Chapter 8
CALEB
Watching Holly eat the meal I made her is everything. I’m fixated on every sigh of enjoyment and muted squeal she thinks she’s hiding from me. She can’t fool me. I know her happy food dance when I see it.
“You like it?” I ask affectionately.
My fork hovers halfway to my mouth because I’m too entranced by her lips and the way her lashes flutter with each bite. I’m torn between scooting my stool at the island closer to hers to feel her nearness or staying put to enjoy the full view.
Holly pauses her delighted wriggling and swallows. “I mean, it’s only the basics. It’s not hard to make.”
An amused huff escapes me. That mouthy demeanor of hers is addictive. I can’t get enough.
“Everything made with love tastes better, right? Even the simplest meal,” I say.
She rolls her eyes and reaches up to pat my head. I duck so it’s easier for her with our height difference and enjoy the attention, no matter how sarcastically doled out.
“Yes, good boy.”
Does she want me to bark? I’ll bark for her.
I miss her touch as soon as it disappears.
I planned to spend my time at the cabin alone, yet I’m glad that expectation went out the window. The blizzard is a blessing in disguise in more ways than one for me. Yeah, it’s given me the perfect way to lay low from sports media. But it also put me together with her.
From the moment I got here—hell, from the moment Holly took a swing at me with her rolling pin—one thing’s become clear to me. This is my second chance to win her back.
I didn’t realize it at twenty when I was so hungry to reach the big leagues in my hockey career. I know better now: Holly is the one who got away.
I screwed things up with her once and allowed her to slip through my fingers. I won’t make that mistake again.
She might hate me now. I don’t blame her. It’s not like we’ve kept in touch. She stopped responding to any of my messages after summer break ended and I returned to campus at Heston U.
As far as I can tell from every mention of her when I’m talking to Layla, and the late nights I’ve missed her so much I visited her social media profiles to see what she’s up to, there’s no one else right now.
My grip strangles my fork at the thought of her falling for anyone else, guy or girl. Layla mentioned Holly had a girlfriend right after college, but they didn’t last. I don’t think there’s been other guys.
Since I entered professional hockey, my life has been dedicated to the game more than ever. Except after achieving the position I strived hard to reach, something was missing…her.
Maybe I was supposed to get dropped from my team. Maybe I was meant to find my way back to Holly to face everything I’ve regretted that held me back in the past.
This is my chance to fix it. To win her back.
No matter what it takes. Because she’s the piece of my life I’ve been missing. The hollow space that I can’t fill without her.
This time I can’t let her walk away again—I won’t.
My attention slips from her to the falling snow outside the window. It’s slowed somewhat, though it’s still coming down at a steady rate. I will it to last long enough to prove to her we should get back together.
Holly makes another stifled moan that steals my entire focus.
She freezes in the middle of licking her fork clean, caught out. Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink as lovely as her cotton candy colored hair.
My hooded gaze locks on her plush lips. Fuck, I want to kiss her.
Need pulls at me, hot and insistent, igniting my arousal.
I want to sweep everything off the island counter so it crashes to the floor and spread her out on it. I need that moan from her again, without restraint.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying what I made for you,” I rasp.
She sputters, dropping her fork with a clatter. “Thanks for cooking. I’m done now. Put the dishes in the sink and I’ll wash them after I shower.”
After the tumble of words, she scampers in a cute shuffle of her slippers to bolt for the stairs. I prop my head with my hand, a slow smile curving my mouth. When I’m done eating, I clean everything up and wash the dishes so she doesn’t have to worry about it.
I can’t do this with obvious plays. It’ll take a damn good deke and some tricky maneuvers to skate my way back into her heart. First I have to warm her up, make her think she’s winning.
And to do that, I’ll make sure I anticipate her needs, whatever they may be.
In the late afternoon, I come in from checking on Greta’s water level.
Cell service connected for about five minutes when I happened to check my phone.
Holly immediately sent her brother several texts she had drafted in her phone notes.
I had long enough to touch base with my family’s group chat and let Jim know where his goose was before my signal dropped.
Holly’s still in the kitchen where she’s spent most of the day with her hair tied up in a bun by a shiny green bow, surrounded by baking ingredients.
She’s wearing a pink apron with frosted Christmas tree cakes printed all over it.
Two more hang from the hooks on the wall, both with bold colors and patterns.
The standing mixer she brought with her matches her hair color.
