Father Christmas said, waving madly to the crowd. “Jazzy knows these things. You better wave.”
“Oh, yes, right.” Feeling like a dunderhead, Sarah forced a smile, mentally cursed Benny for getting her into this, and waved like a Miss U.S.A. contestant.
“Perfect,” Jazzy approved.
“You’ve got your very own Miss Manners,” Sarah told Santa.
“She does keep me on my toes.” He draped an arm over Jazzy’s shoulder and a sense of longing so strong, it tasted like dark chocolate against her tongue, took hold of Sarah. How many times had she wished for this kind of loving, attentive relationship with her own father?
“Look, look, it’s Isabella with Santa,” a child in the throng called out.
How surreal, riding in a float with Father Christmas and the main character from her book. Sarah felt as if she’d stepped inside the pages of
The Magic Christmas Cookie
and she sort of liked it. Did that make her nuts?
Jazzy was standing up on the seat
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