Memories in Jars

Chapter 8

Author's Note: Buongiorno! It's Friday! [Drumroll please] Get ready for another chapter of Memories in Jars! I know that this is a chapter that some of you readers have been waiting for for quite awhile... so I hope you all enjoy and have your fingers ready for some Vote/Star-button-clicking and some commenting.  :D 

This chapter is dedicated to NiaMartin, because I haven't dedicated one to her in a while, and she's been asking for this chapter, and she's one of my only dedicated readers, and I really appreciate that she's there every week, excited to read what's gong to happen to my characters.  AND she just made me a beautiful cover with the picture I took for the story, and the banner that's on the side, so thanks to her!

Motivation/Inspiration for this week goes to: Coeur de Pirate, an amazing Quebecois music artist, and to my best friends, because they're awesome and even though they haven't read this story, they deserve recognition.  Lastly, thanks to the Midnight Dodgeball Game my school held last night for Oktoberfest, because who doesn't love that?

Please vote and comment, lovelies! And read the end note for a special announcement!

<3

Kay (dreamer44)

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----- Annabelle -----

“Hey, Annabelle,” Mrs. Hansen opened up the door to their house.  I had been waiting behind it, rising up and down on my tiptoes in anticipation, for five minutes as I waited for Tim to answer the bell.  “Sorry, I was vacuuming, she said.  “It wasn't until I saw your car that I realized you were here.  Tim will be home in a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said.  I stepped inside.  Their house smelled warm and delicious, like freshly baked goods.  “Have you been doing some cooking, too?” I asked.

“Oh, Tim had me bake cookies this afternoon.  Oatmeal chocolate and butterscotch chip.  You like those, right?” She replied.

“They're my favorite,” I told her with a smile.  That was so sweet of him; I was sure he had asked her to bake them for me.  Baking cookies was one of the things that Maggie and I had done together countless times when we were younger.  The summer after seventh grade, we had gone through a phase where once a week we made cookies at both of our houses, trying out a different recipe each time.  At the end of the summer, we determined that Maggie’s favorite was peanut butter chocolate chip; Tim’s was double chocolate chip; and mine was oatmeal chocolate and butterscotch chip.  To this day, I knew that if I ever needed to cheer Maggie up, the best thing that I could do for her was to bake a batch of those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from the recipe in my grandmother’s old handwritten cookbook.

“Good,” she picked back up her vacuum, which was lying against the stairs in the hallway.  “Tim told me just to send you downstairs when you got here.  He called me a little while ago to say that there was a lot of traffic in town,” she said.  “Why don't you take a plate of cookies with you?”

I took a plate from their cabinet.  After years of being friends with Maggie, I was no longer considered a guest in their house, and knew to help myself to whatever I wanted.  On the plate I piled a few cookies, and then poured myself a glad of milk.  Balancing the dish on my palm, I journeyed downstairs to their basement.

            I sat down on the couch and began to nibble on a cookie.  They were good—Mrs. Hansen made the best, besides my mom, of course.  A few minutes later, Tim came down the stairs.  He was dressed in black pants and a white dress shirt with a dark green tie.  His face broke into a smile as soon as he saw me, just as I knew mine did.  Whenever I saw him I felt like a light illuminated in the world around me.   Tim’s presence made me soar.  He walked over to me and kissed me, cupping my face with his hands.  “Hey,” he said when he pulled back.  It was the best greeting a girl could ask for.