Star Bright: A Witches of Cleopatra Hill Holiday Novella by Christine Pope

Author:Christine Pope [Pope, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub

5

True Confessions

Even though we’d opened presents the night before, that didn’t mean Christmas morning at my parents’ house wasn’t filled with activities. My mother made Belgian waffles because she knew they were my favorite, along with bacon and eggs and ham and hash browns.

“I won’t have any room left for the potluck at the rate you’re going,” I told her after she set a fresh plate of bacon down on the kitchen table.

She and my father exchanged a grin. It was only the three of us that morning, and much more relaxed than the big family gathering of the night before. I found myself wishing it could always be like this, even though I knew I was a big part of the reason why I hadn’t had many breakfasts like this during the past three years. It had been my decision to go to Northern Pines and rush through my bachelor’s degree, even though I’d known I wouldn’t have much use for it where I was going.

But I’d wanted to prove I could accomplish something on my own before I was shipped off to be a mail-order bride, which meant living and studying in Flagstaff for most of the year. Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t savor this time here with my parents while I could.

“The potluck is five hours off,” my father said as he reached for his cup of coffee. “That’ll give you plenty of time to digest everything and still be able to load your plate when you get there.”

I shook my head, smiling — but also reached for another piece of bacon. My mother did it the old-fashioned way, in a heavy cast-iron skillet, and it was some of the most amazing stuff I’d ever eaten.

“Rachel asked me to make mac and cheese,” my mother put in. “I guess Claire Emmons, who usually does it, is out of town visiting her kids in California.”

Claire was one of Jerome’s year-’round residents, a civilian but someone who’d lived here for decades and knew all about the McAllister witch clan. I had to admit her mac and cheese was superb, and yet I knew my mother’s would be even better.

“Do we need to bring anything else?” I asked. “I can help.”

My mother, who’d just sat down, picked up her coffee cup. “Thank you, Miranda,” she replied. “You can help grate the cheese for me. But no, we’re only bringing the one dish. If everyone brought multiples, we wouldn’t have anywhere to put it.”

Well, that was true enough. With nearly a hundred families adding to the potluck, we always had a bewildering variety of food, and had to bring in extra tables to hold everything.

The rest of our breakfast conversation centered on the potluck, although I noticed my father didn’t ask me anything about the young man I’d invited to the family gathering. I had no doubt that my mother had already told him everything, but apparently she’d also let him know I was feeling a little sensitive on the subject and that he shouldn’t subject me to the third degree.

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