Chapter 12 #2
I wanted to kiss him under the mistletoe. Seal his fate with mine and turn my frenemy into my forever.
Too bad he was avoiding me. As if my loosened lips somehow made his stick together. I tried to talk to him a million and one times while we were assembling the gazebo, but Bab was like a gingerbread general and did not let us veer off task.
Toby seemed only too happy to oblige, barely even looking at me the rest of the morning and then disappearing out the back before I could even wash all the royal icing off my fingers.
Insecurity and shyness nipped at my heels the rest of the day, following me through the rows of evergreens and ruining my mood. Just because he was interested once before didn’t mean he still was.
Maybe his avoidance was his way of letting me know he wasn’t open to anything other than what was between us already. Which was nothing. I mean, I practically pointed at him—waved a candy cane right over his head—when I said I was interested in someone.
And what did he say?
He told me to tell him.
As if I just didn’t! Who the hell did he think I was talking about? Like I could be interested in any other man but him.
If only talking to Toby were as easy as arguing with him.
I’d tossed and turned all night, thinking about what I should say, if I should even try.
After all, he lived in Boston. He would be going home right after the holidays.
Even if by some slim chance he was open to something, how would it work?
It wouldn’t. My home was here in Winterbury, and he’d made a home somewhere else.
I didn’t even need my alarm to get me up before the crack of dawn because of how restless I was. My eyelids felt like sandpaper as I drove from the farm to the bistro, my headlights illuminating the snow-covered drive-through town.
Toby looked about as awake as I was, and we’d worked in silence, side by side, finishing up constructing the gazebo and starting some basic decorating until Bab shooed us out of the kitchen so she could take over for the morning rush.
After a full day of work on the farm and the sky dark once again, I headed back to the bistro. With the auction coming fast, we needed to get it done as soon as possible, so that meant pulling a double shift.
Even though it was awkward, I still anticipated seeing him.
It made me realize that all that energy I’d spent ten years ago making his life miserable was because it was better than not talking to him at all.
If we couldn’t be friends, I’d rather be his enemy because something was better than nothing.
The moment I entered, the warm air of the bistro kissed my wind-chapped cheeks, and the scent of whatever Bab was cooking had my stomach growling and me remembering I’d forgotten to take a break for dinner.
After work, I’d quickly taken a shower and planned to eat, but Marlowe had been restless, so I’d spent some time with him instead.
Toby was already at the marble-topped island, a piping bag in hand and one of Bab’s Christmas mugs at his elbow.
He looked up the second I walked in, our gazes colliding for only a moment but long enough for the hum of anticipation I’d already been feeling to surge.
I liked the way his hair flopped over his forehead and the way he stuck his tongue out when he concentrated too hard.
It made me wonder how I’d gone ten years without seeing him and how, even after that long of an absence, he still had the ability to affect me at all.
“Ah! There you are,” Bab called, then to Toby, “I told you he would be here.”
Stopping across the island, I arched an eyebrow to regard Toby. “You didn’t think I would come?”
A pretty flush bloomed high on his cheeks as he busied himself with the icing. “I just know you’re busy this time of year,” he hedged.
“Yes, but Archer always keeps his commitments,” Bab replied.
“I appreciate your confidence, Bab,” I told her, earning a disapproving look from Toby. I didn’t know why. He was the one who didn’t think I’d show up.
“You only have one more day.” Bab reminded us of the ticking clock. “And you’ve barely started decorating. It needs snow! Lots of snow!”
“Any idea on how to get lots of snow?” I asked.
Toby squeezed some bright-white icing onto the roof and grimaced. “Not this way.”
Bab made a sound and took the bag from Toby’s hand to replace it with an offset spatula. Wrapping her hand around his, she demonstrated. “Like this,” she instructed, showing him how to spread the glob of icing so it was smooth.
“And then,” she said, moving away to grab a small silver sifter that looked like a coffee mug.
“You do this before it hardens.” Holding the mug over the spot with the fresh icing, she pressed the handle repeatedly so powdered sugar rained from the bottom to cover the icing, making it look like snow.
“Oh, it’s pretty,” Toby said, watching it fall.
“Archer.” Bab gestured for me to come around, and when I did, she handed me the sifter. “You try.”
I did, and she nodded. “Good. Now keep going.”
She disappeared, leaving us alone in the small kitchen. The only sounds were the Christmas music playing over the speakers and the whirring of the sifter as I squeezed the handle.
We said nothing, didn’t even look at each other, but it didn’t dampen my awareness of him.
If anything, it only heightened it. Every time he shifted, I caught a hint of whatever he was wearing, a fresh yet zesty scent that seemed to complement him perfectly and made me want to lean closer for another sniff.
I found myself again with words heavy on my tongue, words I wanted to give a voice to, but insecurity held me back.
“So, ah, how are things at the farm?”
It took me a moment to realize he’d spoken, the push and pull of my own thoughts so loud. When I failed to answer, he paused and glanced from the corner of his eye, the action just enough to shake me free.
“Ah, what?”
“The farm,” he repeated. “You must be busy right now.”
