Chapter Three
Later that night, I’m gathering the ingredients for baking in my kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. I set down the bag of flour and go to the peephole to make sure it’s Rhys. Who else would it be this late at night?
When I open the door, he hands me a bottle of champagne. Staring incredulously at it, I ask, “What’s the occasion?”
“It’s Christmas,” he replies, “or it will be in a few hours. I thought we could have some to celebrate.”
“I don’t think we should be drinking and baking at the same time,” I say as we walk into the kitchen together. “There’s a strong possibility we’ll get burnt cookies that way.”
He snatches the bottle from me. “I am not going to let you ruin Christmas with burnt cookies.” He places it in the refrigerator and turns around, clasping his hands together. “Now, let’s get this started.”
With a hand on my hips, I say, “You do realize that we have to at least bring the majority of the cookies to my parents’ house tomorrow?”
“But we can taste test a few of them, right?” he asks with a tilt of his head. “You know, to make sure they’re safe for consumption?”
Laughing, I say, “Yes, Rhys, we’ll be able to do a taste test or two.”
He grins and swoops in to give me a hug. “You’re the best, Hadley.”
The embrace catches me off guard. We hug often, but with all the mistletoe kisses and swirling emotions, it feels different. More intimate than a hug between friends. The warmth of him coupled with the familiar subtle citrus scent that he always has. It’s awakening some buried feelings deep inside.
It’s likely just on my end, but what if it isn’t?
I wrap my arms around him, too, enjoying the hug for what it is regardless of the confusing feelings. When I let go, I clear my throat. “Let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot of baking to do.”
For two hours, we bake. I mix the ingredients together while he spoons them carefully onto the cookie sheets.
I make my famous chocolate chip cookies with a recipe I found on the back of a box of butter, as well as my mom’s famous peanut butter blossom cookies.
It’s a tradition that has gone on for years, or at least since I could bake.
My mom passed the torch to me for her cookie recipe, since she hosts the family every year and doesn’t have time to bake anymore with all the cooking she’s responsible for.
After Rhys finishes the last tray to go in the oven, he pulls the champagne out of the fridge. “It’s time for a toast.”
“What are we toasting?” I ask as I put the tray in the oven.
“A successful night of baking… and, I dunno, Santa,” he says with a shrug.
Laughing, I say, “Sure, I’ll toast to that. But first…” I hand him the paper towels. “We have to clean up.”
He groans. “Seriously? It’s Christmas. Can’t that be Monday’s problem when everyone’s returning all their gifts to the store?”
“What if I need to return the one you give me?” I joke.
He holds his hand up to his heart, thoroughly offended. “Damn, right in my feels.”
Giggling, I say, “You know I’m kidding. But I’m not kidding about cleaning up first.” When he pouts, I sigh. “We go through this every year, you know?”
“I don’t recall this ever happening before.”
Rolling my eyes, I firmly press a finger to his chest. “Get to work or no cookies tonight.”
He narrows his eyes. “Fine. But you’re gonna regret it.”
“How so?”
He takes a bowl and scoops the leftover cookie dough onto his finger. “Come here, you’ve got a little something on your nose.”
My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”
Judging by the gleam in his eyes, he’s going to try. He grins and steps toward me. I bolt out of the kitchen into the living room and he follows. Just as he’s about to reach me, I duck and dodge him, running back into the kitchen. I open the bag of flour as he approaches me.
Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “What are you doing, Hadley?”
“If you’re going to play games, you’d better make sure you’re ready for the consequences.”
Holding up both hands, he says, “Fine, you win. We’ll clean this up first.”
“Good.” I set the bag back down on the counter and move some of the dishes into the sink.
“Wait a second,” he says. When I turn to him, he dabs the cookie dough on my nose. “You’ve got something on your nose.”
I gasp. “You little stink!” I pick up the flour again and fling a handful at him.
He brushes it off his shirt, chuckling. “Dude, you need to calm down.”
I wipe my nose with a towel. “I thought we had called a truce.”
“Well, I didn’t want the dough to go to waste.”
“And my nose seemed to be an appropriate place to put it?”
“At the time, yes.” When I put my hands on my hips, he sighs and opens his arms. “Come here.”
“You want me to hug you with flour all over your shirt?”
“I just want to hug my best friend.”
He pulls me into his arms and I try to wriggle away. “Oh my God, Rhys.”
“Don’t run away from my embrace.” He holds me tighter to prevent me from slipping away.
