Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [53]
Ray got two cold sodas from the refrigerator. “I wasn’t sure about getting live lobsters, but I figured I could always exchange them if you’d rather.”
“Ah…” Emily was afraid to admit she’d never cooked a live lobster in her life. Nor had she ever eaten anything more than a lobster tail. “This should be…well, a challenge.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ray said.
Emily agreed. They were both hungry and didn’t attempt conversation until they’d finished lunch. To all outward appearances, they were like a long-married couple anticipating each other’s needs. Ray handed her a napkin, she gave him the pepper mill, all without exchanging a word.
“Since neither of us knows that much about cooking lobsters, perhaps I should exchange these for cooked ones,” Ray suggested once they’d eaten.
“That might be best.” She took their empty plates into the kitchen and let out a small cry.
“What?” Ray demanded.
“One of the lobsters is missing.”
“What do you mean, missing?”
“There’s only one in the sink.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m telling you there’s only one lobster in the sink.”
Ray entered the kitchen and stared into the sink. “One of the lobsters is missing.”
Emily placed her hand on her hip. “The editor’s eye misses nothing,” she teased.
“Where could it have gone?”
“That’s for you to find out. I’ve got dough to knead.” She moved to the oven and was about to remove the bowl when she felt something attach itself to her pant leg. Glancing down she saw the lobster.
“Ah…Ray.” She held out her leg. “I found the lobster.”
“I can see that.” He squatted down and petted the creature’s head as if it were his favorite pet.
“You might want to detach him from my pant leg.”
Ray frowned. “How did the rubber band get off his claws?”
“Er…I took them off. It seemed cruel.”
“I see.”
“Ray, this is all very interesting, but I’d prefer not to be worrying about this lobster crawling up my leg.” She was trying hard not to giggle.
“If you have any ideas on how to remove him, let me know.”
Emily tried to shake her leg, but the lobster was firmly affixed. Ray started to laugh then, and she found it impossible not to join him.
“What are we going to do?” she asked between giggles.
“I don’t know.” Ray bent down and tugged at her jeans, but the lobster wasn’t letting go. “Maybe you should take off your pants.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I’m not kidding.”
By then, they were nearly hysterical with laughter. Emily leaned against the kitchen counter, her hand over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Ray sat on the floor.
“You’ve got yourself quite a mess here.”
“Just return me with the lobster.” Emily could picture it now: Ray walking into the fish market, with her slung over his shoulder, the lobster dangling from her pant leg.
They burst into laughter again.
There was a knock at the door, and Ray, still laughing, left the room. It must be one of the neighbors, Emily supposed, someone else who lived on this floor. She went with Ray, not about to let him escape without helping her first. They had their arms around each other and were nearly doubled over with laughter when he opened the door.
An older woman stood on the other side, wearing a fur coat and an elaborate hat with a protruding feather. Cradled in the folds of her fur was a white Pomeranian. The dog took one look at Emily and growled.
“Ray!”
“Mother!”
After a few seconds’ silence, he asked, “How did you get in?”
“Some nice young man opened the door for me.” She glared at Emily. “And who’s this?” Bernice Brewster demanded.
Ray looked at Emily and started laughing all over again. “Do you mean Emily or were you referring to the lobster?”
TWENTY-FOUR
Faith hoped it would snow on Christmas Eve; to her disappointment the day was cold and bright, but there was no sign of snow. Charles had gone out on some errand, and she’d stayed home, her favorite Christmas CD playing as she flipped through Emily’s cookbooks, looking for Christmas dinner ideas. Really, she should’ve thought about this earlier. Charles had suggested a roast, and she was beginning to think that