5. Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
CAROLINE
“ Y ou’re what ?!” Brooke shrieks through my phone, and thank goodness I put her on speaker because I’m nearly deaf right now as it is. If she’s this ecstatic about me going to Austin’s house to bake cookies tonight, what is she going to do with the information that I might be starting to like the man?
Well, I’d say that it’s more than a like situation, but the specifics are still something I’m not willing to admit–to her or myself.
“It’s for the good of the community,” I say with a nod to really sell the quasi-lie, not that she can even see me. But it makes me feel better.
“Sure it is. But what changed? Aren’t you still mad about the whole grant situation?”
The thing is, I’m not anymore. Am I still a bit peeved about the way he dismissed my curriculum and my dusty, old books ? Yes, that still stings. But I don’t think he knows that I also applied for it. That he edged me out with his last-minute submission. If he knew, wouldn’t he have said something?
“It’s water under the bridge, I think.”
“You think?”
I take a deep breath as I throw a few ingredients in a bag. “Look, he had no way of knowing I worked on that grant proposal all summer, that I buried myself in it for the better part of three months. He has no idea how much I needed a win after all I went through with Gram. It’s not his fault that I bombed the interview portion of the review because my dad called that morning to say that, once again, they wouldn’t be coming by to help clear out my grandma’s house and to feel free to ‘ put a for sale sign on anything I didn’t want and throw the rest in a dumpster .’ I’d like to think that if Austin knew any of that, he would have at least said something to me.”
“You’re probably right. Either him or any of the other members of the science department.”
I freeze with a sack of sugar in my hand. “What do you mean the other members of the science department ?”
“You didn’t know that he rallied the whole department to put the grant info together? He even called my brother because he thought he might be helpful since he works in a lab.”
I rub my forehead to stave off an oncoming headache. “No, I did not.”
Brooke blows out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
I tuck a little something I found for Austin at the bookstore yesterday—a book filled with holiday-themed science experiments—into my bag. “Not your fault.” No, it’s all mine. Because while Austin sought the help of an entire department to work together and fill out zillions of pages of paperwork, I’m the idiot who thought she could do it all on her own. All because I didn’t ask for help. “Why do I always think I’m better off doing things on my own?”
“Maybe because life has shown you too many times that’s the best way. And by life , of course, I mean your dad .”
We both chuckle, but it’s not funny. Not when I also remember Austin’s similar words about letting people help me once in a while.
I get into my car, and my mind wanders. Maybe they’re both right. I cast another glance at the house, noticing Austin standing in the open door.
It’s time to change. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m letting Austin help me with something I’ve put off for an entire year. And even though I don’t need him to hold my hand while we bake Gram’s cookies, it still might be nice to know it’s there.
As I make my way out of my car, sacks of ingredients in tow, I decide that maybe it’s okay to believe in people who seem to believe in me.
“ I t smells amazing,” I say as I roll out the dough for the molasses cookies. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the warmth of Gram’s body behind me as she grabs the rolling pin from me. We’re making cookies, not pancakes, dear. How many times did I hear that?
Last Christmas, when I was visiting her in the hospital, some volunteers brought around some trays that had molasses cookies on them. They were in the shape of a heart, but someone had creatively turned them upside down and used various colors of frosting to make them look like little elf faces. They tasted so close to Gram’s I was tempted to ask if she’d snuck down to the cafeteria and whipped up a batch when no one was watching.
Austin smiles, the apples of his cheeks highlighted with a dusting of flour. “I think these are going to be perfect.”
“Why? Because we made them with love?”
“I was going to say because we followed the recipe to a T, but we can go with your answer.”
We laugh, and it’s almost too easy. Too natural. Like this is something Austin and I have done on many Saturday nights, not just this one. And then I really do feel warmth at my back.
“You’ve got a little…”
I look over my shoulder to see Austin behind me, brushing something off the sleeve of my sweater, but I don’t know how he’s seeing what he’s doing because he’s looking right into my eyes. And maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me that’s got my stomach swirling like a snow globe. The slow instrumental Christmas song playing on the Bluetooth speaker certainly doesn’t hurt either. But when he looks down at my lips, I know he’s thinking the same thing I am—that whatever this pull is that’s been tugging us closer and closer…he’s feeling it too.
Ding!
“The oven is preheated,” he says, his voice husky and rough. I don’t speak because I’m pretty sure you need air in your lungs to do that, and it seems Austin somehow sucked all of it out of me with just a look.
“We’ve gotta get the cookie cutters first,” I say, looking around, noticing the only one he has is a heart. Bummer. I should have brought some of mine.
He grabs the single cookie cutter and turns it upside down. I suck in a breath because…he’s not really doing that, is he?
Something must show on my face because Austin quickly responds.
“It’s a little unconventional, but if we flip the heart around, we can make them into?—”
“Elves,” we say at the same time, both with shocked expressions on our faces. Him probably because he can’t believe I guessed it, and me because, well…I can’t believe what I’m thinking.
“Did you…” I begin then shake my head. There’s no way Austin made the molasses cookies I ate at the hospital last year. Except, it was his idea to have the cookie table at the hospital this year. “Last year, I ate a cookie just like this at the hospital. Did you make it?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, and I have my answer.
“Where did you find the recipe?”
He walks to the counter, grabbing the opened book he’s been looking at all evening. “It’s a church cookbook filled with recipes people submitted. I think it was for a fundraiser. I dunno, but it was mixed in with a bunch of books that belonged to my grandma.”
When he sets the book down in front of me, I almost can’t believe my eyes. My finger brushes the page, like I need to physically touch it to know if it’s really here.
Austin peers over my shoulder. “C’s Christmas Cookies, by…”
“Grammy J…my grandma.” My vision blurs so I can no longer make out the print. I turn to face Austin, who pulls me into a hug so warm and inviting I might just cocoon myself in the soft cotton of his shirt and live here forever. “I can’t believe this,” I say, my throat thick.
“Neither can I.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face and cups my jaw, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s escaped my eye. “I’ve been making them all this time, and I had no idea.” He smiles, and his light chuckle is a little watery. “Your gram did say that cookies bring people together.”
He’s right. Well, she’s right. Because here we are, two people who I never thought would survive in the same room together, and now we’re standing so close…our breaths synced so perfectly…our mouths moving so closely together…
Austin closes the distance, pressing his lips to mine, and the taste of sugar that he’s somehow gotten on his lips has nothing on the sweetness of this kiss. He’s slow, asking for permission to a question I realize I’ve been wanting him to ask for quite some time. I move my hands up his back, over his shoulders, finding pleasure in toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulls me in tighter, like he’s saying he needs me, wants me, has to have me as close as we can be. And not for the first time, I wonder why I was so set on putting as much distance between us as I possibly could.
We pull apart, and I clear my throat. “Do you think we should get back to–”
“Probably,” Austin answers with a nod, though he makes no effort to move apart. In fact, he actually tugs me a little closer.
“Do you want to get back to the cookies in a few more minutes?”
“Definitely.” And then he cuts off my giggle with another kiss.