The Baker's Christmas Miracle by Cheryl Wright

Author:Cheryl Wright [Wright, Cheryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-17T06:00:00+00:00

When Ethan awoke it was to an empty bed. He reached across where his wife had slept, and the bedding was slightly warm. The indent of the pillow where her head had rested was still there.

He leaned over. Her fragrance still lingered. He liked it. All of it.

Shoving the covers back, he climbed out of bed and was greeting by the chilly morning air. The closer it got to Christmas, the worse it would be. Thank goodness he’d had the forethought to put a fireplace in the main bedroom.

From now on, he’d ensure it was burning when they went to bed. At least they wouldn’t have such a rude awakening as today.

He quickly dressed and made his way to the kitchen. The aroma of bacon and eggs assailed his senses before he even reached his destination.

The warmth of the sitting room fire and the wood stove hit him as he walked down the hallway, and he instinctively knew Abigail had been up for quite some time already.

As he entered the kitchen, she was a sight to behold. She looked far less tired this morning than she had yesterday, and the pretty salmon colored gown she wore matched her hair perfectly.

“Good morning,” she said sweetly, then stepped forward and gently kissed his cheek.

He pulled her into a hug, and she relaxed into him. “Good morning. I trust you slept well? You look much better today.”

“Thank you. I did.” She pulled out of his grip and attended to the food sizzling on the stove. “Your coffee is on the table, and your meal is almost ready. Do sit down.” She indicated the table, so he did as he was instructed.

Patrick appeared just moments later. “Good morning,” he said, then looked to Ethan as if questioning his standing in regard to accommodation.

“Your coffee is on the table,” Abigail told him sweetly. “Breakfast will be served in just a moment.”

Patrick glanced across at him. Ethan shrugged. He might give off a façade of nonchalance, but deep down he was concerned.

She placed food in front of each of them, then put her own at her setting. Then Abigail sat. She reached out her hands to them, this time prepared to give thanks for their food.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and Ethan said a prayer of thanks.

She smiled coyly as they heaped their praises on her cooking, but jumped up to clear the table the moment they were finished.

Ethan stood and came up behind her, ready to help with the dishes. She shook her head. “I don’t need help,” she said. “You get on with your baking. I’ll be out soon.”

No matter how much he protested, she insisted. It seem to distress her to be told no, so he let it go.

Glancing in the sitting room on his way through, Ethan discovered the fire was roaring. Unlocking the adjoining door, he grabbed for an apron, ready to begin the day’s work.

He checked the temperature of the ovens before anything else, then measured out the flour and other ingredients.

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