“Oh, ah, yeah.” I bobbed my head. “‘Tis the season,” I tacked on and then inwardly grimaced at my own lameness.
“We need snow,” he said, hooking his finger into the rim of the sifter and tugging it over the place he’d just iced.
I started squeezing, but the sifter inside made a scraping noise it hadn’t before, and I frowned, pulling my arm back to look inside. “It’s empty,” I announced.
“I’ll get it,” Toby offered, moving from my side to get a large container of confectioner’s sugar. He pulled off the lid and filled the scoop with the powdery white stuff, and I thrust the cup toward him so he could dump it inside.
The second he did, sugar fell out of the bottom but also puffed out in a cloud above the top. I coughed, waving my free hand to try and clear the air. Apparently, I didn’t learn from my last run-in with this powdery menace.
Toby laughed, and I scowled. “What?”
“It’s all over your beard,” he mused. “You look like Santa Claus.”
On impulse, my tongue darted out to swipe some of the sugar off my lip. Sweetness bloomed over my tongue.
Still chuckling, Toby reached for the sifter. “Let me see,” he said, setting it aside and then turning to face me. My heart somersaulted when I realized there was nothing between us. No sifter, no gingerbread house, no coffee mug, or gingerbread supervisor.
It was just him and me… us.
Throat suddenly dry, I swallowed thickly as nerves buzzed inside me like bees in a jar. Toby lifted his hand, and everything slowed. The world turned into an afterthought as his fingers brushed lightly against the trimmed hair along my jaw and chin.
The intensity with which my heart hammered was painful, but I stayed rooted in place, not daring to move an inch because I’d rather die a million times over than do anything to dislodge his touch.
The tension knotted around us turned electric as if the air itself were holding its breath. I realized then that it didn’t matter how much I didn’t say because, even in silence, it was already there. That pull between us would forever be undeniable.
“You are such a mess,” Toby murmured, fingers still brushing the stubbly hair, the impersonal touch making me feel all kinds of personal.
“There,” he said, pulling back. “I think I got it all.”
I caught his wrist before he could pull away completely, wrapping my fingers around the bare skin just below his sleeve.
He stilled, and I held him there, hand still inches from my face. It was all I could do not to press back into his palm and rub against him like a cat, begging for his attention.
Instead, my eyes searched his, melting into his hot chocolate gaze as courage stalled halfway up my chest.
Tell him. Take a chance, my heart whispered. He’s worth the risk.
The surprise in Toby’s eyes faded into an ache, an ache I recognized because I felt it too. It was part hope, part pain—the ache of almost. Two people who were so close yet still so far away.
“Toby,” I whispered, this time refusing to give up.
The hope in his eyes glowed brighter than the pain, and I parted my lips to confess ten years of secrets…
“Archer!” My name reverberated through the quiet room like a bullet, shattering the fragile moment around us like glass.
We jolted apart, the hand that had been holding him burning like I’d been on fire. Heart galloping, I swung around to look for the source of the interruption, wondering why I never noticed how loud the world had become.
“Archer,” Mom called again, not even realizing she’d just interrupted what could have been a moment to define the rest of my life. “Come quick. It’s Marlowe!”
The mention of my dog brought my head up. “What happened to Marlowe?”
“He’s run off,” Mom announced, wringing her hands in front of her. “I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve called to him. I even—”
“Mom.” My voice was firm, just like the hands I used to grab her shoulders. “It’s okay. Tell me what happened.”
After a stilted breath, Mom shook her head. “You know he’s been pretty restless about being cooped up, not able to run around with you because of his paw.”
I felt Toby move closer to my side, but I didn’t look away from Mom. “Yeah.”
“Well, he was upset when you left tonight, and he ran off.” She started fretting again, wringing her hands while her eyes filled with tears. “I tried to catch him. He’s just so quick. And the farm is so big. He wouldn’t even come back when I offered him treats.”
Okay, so he was on the farm. Probably running all the usual places he liked to explore but hadn’t been able to with his injured paw.
“I’m sorry.” Mom grieved. “Oh, it’s all my fault. I should have watched him better.”
“No.” I was steady. “It’s not your fault,” I vowed. “I knew he was getting cabin fever. I should have known he might do this.”
I should have brought him with me, but I’d hesitated because it was rude to bring an animal into a professional kitchen.
“I know you’re busy, but it’s already dark and cold. It’s supposed to snow again, and his paw…” Mom’s voice trailed off, her eyes wide.
“You did the right thing, Mrs. Hodge,” Toby said, stepping into the conversation effortlessly.
“Connie.” She corrected him even as she sniffled.
“Connie,” Toby repeated. “Of course you had to come. Please don’t worry. We’ll go find him right away.”
“We?” I questioned, already on my way to the door.
“Of course,” Toby said, hurrying after me. “We’ll find him faster if there are more of us looking. Besides, I’ll need to check his paw to make sure he didn’t injure it again.”
Worry coursed through me and quickened my feet. The possibility that he ran off and hurt himself again (or worse) hadn’t even occurred to me. But now that it had, it seemed more urgent than before to find him.
“I’m driving,” I announced.
Toby didn’t even argue, and we ran out into the dark, wintry night to search for my missing dog.