The Christmas Sisters

“What do you want me to do?”

“You can serve. And don’t forget the smile and the big Scottish welcome.”

“I live in Manhattan and I was born in Seattle.”

“And you spent your formative years right here in Scotland, so stop pretending you’re a city slicker.” Posy gestured to the board. “For specials today we have two soups—leek and potato, and creamy mushroom. Served with warm rosemary and sea salt bread, or plain sourdough. For vegetarians, we have a goat cheese and red onion tartlet—served with salad—and for raging carnivores, Mom’s venison and mushroom pies.”

Hearing it made Beth hungry. “My favorite.”

“You’re serving, not eating. But if there are any left, you can have one.”

“Do you ever have any left?”

“Never.”

Deciding that her sister was a sadist, Beth took an order from a couple of Australian tourists and vanished to the kitchen.

For the next two hours, she was rushed off her feet. She barely had time to talk to her sister, let alone pause to check her phone.

The café was busy, and so was the gift shop area.

While Beth was serving soup into bowls, Posy sold four of Suzanne’s blue sweaters with sparkles, eight hats and two pairs of fingerless gloves.

Beth yawned. “This place is insanely busy. How do you cope?”

“Normally we have Vicky, but she succumbed to the dreaded flu.”

“What if the mountain rescue team gets called out?”

“Then I drop everything and you end up running this place.” Posy bagged up three packets of Christmas cards painted by a local artist and added a hand-wrapped gingerbread man. “On the house.” She handed it over with a dazzling smile and another family of happy customers left the café.

“You’re lucky.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have your life sorted. You have your cozy loft, your animals, the mountains and this café. You know what you want and you’re doing it. I envy that.”

Posy didn’t look at her. “Seems to me you’re envying everyone right now. Did it ever occur to you that we might envy you?”

Beth helped herself to shortbread. “Why are you so snappy?”

“I’m not snappy. It’s just—”

“What?”

Posy shook her head. “Nothing. I think you make a lot of assumptions about people’s lives, that’s all.”

“Correct assumptions. Hannah doesn’t want a family, and you don’t want to live in Manhattan.”

“That last part is true.”

The bell on the door clanged and a tall, dark-haired man strolled into the café. He had a brooding, slightly dangerous air to him and Beth stood up a little straighter.

“Hot man alert,” she murmured. “Get his name and number. Alternatively you could hold him captive and warm yourself on him until the snow melts.”

“I already know his name and number. He’s my lodger.” Posy nodded to the man. “Productive morning?”

“I deleted more than I wrote. Hazards of the job, but nothing a good brownie won’t cure.” The man unzipped his coat and Beth saw her sister smile up at him.