The sight of her in her element causes my chest to expand with a warm, bright sensation. I rub at my heart after it skips a beat because she looks up at me.
“Hey.” I saunter to the kitchen.
“How’s Greta?”
“She’s good. What are you up to?”
She gives me a deadpan look and gestures at everything she’s pulled out with a whisk that has a clear glitter handle. “Obviously, I’m setting up a seance to contact the great beyond.”
I chuckle. “Badass.”
She ducks her head to hide a smile. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” I fire back, letting my tone go low and suggestive.
Her wide-eyed expression flies to me. After floundering for a response, she lands on a chiding, “Caleb.”
I tilt my head with a seductive hum. “Love it when you say my name, sugar cookie.”
“Caleb.”
“That’s it, baby. Keep saying it. You make it sound so nice.” I jump away with a snicker when she tosses a handful of flour at me in retaliation. “Okay, you win. Truce.”
I keep quiet for a few minutes so she doesn’t chase me out of the kitchen. After I sweep the flour that fell on the floor, I post up on the other side of the island to watch. She swats at me when I pick up a can of fancy cocoa powder to read the label.
“I forgot to ask, but did you rob a grocery store on your way here?”
“No, this is all stuff I had at my place. Bakery owner, remember?” She points at herself with her whisk.
The edge of my mouth curls. “I remember. What are you making?”
“None of your business.” She ignores me, going as far as turning her back to tune me out.
“That’s fine if you don’t want to share any with me,” I tease. “I was just curious. You’ve always been so good at it. I like having the chance to watch you work up close.”
“You’ll make me self conscious. I’ll probably get the recipe wrong for the first time ever because you’re hovering,” she throws over her shoulder.
The tips of her ears have turned red. It’s cute how easily she gets flustered.
“I’ll just start guessing. Let’s see.” I survey the flour, eggs, and brown sugar. “Cake.”
“No.” She scoots around me to grab butter.
“Brownies.” I rub my stomach, getting hungry.
“Nope.” This time there’s a hint of humor in her voice.
Good. She’s enjoying the game. I pretend to think, pushing up the sleeves of my sweater and bracing my arms on the island. She pauses what she’s doing with parchment paper to sneak a look at my forearms from the corner of her eye.
“Pie?” I suggest.
“Try again,” she answers airily, nudging the ginger in front of me.
“Whatever it is, I know it’ll be delicious because you made it.”
Holly huffs without any heat. “Cookies. It’s not Christmas without homemade gingerbread cookies.” She hesitates, toying with the bow in her hair. “Do you want to try? You can bake with me.”
I hum in agreement. “Show me how.”
She pats her standing mixer. “This baby handled most of the work. I already made one batch of dough earlier that should be ready to bake by now. I’m mixing up one more batch. Grab the dough from the fridge.”
I do as she instructs, finding two thick hunks of cookie dough in the fridge.
She has the dough coming together in the mixer faster than I expect while I’m still searching for the edge of the plastic wrap to get the first one open.
She bumps my hip with hers and trades me for the newly wrapped dough when it’s finished.
“Here, put this in there to chill.”
“That was fast.”
She scrunches her face in thought. “I’ve made about…seventy batches of these between my cookie orders and the shop’s regular menu in the last few weeks. I can do this in my sleep.”
“Impressive,” I praise.
Whenever I compliment her, she’s like a flower seeking the sun, basking in it.
“Okay. Now the fun part—rolling and cutting out our shapes,” she says.
Holly starts a holiday playlist on her phone. She gives me her rolling pin, then rifles through the drawer for the old one that’s been here for ages. After she gives a quick demonstration, we get to work. She makes it look easy, even with a battered tool.
“You want to go back and forth so it spreads evenly. Long strokes,” she advises, watching my clumsy technique.
I can’t help the innuendo my mind turns her wisdom into. “Yeah? Long, hard strokes?”
Her tongue clicks and she rolls her eyes sardonically. “Not too hard.”
“Mm, no.” I chuckle. “Hang on. How are you getting yours all nice like that?”
“Like this.”
She covers my hands with hers to teach me. I’m not paying attention to the dough anymore, too occupied with her.
The feel of her fingers curled around mine makes me swallow thickly. She has no idea how her simple touch is on the brink of sending me to my knees.
Our eyes lock. I hold her attention, not hiding the longing in my stare. My heart thuds, hard and persistent.
She licks her lips and averts her gaze. When she’s satisfied, she nods.