Lori Wilde - The First Love Cookie Club

Every Christmas Eve from the time she was eight years old, Sarah Collier baked kismet cookies, slept with a handful under her pillow, and dreamed of her one true love.

She couldnt wait to fall asleep while the lights on the eaves twinkled a prism of colors through the sheer lace curtains of her bedroom window, and the piney smell of fresh-cut Douglas fir filled the house while Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas from her grandmothers record player.

On that most magical of evenings, in her cozy little lakeside cottage in Twilight, Texas, Gramma Mia would trot out the flour and sugar and vanilla and creamy, rich, honest-to-goodness butter (which Sarahs mother would never let her eat), and assemble the ingredients on the shiny white tiles of her kitchen counter. Even though they both knew the recipe by heart, Gramma would unfold the yellowed piece of notebook paper to reveal the faded blue ink written in spiky, cursive lettering and gently prop it up against the tea canister. Eagerto get started, Sarahs excited fingers tangled the strings of her apron and pulled her wavy caramel-colored hair into a haphazard ponytail.

In seven years the dream never changed. Soft-focus, misty white lace stretched out like wedding veil trains. A dark-haired man wearing a sharp black tuxedo stood waiting at the end of a pink rose petalstrewn path, his back to her, while gentle snowflakes drifted from a gunmetal gray holiday sky.

Heart pounding, she glided closer to him until the sound of her own rushing blood was a wild cacophony of jungle drums in her ears. Then he turned, smiled, and held out a hand.

Thats when she saw his face.

Travis Walker, the handsome older boy who lived next door to Gramma, but all grown up now.

Her hero.

Sarah slept blissfully, happily, her hands curled underneath her cheek, never guessing the tumult her annual dream would soon bring.

On the Christmas morning when she was fifteen years old, Sarah woke with the sweet taste of fantasy in her mouth. Smiling, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.

Travis.

Her budding young body felt raw and achy, and instead of jumping from the bed and running to see what lay under the Christmas tree as she normally would have, Sarah snuggled deeper into the pillow, closed her eyes, ignored the smell of bacon and waffles wafting in the air, and tried to chase down the fragments of her fading dream.

But Grammas gentle knock at the door ruinedall that. Sarah, honey, get up and get dressed, your folks just called. Theyll be here within the hour.

Sarah sighed and sat up on the edge of the bed. It didnt seem fair that her parents barely had time for her, but when they put in an appearance she was expected to give them her undivided attention. Drs. Mitchell and Helen Collier sent her to stay with Gramma every summer and during the Christmas holidays. The rest of the year, she resided at Chatham Academy, a boarding school in Dallas. They were too busy being renowned heart surgeons in Houston and jetting around the globe as guest lecturers to bother raising their own daughter.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Youve got more than most people.

That was true, but it didnt stop her from longing for a close-knit family. She wrapped her arms around her pillow and squeezed it to her chest, leaving a trail of kismet cookie crumbs scattered across the flannel sheet.

It didnt help that she was shy and prone to an exaggerated fantasy life. She wasnt popular at school and didnt fit in. English was the only subject she excelled at. Her parents were practical, brilliant, scientific people, and they didnt understand her at all. Sometimes, she imagined she was adopted, but she looked so much like her father, with his wild light brown hair and stark blue eyes, it was impossible to deny the lineage.

Sighing, she got of bed, changed the sheets stained with butter from the cookies, and then took a shower. She dressed in a red plaid skirt withred leggings, black ankle boots, a white silk blouse underneath a green sweater vest (with jangly jingle bells on it, which Gram had knitted for her), and just to be whimsical, she donned a headband adorned with reindeer antlers that shed won at Dickens on the Square. Her mother would loathe the headband. Reason enough to wear it.

She wandered into the kitchen and Gramma waved her to the table. She slid a mug of hot chocolate in front of her along with a plate of Belgian waffles and thick slab bacon.

Did you sleep well? Gram asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Very well. Sarah grinned.

Did you dream of your true love?

I did. Sarah couldnt tell Gram who her true love was. You werent supposed to tell or youd jinx the kismet cookie prophecy.

Same as last year?

And the year before and the year before that and the year before that.

Gram nodded. Then its for real, sweet pea. He is your destiny.

A happy shiver rushed over her arms and she hugged herself tight. Travis Walker. Her one true love. She hadnt seen him since shed been back in town, even though each time she stepped out on her grandmothers front porch she glanced over at his house, hoping to see his battered Ford pickup in the driveway. She didnt ask Gramma about him. She was afraid to give away her secret crush.

Not a crush, she reminded herself. Destiny.

Sarah swallowed a mouthful of waffle, dripping with real maple syrup, and bit into a crisp sliceof bacon. She wanted to get her breakfast eaten before her mother got there and started in on her about her weight. Gramma told her she was just the right size, but Helen Collier would whip out her calculator, tap in some numbers, and tell her that her BMI was 25.4 and that qualified as overweight. Size fourteen. Her mother would shake her head while her disappointed eyes said, Chubby chug-butt. Sarah took another bite of waffle and wondered if Travis thought she was fat or looked geeky with braces.

A knock sounded at the door.

Come in, Gramma said, getting to her feet as the back door opened.

Dotty Mae Densmore, who was her grandmothers age and lived down the road, popped into the room, a basket of fresh-baked blueberry muffins dangling from her upturned elbow. Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, Mrs. Densmore, Sarah said.

My, dont you look festive, Dotty Mae said. I love the reindeer antlers.