I noticed she was dressed in her best royal-blue sweater and dark wool slacks with shiny black boots. She’d even put on more makeup than usual, eyeliner and blush. She looked especially pretty and I wondered if it was for someone. Was she going to meet Dr. Raymond later?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that idea, not that it was any of my business.

But yeesh.

Mrs. Buzzard pointed the spoon in my direction. “She wants to bake!”

Grandma Jo couldn’t contain her surprise. “Bake?” Then she couldn’t contain her amusement. “You don’t bake.”

“That’s what I said!” Mrs. Buzzard pointed at the refrigerator. “Close the door! It ain’t summer an’ we ain’t coolin’ off the whole place!”

With a sigh, I shut the refrigerator door then turned to Grandma Jo and held up a paper with the recipe I’d found earlier this morning after searching a hundred baking sites.

“I can follow a recipe,” was my defense.

“Ha!” Mrs. Buzzard banged the wooden spoon again before stirring the contents.

Grandma Jo reached her hand out to me. “Let me see.” I gave her the paper and she scanned the recipe. “This seems simple enough.” Votes of confidence were clearly going to be hard to come by in this kitchen. Then she frowned. “The portions are too big, though.”

“I thought Arthur and his aunt would like to make Christmas cookies, too.” Even saying his name aloud gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Grandma Jo looked up at me while Mrs. Buzzard banged the spoon twice. “Who are they?!”

“Guests,” Grandma Jo clarified.

“They’ll burn my pans! Novices always burn pans!”

“What time were you planning to have this cookie class?” Grandma Jo asked, ignoring Mrs. Buzzard with practiced grace.

I turned my body slightly away from Mrs. Buzzard and lowered my voice. “After she leaves.”

“I heard that!”

I spun on the tiny woman in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Grandma Jo cleared her throat. “This is a fine idea, Finley.” I returned my attention to my grandmother. “But we’re missing a few items you’ll need.” She handed me back the recipe. “We’re low on butter and nutmeg and out of icing bags. And maybe you could pick up some supplies for the Christmas Eve party.”

“Oh, okay.” But I frowned. This was where being newly sixteen without either a driver’s license or learner’s permit became problematic. I bit my lip. “I don’t suppose you could run me over to CK?” That stood for Claus Kitchen, the local grocery store.

But my grandmother shook her head. “I have to finish writing my proposal for the zoning board—again.” She rolled her eyes. “Then I have a meeting at ten with a couple who may book the inn for their wedding this June.”