“Smells good,” he said, dropping his keys on the shelf in the kitchen. He kicked off his boots and joined me at the stove. Not to peer into the pots simmering on the stovetop but to put his hands over the rising steam, warming them.

“Hopefully, it tastes good, too,” I said. I turned around and kissed him lightly on the mouth. His stubble rubbed my cheek.

“As long as you tell me we aren’t eating that hamster for dinner, I’ll be excited.”

“I thought you’d like hamster on a stick,” I told him.

“I would not.”

“Then you’re safe,” I said. “Chicken, rice, veggies and homemade bread.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’m gonna jump in the shower before we eat.”

The shower kicked on and when I heard it shut off a few minutes later, I started getting the food together. I sliced the loaf of bread and transferred the rice and vegetables into serving bowls. Emily appeared and, unasked, help bring food to the table. I wondered what favor she needed. I called up to the other kids and told them to hurry down. I was pulling cups from the cupboard when Jake strolled back in, laptop in hand. He’d donned track pants and a long-sleeved Notre Dame t-shirt and he smelled all after-shavy and looked all athletic and all I wanted to do was snuggle up next to him and breathe him in.

“So, what’s this?” he said, holding up the computer.

I spread the cups out on the counter. “The laptop?”

“Funny,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I mean the website you left up. I went to check my email.”

I pulled the water pitcher from the fridge. “Oh, I can explain. Stuff It is a taxidermist here in town. I know you told me not to—”

“I’m not talking about a taxidermist,” he said and thrust the laptop at me. “I’m talking about this.”

I looked at the screen.

Which currently displayed the home page for Around The Corner.

Blood rushed to my face. “Because I had to look up Olaf to find the taxidermist.”

“So you weren’t trolling for more dates?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.

“Oh, please.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me about the date with Olaf,” he said, shrugging. “So how do I know?”

Emily made a noise. “This is getting awkward.”

Jake grinned. “Just wait until it’s your dates we’re discussing.”

Her cheeks reddened and she darted out of the kitchen.

Jake closed the laptop and set it on the counter. “Just tell me why. Why did you feel the need to look up Olaf and his job at a taxidermy shop?”

I thought back to the conversation we’d had at the recycling plant and the fact that my husband was absolutely not on board with my investigating. “Um, well—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said.“You aren’t going to listen to me are you?”

I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “It’s not that I don’t listen. I absolutely hear you.”

His arms encircled my waist. “You just disregard everything I say.”

“Not everything.”

“Mmhmm.”

I laid my hands on his chest. “Look. I’m just poking around. Nothing to worry about. But this Helen woman has totally invaded my space and I want to know why. I won’t do anything dumb and I won’t do anything dangerous. But I want to know who’s telling the truth.”

He made a face at me. “And if I ask you not to, you’ll conveniently ignore me, correct?”

“I’d never ignore you,” I said truthfully. “But I might selectively remember what you asked.”

He fought back a smile. “Selectively remember. That’s a good one.”

“Right? I thought so.”

He sighed. “Fine. I give up. But stay off the damn dating websites. Please.”

I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Fine,” I said, smiling at him. “Sex goddess’ honor.”

TWENTY FIVE

The kids were out early the next morning, taking advantage of the slightly warmer weather to try their hand at building their own bobsled track in the backyard. The daytime temperatures were finally in the twenties which meant death by frostbite wasn’t imminent. They had shovels and boxes and an assortment of other tools they’d pulled out of the garage, and after nearly two hours, they were screaming and laughing as they took the sleds down their own hilly, curvy course that ended with each of them plowing feet first into a snowbank.

I watched from the kitchen window, coffee in my hands. I was sure a lot of people wouldn’t be able to fathom how this was in any way comparable to school. In fact, some of my biggest opponents to keeping the kids home had been members of my own extended family. But I looked out that window and I saw kids learning how to communicate and work together as they explored concepts of physics and engineering in a real-life situation. They were driven to make that bobsled track work and, by the process of trial and error—and scientific principles they probably couldn’t identify but were still using—they were making it work.

By lunchtime, they were cold, wet and exhausted. They stripped out of their wet clothes and boots and huddled under blankets while I I made a plate of peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. After devouring these and a bowl full of grapes, they settled on the couch and love seat and started watching Frozen. It was a fitting choice.

I cleaned up the lunch dishes and poked my head back into the living room. Each of them had a blanket pulled up to their chin, their eyes glued to the screen. An idea blossomed.

“I have errands to run,” I told them. “Anyone want to come with?”

They barely lifted their eyes from the screen, shaking their heads no. I smiled. Just what I’d hoped.

I grabbed my own winter gear, bundled up and, blowing kisses to all three, headed out the door. I didn’t really have errands I needed to run. But I had decided a visit to Stuff It was in order

The shop was on the western edge of town, in a nearly abandoned stretch of buildings on a snow covered lot. Three shops had For Lease signs in the window. The fourth building was a small log cabin with a giant moose head on the roof and a sign in the front that read:

Stuff It – For All Your Taxidermy Needs

Were there taxidermy needs other than getting an animal stuffed?

I wasn’t sure, but I parked the car and headed inside to find out.

I pushed open the cabin door and a bell jingled, signaling my arrival. It looked remarkably like a lobby at one of the up north resorts, with its knotted pine interior and warm, ambient lighting. The honey-colored pine was everywhere: the walls, the long wooden counter, the rocking chairs strategically placed around a small, black wood stove. Just to the right of the counter, a small table housed a thermos of coffee and a domed plate filled with large, bakery-style cookies.

It would have been easy to grab a cup of coffee and a cookie and relax by the warmth of the wood stove if it hadn’t been for the dozens of dead animals staring down at me from shelves throughout the room. Moose. Deer. Racoons. Squirrels. Wolves. If it lived in Minnesota, I was pretty sure their dead counterpart was mounted on one of the walls inside Stuff It.

There was a small metal bell on the counter and I tapped it once, the ring echoing in the room. Footsteps shuffled on the floor from the wall behind the counter and a man in his fifties wearing a long sleeved red wool shirt over a black T-shirt stepped into the room. He had on a baseball cap and an eyepatch over his left eye. He towered over both me and the counter.

He lifted the brim of his cap. “Help you, ma’am?” His voice was low and gruff.

“Um, yes,” I said, still unsure of how I was approaching this. “Hello.”

He nodded. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

I looked around the room. “You have a lot of animals in here.”

“Yes.”

I squirmed a little. His stoicism was unnerving.

“You do a good job,” I told him, hoping I sounded sincere. I wouldn’t know a well-stuffed animal from a bad one, but from the looks of the animals surrounding me, these appeared to be lifelike and realistic.