From a woman of Italian descent, giving equates to food and lots of it. And so, my stories reflect this.
In The Dimidiums Book One Bound by Love, the character Janna sets out a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of cookies. It attracts her neighbors who drop by for visits, but on this particular day, it's aroused the curiosity of the Dimidium Trevor:
That same morning, Janna sat on her porch working on a simple cross-stitch. In blue shorts with a bibbed top and a white tee, barefoot, she took in the early desert heat. She loved the feel of the morning sun on her. She couldn’t understand why the townspeople covered up all the time.
Her friend Lena had offered to rent her this house. The locale was perfect for her, and who would think to look for her here? The desert exuded a healing quality, giving her a sense of peace and serenity. The image of the injured man came to her. Underneath all that grime, he was good-looking. She pictured his piercing brown eyes, but shook off the image. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that she’d lost her husband.
On the patio table next to her she had placed a pitcher of her home-made lemonade sweetened with apple juice, an old family hand-me down recipe. She had set a few disposable cups and a tray of her own baked Snickerdoodle cookies with it. She’d gotten used to leisurely mornings and neighbors dropping by to visit before the desert got too hot. She’d quickly learned that in this climate, people appreciated a cool drink.
She noticed a stranger in a tan jungle hat, khaki shorts, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up walking down her street, holding a paper and looking around him. Outsiders seldom came around the homes. Though hikers and sight seers were common down in the business section, they stayed pretty much on the outskirts of town.
He continued to jaunt down her street, almost march as it were. When he came closer to her house, she stood up immediately, recognizing him.
“Hello there,” she called. What am I doing, talking to him again?
Trevor turned to her, surprised.
“You look much better. I wondered if you were alright.”
He didn’t smile or acknowledge what she said. “Do you know these streets?”
“Of course. I live here.” She poured a cup of lemonade and walked to him, stopping at her gate. “How can I help?”
“Where are your shoes?”
“I like to go barefoot.”
He regarded her from her bare feet and legs, her shorts and top up to her green eyes, and he felt a strong desire again to have this woman. “I’m looking for a beech.” He stared at his paper. Work, not play, but if I did play with human women she’d be the one.
“This is the only neighborhood. Just around the corner is the public swimming pool. I understand that last summer the mayor expressly requested that it come with a fake beach. The kids love it, but I don’t think it’s open this early. At the stop sign, turn right then at the next street turn left. You’ll see it.”
“Here.” She held out the cup.
“I like you in yellow,” he said. “It’s a nice color on you.” He studied her for a moment, took the cup, and continued to walk.
She watched him, admiring his physique and his walk. Nice body, but he’s not very friendly. Ugh! I must stop looking at him. My life’s too complicated right now.
He approached the corner, stopped, took out a flask, and poured some of the contents into the cup.
Figures. He’s an alcoholic. She shook her head, but had an idea, and went inside to write down an address from the phone book. She returned to the porch and waited.
It wasn’t long before he was back at her gate.
“Not what I’m looking for. I got a garbled phone message yesterday about a street and a beech.”
She walked over to her gate again. “I thought you meant a beach with water. I wonder. Could it be this street? Beechnut?”
“Possibly.” He looked at her house address and smiled. “Could I have another cup of your lemonade?”
“Of course.” She opened the gate and motioned to her porch. What am I doing, letting him in?
“You should be more prudent around strangers.” He entered and sat down at her table. She sat too and poured him more lemonade.
Again, he added to it from his flask. He scrunched his eyebrows while he jotted quick notes on his paper. “What are these?” He pointed to the Snickerdoodles.
“Cookies. I baked them. Help yourself.”
“Were you expecting me?” His gaze pierced through her and she blushed.
Why do I blush around him? “I sit out here in the mornings and neighbors drop by. It’s only polite to offer them something and I’m really good at baking cookies.” I’m talking too much.
Those Snickerdoodles take on a special meaning to Janna and Trevor as their relationship grows.
Snickerdoodles are delightful, small, round cookies that are quick and simple to make. They're perfect for parties, family gatherings, or (my favorite) when reading a nice book and drinking tea. I think what makes them so tasty is the cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on the tops.
No one really knows the origin of Snickerdoodles although my guess is Germany. They have certainly come up with some of the world's yummiest cookies.
Betty Crocker's Cookie Book has the best recipe for Snickerdoodles that I've ever tasted.
By the way, this is my favorite recipe book and I use it often. If you click on the picture, it'll take you to Amazon, but you can find this book just about anywhere. I had to buy a second one recently because my first one was falling apart.
Betty Crocker's Recipe for Snickerdoodles can be found at this link:
Betty Crocker's Snickerdoodles
Try some. They're warming and delicious and that equals love.
Love, Honor, and Respect