Relenting, I hug him back. No use in trying to pull away when I probably already have flour on the front of my shirt. I relax into it, enjoying the closeness of him, my ear pressed against his chest enough to hear his rapid heartbeat.
Whoa.
When we let go, I say quickly, “I should probably change into a different shirt now.”
“Me, too. Meet you back here to pop the champagne?” I reply with a nod and a smile that I hope is casual enough to hide my emotions.
When he goes to his apartment, I head to my bathroom and close the door.
I take a few deep breaths, then look at myself in the mirror.
There’s some flour in my chin and cheek as well as a healthy sprinkling across the front of my shirt.
The corner of my lip curves into a smile and I let out a light laugh, shaking my head.
What is going on tonight? Why is everything about Rhys sending me into a tailspin?
What is happening?
I quickly wipe the flour off my face with a damp washcloth, then go into my bedroom to change shirts. As I head back out to the kitchen, I hear some funny noises coming from the living room. “What’s going on out there?” I ask.
“Nothing!” he replies.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Whatever. I’m going to get this final batch from the oven and then we can toast to the holiday season.”
He comes into the kitchen in an instant. “Now that’s what I like to hear!”
With a giggle, I get out the bottle and hand it over to him. “Pop it.” We’re still over an hour away from midnight, but it’s okay if we celebrate a little early.
He gets it open and I grab a couple of champagne flutes from my cupboard. He pours us each a practically full glass, then sets down the bottle. Raising his glass, he says, “Merry Christmas, Hadley.”
“Merry Christmas, Rhys.” We clink the glasses together and each take a sip. “Mmm, this one was a good choice.”
“It better be. I got it at the fancy liquor store downtown.”
I nearly choke on my next sip. “Seriously? How much did you spend on one bottle of champagne?”
“It wasn’t the most expensive one there. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Raising an eyebrow, I set down my glass. “It’s not like tonight is a special occasion.” Sure, it may be Christmas, but we usually don’t do anything extravagant to celebrate together. We don’t even get champagne for New Year’s. Why would he go out of his way to get such a pricey drink for us?
Unless…
Shrugging, he says, “I just thought we both deserve a treat after the long year. Consider it a bonus Christmas present from me. One that you can’t return.”
When he winks at the end of the sentence, my heart thumps loudly in my chest. Whoa. This is… what is even going on with me lately? What’s going on with him?
What’s going on between us?
The ding of the oven brings me back to reality. I take out the last batch and place them on the stovetop. “And there you have it. All of the Christmas cookies are done.”
“That means it’s eating time, right?” He rubs his hands together in anticipation.
“Of course.”
Using my spatula, I place a handful of cookies from the cooling racks onto a plate for us to enjoy. We each take a cookie and a bite. Rhys hums his appreciation, closing his eyes to savor it for a moment before he takes another bite.
“Looks like they meet your approval,” I say with a smirk.
He gives me a thumbs-up as he grabs another cookie. “Baking time with Hadley is the best part of Christmas.”
“Maybe I should’ve just done this instead of buying you a present.”
“Maybe, but I’m glad I get both.”
After I finish putting all the cookies into their tins, I turn to Rhys. “I guess we’d better get to bed.”
He looks at his phone for the time and frowns. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”
When I walk him to the door, I notice something that wasn’t there before. “What is that?” I ask, pointing above the door.
Laughing, he replies, “Oh, this?” and reaches up to tap at the plastic mistletoe that is poorly taped to the ceiling.
“Yes, that.” Leave it to Rhys to continue the shenanigans our family and friends started. Shaking my head, I put a hand on my hip, narrowing my eyes. “Did your mom put you up to this?”
“Nope.” He looks down at me with a grin. “I thought it would be funny since everyone keeps trying to get us to kiss.”
“Well, ha ha,” I say, pushing at his shoulder. “Merry Christmas.” Again on my tiptoes, I press a quick kiss to his cheek. With everything going on between us, I don’t want to do more than that, especially if he really is just doing this as a joke.
His grin falters, and he stares at me intently, his eyes darkening.
Butterflies dance in my stomach yet again as he places a hand on my cheek, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the corner of my lips.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, his face still whisper-close to mine.
The warmth of his palm on my skin feels too good and I involuntarily lean into it.
He lets out a shaky breath and something shifts in his eyes. My heart races, knowing what's about to happen. When his lips touch mine for the second time, that's when I realize something I never imagined could be possible...
Rhys and I could be more than friends.