A Family's Christmas - Carolyne Aarsen Page 0,2
the low murmur of the customers in the coffee shop.
Janie Corbett threaded her way through the people perched at high stools and tables, her arms outstretched, her Westerveld blue eyes wide with excitement. With great relief, Sarah walked into her cousin’s embrace, letting Janie’s arms pull her tightly close.
Janie patted Sarah’s cheeks, her smile threatening to split her face. “Look at you. All grown-up and even skinnier than ever. And I love the longer hairstyle,” Janie said, flicking her fingers through Sarah’s shoulder-length curls. “Looks elegant. Refined.”
“Well, I’m not. Refined or elegant, that is.”
“Not the way you play basketball.” Janie adjusted the bandanna holding her own pale blond hair back from her face. “I heard that Uncle Morris and Ethan saw you in action in Calgary, at some university competition.”
Sarah remembered and smiled. Seeing her uncle and cousin’s familiar faces after the game had been a bright spot in her life. “That wasn’t my best game.”
Sarah followed Janie to the counter, glancing around the shop as she did. She saw a few familiar faces but could tell from the slightly puzzled frowns sent her way that her own face wasn’t ringing any bells.
“They were still pretty impressed,” Janie said, pulling out a large mug. She gave Sarah a quick smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I am too.” Sarah released a gentle sigh as she perched on an empty stool. She folded her arms on the granite countertop as she took in the bright and cheery decor. “This looks great, Janie. You did a fantastic job.”
“Well, Aunty Dot helped me with the design and UncleTed and Uncle Morris rounded up all the cousins to do the heavy work.”
Sarah glanced up above the coffee machines to the chalkboard filled with pink and green swirling script describing the menu for the day. “And the good people of Millars Crossing are really ready for espressos, cappuccinos, and flavored macchiatos?”
“Honey, they are lapping it up.”
“From cups, I would hope.”
Janie gave her a blank look, then laughed. “Very funny.”
“You walked right into it.” Sarah smiled and glanced at her watch while her stomach did another flip. Twenty-nine minutes left.
“You want something now, or do you want to wait for your dad?”
“I’ll have a hot chocolate.”
“And when are you coming over to see the kids?”
“When I’m done here.”
“Your dad wasn’t really impressed with the fact that you’re staying with me, but I told him that I wasn’t going to get involved.” With a hiss of compressed air and quick, practiced movements, Janie layered thick whipping cream on top of the steaming cup of hot chocolate and carried it around the counter. “Let’s sit by the window.”
She waved away the cash Sarah pulled out of her purse. “On the house. Consider it a temptation to stay longer.”
“I hope you don’t do this for all the Westervelds,” Sarah said as she settled in at the table Janie led her to.
“I’d be broke if I did that.”
Sarah angled her cousin a quick smile then scooped up a dollop of whipped cream and popped it into her mouth with a sigh of satisfaction. Fat. The main ingredient in all good comfort food. Bring it on.
“So. Three weeks.” Janie leaned her elbows on the table. “Whatever made you decide on that puny length of time?”
“It’s longer than the two weeks I had originally planned.” Sarah knew this conversation was a trial run for the many she suspected she would have with other family members.
“I guess we were hoping we could convince you to stay longer, but my mom said you’ve got your escape ticket booked.” Janie gave her a penetrating look, as if trying to push past the defenses Sarah hastily erected.
“What? A girl can’t go traveling?”
“You’ve definitely got the family in a dither. We’re all trying to figure out why, after being gone so long after finishing school and graduating, you’re only here three weeks.” The hurt in Janie’s voice teased out memories. Sarah had grown up with cousins and aunts and uncles all of whom had staked the claim of heredity on her life. Though she owed them collectively more than she could ever repay, she had hoped her current stay would cover some of the emotional debt. But to the Westervelds, if you didn’t live within twenty minutes of Millars Crossing, you were “away” and if you were “away” you had better make sure that you made the pilgrimage at least for Easter, Christmas or Thanksgiving.
But in spite of the pull of some family’s heredity and expectations, Sarah had