Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(36)

“Well, a normal one. A Lab or a springer. One that could keep up with you when you go for a run.”

“I’ll put Renfield on wheels. Sam and Holly spent the previous afternoon teaching him how to skateboard.”

“He can’t go fishing with you—bulldogs can’t swim.”

“He can wear a life jacket.” Mark gave her a quizzical smile. “Why does it bother you that I want him?”

Renfield looked from Mark to Maggie and back again.

“It doesn’t bother me…I just don’t understand why you want him.”

“He’s good company. He’s quiet. Sam says he’s going to be great at keeping pests out of the vineyard. And most of all, Holly loves him.”

“He needs so much care. He’s got skin conditions. He needs a special diet, and special grooming products, and you’re going to have a lot of vet bills. I’m not sure you understand everything that’s ahead of you.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

Maggie didn’t understand herself, the great swell of emotion that rolled through her. She lowered to her haunches and began to pet the dog, keeping her face averted. “Renfield, it looks like you’ve got a home now,” she said, her voice husky.

Mark knelt beside her and cupped his hand under her chin, and urged her to look at him. His blue-green eyes were warm and searching. “Hey,” he said softly. “What is it? Second thoughts about giving him away?”

“No. You’ve just surprised me, that’s all.”

“You didn’t think I could make a commitment even when there are obvious problems ahead?” His thumb stroked over her cheek. “I’m learning to take life as it comes. Having a dog like Renfield is going to be inconvenient, messy, and expensive. But most likely worth it. You were right—there is something noble about him. Ugly on the outside, but damned if he isn’t full of self-esteem. He’s a good dog.”

Maggie wanted to smile, but her chin quivered, and the flood of emotion was nearly overwhelming her again. “You’re a good man,” she managed to say. “I hope someday you’ll find someone who appreciates you.”

“I hope so, too.” The words were edged with a smile. “Can we get up off the floor now?”

When Mark asked what Maggie’s plans for Thanksgiving were, she told him that she had dinner with her parents in Bellingham every year. With the exception of the turkey, which her mother made, the rest of the meal was a huge potluck, with everyone contributing their best side dishes and pies.

“If you want to stay on the island this year,” Mark said, “you could spend Thanksgiving with us.”

Maggie experienced that feeling when she caught herself reaching for something that she had already decided not to allow herself: the last cookie on the plate, the one glass of wine too many. Spending a holiday with Mark and Holly was too much involvement, too much closeness. “Thank you, but I’d better stick to tradition,” she said, forcing a quick smile. “My family’s counting on me to bring mac and cheese.”

“The mac and cheese?” Mark sounded forlorn. “Your grandmother’s recipe with the four kinds of cheese and the bread crumbs?”

“You remember all that?”

“How could I forget?” He gave her a yearning glance. “Are you bringing back any leftovers?”

Maggie began to laugh. “You are shameless. I’ll make an extra ramekin of mac and cheese for you. Would you like me to make a pie for you, too?”

“Would you?”

“What kind? Pumpkin…apple…pecan?”

“Surprise me,” he said, and stole a kiss from her, so fast that she had no time to react.

The day before Thanksgiving, Maggie picked up Holly from the house at Rainshadow Vineyard, and brought her to her bungalow.

“Am I invited, too?” Sam had asked before they left.

“No, it’s just for girls,” Holly had told him, giggling.

“What if I wear a wig? What if I talk in a really high voice?”

“Uncle Sam,” the child said cheerfully, “you’re the worst girl ever!”

“And you’re the best,” Sam said, kissing her noisily. “All right, you can go without me. But you’d better bring me back a big pie.”

Taking Holly to her house, Maggie put on some music, lit a fire in the fireplace, and tied one of her aprons around Holly. She showed Holly how to use an old-fashioned bell-shaped cheese grater, the kind with four sides. Although Maggie was going to use a food processor for most of the cheese, she wanted Holly to have the experience of grating some of it by hand. It was touching to see the child’s delight in kitchen tasks of measuring, stirring, tasting.

“Here are the different cheeses we’re going to use,” Maggie said. “Irish Cheddar, Parmesan, smoked Gouda, and Gruyère. After we grate all of this, we’re going to melt it with butter and hot milk….”

The air was filled with good smells, with heat and sweetness, and a whiff of flour dust. Having a child in the kitchen reminded Maggie what a miracle it was that a few basic ingredients could be combined and heated into something wonderful. They made enough mac and cheese to feed an army, and topped it with bread crumbs that had been lightly browned in a pan with butter. They made two pies—one with satiny pumpkin filling, one with plump pecans—and Maggie showed Holly how to crimp a pie crust. They cut the extra scraps of dough into shapes, sprinkled them with sugar and cinnamon, and baked them on cookie sheets.