Cinnamon Girl: A Thornton Vermont Christmas Story, Part 10
“I wouldn’t have figured Walt Fuller for a good kisser,” Jane said. She was paging through the Sears catalog, and held up a page for Molly’s approval. “Do you think something like this would be a good traveling suit for the honeymoon?”
“Does Bobby know you’re planning that already?” Molly gave the camel-colored blazer and tailored trousers a once over. “You’d look good in that sweater or the striped shirt, but this is all winter stuff. You’re going to want a summer suit if you get married in June.”
Jane flipped the whole catalog shut with a quick huff. “You’re right.”
“Once we got out of our own way, he’s a great kisser.” Molly figured she was as close to an expert as anyone on that subject. They’d strung popcorn and cranberries while dinner warmed up. They’d kissed in the kitchen while the lasagne cooled. Walt brought down his mother’s box of ornaments and tinsel. Molly held a crocheted sprig of mistletoe over his head, and they’d tangled together in a breathless heap on the plaid sofa cushions.
In the amber-dappled light of the Christmas tree, they’d snuggled front of the wood stove, drinking spiked hot chocolate and talking late into the night.
Jane was looking at her, having abandoned her trousseau shopping. “What about backpacking? Rome? Vienna? Athens?”
Molly wrapped her arms around her knees. “What about them?”
“You’ve been talking about going to Europe ever since you had to take that semester off for your gall bladder surgery, and your graduation got pushed back. Are you going to just give that up because Walt Fuller’s more interesting than he looks?”
“That’s mean.” He was, though. Much more interesting, though Molly liked his looks just fine. “And a dinner date and some kissing doesn’t mean we’re getting married.”
Jane’s eyebrows rose, their groomed arches displaying her skepticism. “A dinner date you invited yourself on, and the bonfire at Randy’s…” Her lips pursed just slightly as she trailed off. “I ran into Cora at the Rexall.”
Molly laughed. “Okay, fine. I like him a lot, but that doesn’t mean I have to give up Europe.” Molly flopped back on Jane’s bed. “It’s not like I have the money to go, anyway.”
“Well, the Fuller dairy herd isn’t going to pay for it, that’s for sure.”
“Jane!” Molly sat up. Jane had paged past the suits and on to winter outerwear.
“Walt’s already married to the cows, as far as I can tell, so I don’t think he’s headed off to backpack across Austria for a summer.”
“You’re awful.” Molly lobbed a throw pillow at her cousin, who caught it neatly and set it on the foot of the bed.
Jane gave her the eyebrows again. “I’m practical. It’s different.”