Epilogue
The next Thursday, Alyssa left Party Barn at four o’clock. Janet had given her blessing to the early departure and refused Alyssa’s offer to make the time up later. As she left, Janet threw her arms over her head and shouted, “The future is now!”
A kid looking at Batman paper plates with his mom grinned and gave Janet a thumbs up. Alyssa rolled her eyes, but she smiled.
She drove to the bakery with the marble floor and old-fashioned curved display cases, because charming things should be encouraged. Its window boxes were filled with pine boughs studded with candy-striped lollipops and when she opened the door a warm rush of gingerbread and vanilla and nutmeg hit her. No candle in the world could, well, hold a candle to the real smell of a bakery.
There were three people ahead of her. Two were high school students who bought a single cookie each—the after-school crowd was here. Then a man with a white beard bought a red velvet cake and two dog cookies. The woman at the counter said, “You tell Waggsy and Ernie that I said woof!” A repeat customer, then. That was always a good sign.
Alyssa pulled the folder of launch party plans from her bag and took a deep breath as she stepped to the counter. “I’d like to order a cake and some cookies for an event after the holidays.”
The woman gave her a bright smile that turned radiant when she saw the sketch Alyssa held out of cookies shaped like Persian rugs, exquisitely decorated with three different designs in the same colorway. She “oohed” appreciatively. “You want the cookies to look like this?”
“Yes. And I’ll need pink macarons, and I’ve seen your pressed shortbread—can I get some with the heart design?” The woman pulled out a large order book and began making notes.
A woman moved into line behind her. Alyssa turned. “I’m sorry to hold you up.”
“Oh, no, this is fun to eavesdrop on,” the woman said with a genuine smile. “Everything is so elegant! Did you design those cookies yourself?”
Alyssa nodded. “I’m an interior designer.” The woman sighed, as though that were something to aspire to. She was in her twenties and wore sensible pants that would survive a hundred washes and a turtleneck sprinkled with a holly design. It had a small mustard stain on the sleeve. Her whole outfit probably cost what Alyssa was going to pay for three cookies. Young, just starting out—possibly in need of a designer. Alyssa pulled a business card out of a box in her bag. She had to pry it apart from the one behind it—she’d picked them up at the printer’s that morning. “Here’s my card, if you ever need it,” she said.
“Oh.” The woman held it with two fingers, as though she wanted to return it, then decided that wouldn’t be courteous. She flashed that smile again and tucked the card into her wallet without looking at it. “I don’t think my life is quite as stylish as yours.” There was no sting in the way she said it. “Although I do have quite a jewelry collection, if you count all the macaroni necklaces.”
Alyssa laughed. “You’re a teacher?”
“Second grade.”
The clerk had a question then, and Alyssa turned her attention back to her order. When it was all logged in and she had a credit card out to pay the deposit, she pointed to a tall two-serving cheesecake drizzled with caramel. “And one of those please,” she said. Then, to the woman behind her: “My boyfriend is coming over for dinner tonight.” She enjoyed that word in her mouth. Boyfriend.
The teacher smiled and eyed the cheesecake as the clerk boxed it. “It has your elegant flair.”
Alyssa laughed. “What about you? Big plans for the weekend?”
“I’m buying my own birthday cake, so no. I’ve given up on romance.” Alyssa winced. “But I haven’t given up on chocolate.”
“Chocolate is definitely more reliable than men,” Alyssa said, taking the cheesecake box the clerk held out. “But you never know. Maybe someday the right guy will drop down out of the clear blue sky.” They exchanged a smile and Alyssa left the bakery. The December air was crisp. She blew out, just to see her breath rise in front of her. Everything felt right. She was having a launch party. She had ordered pink cookies, and they were going to be spectacular.
Nick had just settled into a black vinyl chair at the arrivals lounge when the airport address system announced that the flight from JFK had landed. Early? Unbelievable.
But sure enough, mere minutes later, there the guy was, outlined against the late afternoon sun so that his shadow fell halfway across the airport. Huge, as advertised. Somebody from the front office had planned to pick him up, but the team had heard a lot about this guy and wanted to get a look at him, so Nick had volunteered.
He stood and slipped his phone back into his pocket. The guy must have recognized him because he lifted a hand.
“Hey, I’m Nick Sorensen,” Nick said when they reached each other.
The guy grabbed his hand and shook. “Angus MacGillivray.”
Nick smiled at the brogue. “We don’t get a lot of players from Scotland,” he said.
“You know, Murrayfield has a stadium that holds sixty-seven thousand people.”
“Really?” Nick said, surprised. That was three times the size of Detroit’s rink.
Angus grinned at him. “Of course, they use it for rugby. The hockey team plays across town at a rink that seats three thousand.”
Nick laughed and clapped him on the back. “Well, welcome to the NHL. I understand you’re going to shore up our defense.”
“That I am,” Angus said. The guy didn’t lack for confidence. Nick liked him immediately.
Alyssa buzzed Nick in and lit the candles while he was walking up. He came through the door holding a bottle of wine by the neck, his other arm cradling a profusion of white ranunculus, red roses, and evergreen sprigs with pinecones. Her heart leapt. This felt like home—the chicken smell wafting from the oven, the flicker of candlelight, and Nick’s open face as he held the flowers out to her. This. This was everything. She took the flowers from him and they kissed.
“Everything go okay at the airport?” she asked as she grabbed a vase from a cabinet.
“Yeah. The guys will be texting me all night.”
“What did you think?”
“We should just position him on the runway and keep opposing teams from landing. Be an easy way to win a game.”
Alyssa laughed. “That big?”
Nick grunted and opened her fridge. “Oh, cheesecake!” She smiled and, out of nowhere, her eyes dampened. “Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?” He shoved the fridge door shut and peered at her, a look of alarm on his face.
Alyssa nodded. “I’m just happy.”
“Yeah, cheesecake does that for me, too.” She swatted his arm with the back of her fingers and he laughed.
“I called you my boyfriend today.”
“Yeah?” His voice was husky.
“Yeah. It was the first time I said it.”
“Do it again.”
“Huh?”
He stepped forward, the bulk and warmth of him a breath away. “Call me your boyfriend.”
“What if I won’t?” She gave him a flirtatious smile.
He grabbed her by the rib cage and wriggled his fingers in her armpits. “Then I’ll tickle it out of you,” he shouted over her squealing.
“Stop it, boyfriend!” she said, then squealed again as he gave her one final tickle.
“I liked that,” he said. He stroked her hair, smoothing a stray strand. “Hey, girlfriend?”
“Yes, boyfriend?”
“You want to eat later?” He waved a hand toward the oven. “We could let it cool. You know, so we don’t burn our tongues.”
She adopted a mock serious tone. “I see. We should wait to eat for safety reasons.”
“Yeah. Tongues are useful. You don’t want to injure them.”
“Because you need them to talk, right?” She flipped the oven off, then opened the door to check the chicken. It was done, and would be fine to sit there for a bit.
Nick stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, then kissed her collarbone. “Exactly.”
“What shall we discuss?” she asked. “Perhaps… art?”
“I like that idea.” He kissed his way up her neck.
“Anyone in particular?” she murmured. “Caravaggio? Vermeer? Picasso?”
He kissed the tender skin behind her ear. “Not Picasso.” His voice was raspy with need. “He got parts in the wrong places. I like to get them in the right place.”
“Oh.” Her voice was almost a moan. “Maybe Titian then? Or Cassatt?”
He picked her up and set her on the counter, stepped between her knees, and tangled his hand in her hair. “I thought we could concentrate on Michelangelo.”
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him even closer, and found her home there.