Chapter 22
Lauren
I wake up when two fluffy little creatures hop onto my bed and start climbing all over me, digging their little paws into my legs.
It’s a daily ritual that will only last for a few minutes before they begin voicing their hunger.
Loudly. Because apparently not eating every three hours makes them starve.
“Good morning, my babies,” I mumble in a coarse voice and lift the corner of my blanket. The two of them immediately rush under it, Taytay cuddling into the nook of my elbow and Jenna nudging her little nose against my chin.
I left my window ajar overnight, just the tiniest bit. There’s nothing better than waking up under your warm blanket, cozy and comfortable, in a room that rivals a walk-in refrigerator.
The only caveat? Having to get up in the cold to close the window and turn on the heat, freezing while you wait for the room to warm up.
The space between my curtains reveals a beautiful view of the mountains on the other side of the lake, illuminated by the pink hues of a cloudless dawn. Only a soft wind blows, rustling the branches of the trees beside my window.
I could stay like this for hours; watching the sky light up and the nature outside turn from pink cotton candy to winter wonderland. But Taytay is already growing impatient.
“Meow.” She bops her little paw against my throat.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter, flinging my blanket off to sit up, the cold sending goosebumps all over my skin.
The ground is cold under my feet as I trudge down the stairs, two fluffy stalkers right behind me.
While I make my way to the kitchen, the two of them circle the mat I place their food bowls on, very vocal about the fact that they’re apparently starving, getting louder as I scoop food into their respective bowls.
“There you go, you two little cuties,” I coo as I set them down. While they scarf down their food, I refill their water bowl.
With that out of the way, I make my way over to my fridge while yawning loudly, pushing the “on” button of my coffee machine as I walk past it. Thank the heavens for automatic coffee machines.
During my new “finding a new hobby” mission these past months, I contemplated becoming a proper coffee connoisseur.
The kind of person who weighs out coffee beans to exactly whatever grams, gets herself a grinder, weighs out the ground beans again before trying to twist the porta filter into a machine.
How do people even do that before having their first coffee? There’s no way I could muster up the patience.
Instead, I have an extremely nice, all-in-one coffee machine that’s taking up a significant portion of my counter.
But honestly? That’s a price I’m willing to pay.
Especially on mornings like today, where the untouched snow beckons me to run outside and make snow angels.
A perfect morning to take slow and romanticize with a proper breakfast.
“Now what am I going to have for breakfast?” I mumble, letting my eyes wander over the contents of my fridge.
There are a bunch of delivery boxes, leftovers of fancy ingredients that I got myself to experiment with for one recipe and now have no idea what to do with.
And basics. Milk, several juices I bought for cocktail recipes, and some eggs.
“Pancakes it is.”
So, after drinking half a glass of orange juice and turning on my milk frother, I get to it. I try to crack an egg one-handed, and mix it up with eyeballed flour, milk, baking soda and a pinch of sugar.
Taytay and Jenna are done with their breakfast and already curled up in their favorite spot on the cat tree.
While my coffee runs through the machine, I get myself two spatulas and a plate.
I’ve never mastered the art of pancake flipping.
Instead, I’m trying to maneuver the pancake onto the plate in one piece and flip the plate over the pan to brown the other side.
My gingerbread syrup is waiting to be added on the counter. I twist the bottle open and pour a hefty amount into my coffee before adding milk and giving it a good little stir.
The first sip of the day is always a little kick starter. I close my eyes and let the spices hit my tongue, and the smell of gingerbread dipped in coffee fill my nostrils.
“Ah, this is great.”
I grin as I set down the mug and transfer my pancake onto a plate. Dusting it with sugar and cinnamon makes it perfect and smell of Christmas. Happily humming Jingle Bells, I bring it over to my couch, sitting down facing my windows with the plate on my thighs.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” I grin and stab my fork into the pancake to tear off the first piece. “This is perfect. The perfect breakfast on a perfect day in my perfect new life.”
Back in L.A., my breakfast would have been a slice of bread with jam smeared haphazardly onto it before running out of my flat.
