Chapter 7
LOUIS
My temporary neighbor was prickly. If you looked up grumpy in the dictionary, you’d find his picture, complete with furrowed brow and a frown marring his otherwise attractive face.
But he’d also run to the five-and-dime to get me toiletries in the middle of the afternoon, and he’d put me to bed last night, removing my glasses, covering me with a blanket, and leaving a vomit bowl.
Anyone could make the argument that he’d gone above and beyond. I found the contrast fascinating.
It had been clear he hadn’t wanted me in his store just now, though, and his dismissal stung, but I was used to it.
People often found me to be . . . a lot.
And I’d tried over the years not to let it get to me.
I’d even tried to diminish myself, to dilute my personality to make myself more appealing, but eventually the real Louis always came out.
I simply didn’t know how to be anyone other than myself, and fuck anyone who didn’t like it.
Okay, well, it still stung, but I was working on it. Zero fucks and all that.
I walked back into my rental and rummaged around the kitchen, looking for the supplies I needed.
It was Christmas Eve, and in my family, that meant baking cookies.
And since my parents had flown to Texas to be with my sister and her new baby for Christmas this year, that also meant I was on my own for said baking. Good thing I was an excellent baker.
After treating my hangover to a greasy breakfast, I’d spent the day exploring the little town where I was staying.
Thankfully everything was within walking distance, since I still hadn’t figured out how to retrieve my car from Jonathan’s cabin, and I’d found all the necessary baking supplies needed at the market on one end of the block—right next to the five-and-dime, as it happened.
Pulling those supplies out now, along with baking sheets, mixing bowls, and measuring cups provided by the rental, I got to work.
Forty-five minutes later, I was standing on a chair in my tiny rental with the oven door open, waving a baking sheet at the smoke detector that was wailing loud enough it could likely be heard three towns over.
It was at this moment that my front door burst open, revealing a harried-looking Matthew armed with a fire extinguisher.
I paused in the midst of waving my cookie sheet to admire the sight of him, chest puffed out in a black and red buffalo-plaid flannel, jeans stretched tight across his thighs, with a couple of days’ stubble on his chin.
Jesus, he looked like a real life lumberjack coming to my rescue. I’d happily be his damsel in distress.
Alas, I was pretty sure he didn’t swing that way.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked, his deep voice gruff and urgent.
I sighed. “There’s no fire. This oven hasn’t been cleaned, and whatever it is that’s sitting in the bottom started smoking and tripped the smoke detector. Actually, since you’re here, can you open that window?” I nodded toward the window over the sink across from me.
He grumbled something about adding this to his list for Jerry, but did as I asked.
It took him a moment to wrestle with the lock and wrench the thing up a couple of inches, but it was enough that after a few more waves of my baking sheet, the smoke detector stopped its incessant yammering.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“I’ll just head back,” he said, taking a couple of steps toward the door, which was still sitting wide open. I could see tiny snowflakes fluttering around against the dark sky beyond.
“Wait!” I shouted louder than necessary, desperate to stop him. “I was making sugar cookies. Do you want to help me decorate them?”
“You want me to decorate cookies with you?” His voice was incredulous, making me feel defensive, but I barreled on.
“I mean, you don’t have to . . . But I do have all these cookies, and I don’t know . . . it’s more fun with help.”
I wasn’t even sure why I wanted him to stay so badly.
Maybe it was the act of one lonely soul recognizing another .
. . and it was Christmas Eve. I’d made the choice to stay here instead of heading to Texas with the rest of my family.
I could have driven back home after the wedding and caught a flight, but I’d wanted—no, needed—to take a week for myself.
Maybe I was a coward, but I hadn’t wanted to spend the holidays answering questions about my dating life from people who meant well but only made me feel worse.
Especially when my mom shot me those little worried glances when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I let out a defeated sigh when he just continued to stand there blinking at me. “It’s fine. I was planning to do it all myself anyway. I’m sorry I disturbed your evening.”
I stepped off the chair, turning my back to him, and set the baking sheet on the counter.
Thankfully, I’d already managed to bake most of the cookies before the smoke detector went off, though the most recent batch were ruined since I’d had to turn the oven off and open the door, letting the heat out.
I took the pan from the oven over to the waste bin and began scraping the cookies into the trash, when Matthew finally spoke up behind me.
“My late wife used to bake cookies every Christmas.”
I paused, but didn’t turn. Great, now I’d managed to bring up memories of the man’s dead wife.
It was settled. I was going to have to spend the rest of the week avoiding this guy at all costs.
Surely he hated me by now. “I’m sorry for your loss.
” I scraped the last cookie into the trash then turned.
“And I’m sorry if this”—I gestured vaguely around the kitchen—“I don’t know, poked at a sore spot, I guess. ”
“They’re always sore spots. The memories of her. They’re like a bruise that won’t heal.”
“Maybe they’re not meant to heal. Maybe they exist so we don’t forget.”
He huffed out a laugh, completely devoid of humor. “You ever lost anyone you loved?”
“No. I’ve never been in love,” I whispered.
“No one’s ever . . .” I waved my hand in front of my face, dismissing the thought.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’re right.
I’ve never had that, and I shouldn’t have said anything.
” I reached over and set the cookie sheet in the sink for washing.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your evening.
I’ll just try to stay out of your way while I’m here.
I’ve obviously disrupted your peace enough. ”
My shoulders slumped in relief as he turned to go. I could feel a good wallow coming on. Best to do that in private with a bottle of wine. Though after this morning’s champagne-induced hangover, perhaps I’d have to rethink the wine part.
I heard the door snick shut, but when the floor creaked behind me, I turned to see Matthew coming toward me, rolling up his sleeves. “What can I do to help?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“You invited me to help, didn’t ya?”
“Well, yeah,” I blustered. “But—” I faltered when he simply crossed his arms and glared at me. “Okay, yeah. Hang on.”
I grabbed a couple of cans of store-bought frosting, popped them open, and squirted drops of food coloring in each one.
I didn’t love the idea of using store-bought frosting, but I hadn’t properly catalogued the equipment included in my rental before I went on my little shopping expedition, so I’d opted for the shortcut.
I handed him a butter knife and the canister with red coloring and instructed him to mix while I took the one with green.
Once mixed, we repeated the process making one blue and one yellow.
I pulled over the little shakers of various colored sprinkles, created an assembly line of sorts, and then we began decorating.
We worked quietly for a time, but long, uninterrupted silences weren’t really my strong suit, so I blurted out, “Tell me about your wife.”
Seriously, Louis? Bringing up the man’s dead wife?
He paused in the middle of spreading frosting on a snowman.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to—”
“You do that a lot, d’you know that? Apologize.”
“Oh. I suppose I do. I have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. Blurting out things that make people uncomfortable.”
“I’d rather you do that than beat around the bush. I’ve never been much for having to guess what a person’s trying to say.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, nonplussed. “Okay. Um, you just mentioned that your wife baked every Christmas and it made me wonder what she was like.”
“Allison was . . . she was quite possibly the most sarcastic woman I ever met.” A startled laugh burst out of me.
I hadn’t expected him to say that. “But she was also the kindest. She was the perfect combination of humor and generosity.” He set aside the snowman and started on an ornament.
“It was just the two of us, but she insisted on baking those cookies every year. She’d keep a dozen or so for us, then package up the rest and give them away in the shop.
She always said she just wanted to spread holiday cheer. ”
“She sounds lovely.” I traded my snowflake for a Christmas tree. “How did she pass?”
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
We made quick work of the rest of the cookies, and this time I didn’t interrupt the silence.