LITMIR.BIZ

      1

      Once in a while, if a woman is really lucky, the perfect day she envisioned turns out to be just that. This was going to be one of those days, Cass Wilkes thought as she set the platter of carved turkey on her dining table.

      She surveyed her handiwork with a smile. Everything was Martha Stewart–lovely from the china and crystal to the Thanksgiving centerpiece she’d bought at Lupine Floral, and her old Victorian home was filled with the aroma of herbs and spices. The dining room window framed a greeting-card-worthy winter scene—her front lawn with its trees and shrubs draped in frosty white and the snowcapped mountains looming beyond.

      The snow had done what all good snow should do; it had stopped in plenty of time for road crews to clear the way for travelers. Unlike Thanksgiving last year, the town of Icicle Falls was humming with visitors looking for a holiday getaway. Great for business, especially when you owned a bakery. This weekend, gingerbread boys and girls would march out the door of Gingerbread Haus in droves and money would march right into Cass’s bank account—a good thing since she suspected she was going to have a wedding to pay for in a year or so.

      A whoop of male excitement came from the living room, followed by cheers. The football game on TV was nearing its end and obviously the favored team had scored a touchdown.

      “Okay, that’s everything from the kitchen,” said Dot Morrison, Cass’s mentor and former boss, as she placed a serving bowl heaped with stuffing, along with another full of mashed potatoes, on the table. Normally Dot would have been celebrating with her daughter, but Tilda was on patrol, keeping Icicle Falls safe from…who knew? Their town wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime.

      Dot had dressed for the occasion, wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt decorated with a turkey holding a sign that said “Think Outside the Box. Serve Ham.” Dot, who owned the town’s most popular pancake place, Breakfast Haus, had encouraged Cass to think outside the box years ago, even lent her money to start her bakery. Cass owed her Thanksgiving dinners for life.

      “Get those clowns in here,” Dot said. “There’s nothing worse than cold food.”

      Cass could suggest a few things—taxes, yeast infections, exes.

      Oh, no, she wasn’t going to ruin a perfectly good holiday with even a hint of a thought about her ex-husband. That man, that self-centered, undeserving rat who’d tried to lure the kids away this weekend with a trip to Vail, who…

      No, no. No thoughts about Mason. It was Thanksgiving, after all, a time to count her blessings.

      Three of those blessings were sitting out there in the living room—her kids Danielle, Willie and Amber. Dani’s boyfriend, Mike, was there, too, tucked beside her in an overstuffed easy chair.

      Twenty-year-old Dani was Cass’s oldest and her right-hand woman at the bakery. She’d inherited Cass’s passion for creating in the kitchen, and after a year of community college had opted to work full-time at the bakery. Cass had hoped she’d put in at least another year, but she’d had no interest. “I can learn more from you than I can from any college professor,” she’d told Cass. When it came to baking, well, what could Cass say? Dani was right.

      Amber, her youngest, sat curled up on one end of the couch, texting. A few months earlier she’d been adding to Cass’s gray-hair collection, hanging out with the kind of kids no mother wants her child to be with or, worse, become. Thank God (and, possibly, Cass’s pal Samantha Sterling) Amber had changed direction and found some new and improved friends.

      Willie, Cass’s high school jock, was sprawled on the floor, holding the favored stuffed toy of high school boys everywhere—a football. The only trouble she had with Willie was keeping him full. The boy was a two-legged locust.

      Then there was her younger brother, Drew, who’d come over from Seattle. Recently divorced (was this tendency toward divorce something in their genes?), he’d been more than happy to spend the weekend hanging out with her family. He’d never had kids of his own, so she’d shared. He made a great uncle and a better father figure than her ex.

      No, no, no. Not giving him so much as a thought today.

      Cass stood in the archway like a lady butler and announced, “Dinner, guys.”

      Of course, no one was listening. Another touchdown happened in TV Land. “Yeah!” whooped Mike.

      “My team sucks,” Willie muttered, giving his football an irritable bounce.

      “My dinner’s going to suck if you don’t get out here and eat it now,” Cass warned.

      “The game’s pretty much over, anyway,” Mike said, demonstrating good boyfriend etiquette. He stood, pulling Dani up with him. He was a big boy, a former football star and her son’s new hero. Mike was currently employed at the local hardware store, which, as far as Cass was concerned, was ideal. Once he popped the question, he and Dani would get married and live in Icicle Falls, near family and friends, a win-win for everyone.

      “You’re right,” Drew agreed. He shut off the TV and led the parade to the dining room table.

      Cass only had to look at a cookie to gain five pounds. Her brother, lucky dog, was tall and reedy, and could eat anything. He was a better dresser, too, always had been. And better-looking. But he couldn’t cook, and when he came to town he was her best customer. He was also her best friend, and she was glad he’d come here for the holiday.

      The only ones missing as everyone settled around the table were Cass’s mother and stepfather, who’d become snowbirds and were with his family in Florida. But Mom and Fred planned to come out for Christmas, and if Cass had to choose she’d rather have her mother with them for that holiday.

      Drew reached for the turkey and Cass rapped his hand with a serving spoon. “Grace first, you heathen.”

      Willie snickered, which earned him the privilege of offering thanks. He barely had “Amen” out of his mouth before he was into the dressing, piling it high on his plate.

      Normally she’d remind him that other people might actually want some, too, but not today. Thanksgiving was for feasting and she’d made plenty. Besides, she was going to have an extra serving herself.

      For a while conversation consisted of comments like “Pass the rolls” and “Where’d the olives end up?” As plates and then stomachs filled, new topics arose: whose fantasy football team was going to win, how well Cass and Dani’s new gingerbread necklaces were selling, Dot’s upcoming bunion surgery.

      Then it was time for pie. In spite of how crazy-busy Cass had been with work, she’d managed to bake pumpkin, pecan and her brother’s favorite, wild huckleberry. “This will be enough for me,” he joked, grabbing the whole pie.

      With dessert came another tradition, one Cass had started when the kids were small.

      “Okay,” she said once everyone had been served, “it’s gratitude time. Who wants to go first?”

      Gratitude. Sometimes the challenge to be grateful had been as big as the word. Often she’d been a world-class hypocrite, encouraging her children to look on the bright side while she indulged in resentment.

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