But this? Divine. Oh, how I’ve missed a decadent breakfast or getting to wake up slowly and watching the world transition into a new day.
“Here I am!” I step into Caleb’s café with the poise of a showgirl on stage, arms extended over my head. “Wait, why are you closing up? I thought we were going to bake gingerbread.”
“I can’t store them here. We’re baking at my place.”
Caleb is cleaning his coffee machine, facing away from me. When he finally turns around, he does a double take.
“What is that?”
“Oh, you mean this?” I lift my hands and tap the small reindeer antler hair clips, making the little bell on them chime.
I’m also wearing my deep-red Miss Claus coat.
I’m the living embodiment of Christmas. “Aren’t they adorable?
I found them when I went Christmas shopping, and I needed to have them. ”
“They’re certainly…” He gulps as he searches for the right word. “A choice.”
“Thank you, I love them too.” I grin and shake my head until the little bells chime for good measure.
He rounds the counter, his jacket appearing in his hands out of thin air.
“Okay, let’s go.”
His hand lies on the small of my back as he gently guides me outside, sending tingles of electricity throughout my whole body. Nervousness is making me giddy, so I hide my growing smile behind my scarf.
I’m still not used to this. For months, he was the icy, grumpy café owner I had a crush on. There were cracks in his surface, occasionally showing the kind man underneath the resting murder face, but now? Finally, that side of him is surfacing more often.
The side that makes him offer me his arm as we step onto the sidewalk so I can cling onto him in case I lose my footing again. That makes him walk facing the street, so I’m not hit with snow slush when a car drives by.
He pretends to look ahead, yet I catch his eyes darting to me when he thinks I’m not looking, and it’s making my heart beat into my throat.
I could walk around clinging to him for hours. Disappointment tugs at my chest when he unlocks a door at the side of the Henry’s Vet Clinic building and motions for me to walk in ahead of him.
“You can leave your shoes down here. Wear the house shoes over there.” He points to my right.
“You should get some bunny slippers,” I mumble when I see the boring gray felt slippers. “They would be a lot more fun to walk around in.”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who would have bunny slippers?”
I toe out of my shoes as the door falls closed. Suddenly, Caleb is so close behind me that every movement makes me brush against him.
“I don’t judge people by their appearance.” I shoot him a grin over my shoulder, trying to hide how nervous his sudden closeness makes me. “And you could get them as guest slippers.”
“I don’t get any guests,” he points out.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I quickly turn away from him to hide them. “Aw. I feel special.”
“You are.” My stomach flutters, and I spontaneously forget how to breathe.
Slowly, I turn around, and when my eyes meet his, the intensity in them almost makes me stumble.
There’s a lot he’s saying without talking at all. I can see it. No words needed.
He thinks I’m special.
I bit my lip, finally toeing out of my snow-clad boots and slipping into his way-too-big slippers.
“They’re way too big,” I point out with a smile, averting my eyes, because if I look at him any longer, I’m probably going to burst into tears.
All I wanted was for someone to see me, and he does. There’s not a single doubt in my mind.
“Be careful on the stairs,” he says, oblivious to my emotional revelation, gesturing for me to go ahead.
I climb them slowly with careful steps, fighting to keep the slippers on. The stairs are steep and narrow, and I can barely make them out in this dim light. But he’s right behind me. I can sense him.
“I won’t let you fall,” he assures softly as I dig my fingers into the railing.
“Okay,” I whisper and slowly climb my way further up. If he says it, I know it’s true.
He won’t let me fall.
God, we were meant to start baking the gingerbread for our Christmas market booth, but the tension between us tonight is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I doubt tonight will be as productive as I thought.
Once we’re upstairs, he brushes past me, his hand softly sliding around my hip, sending goosebumps all over my body and making my breath hitch.
“Here we are,” he mumbles, opening the door and walking in first.
Curiosity buzzes in my stomach as I step inside, the sudden need to see his apartment crashing over me like a wave.
For some reason, I imagined a bare-bones kind of place, with only a bed, a simple kitchen, a table with one chair, and maybe an armchair.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My eyes widen, gaze jumping around the open-plan apartment, trying to take in everything. It’s homey.