Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LIESEL
A n hour later, the dough is chilling, and Coop has made two other types of cookie dough while we’re waiting: melt-aways and gingersnaps.
“It doesn’t feel like Christmas until I’ve eaten gingersnaps,” he says. He rolls the dough into a ball and then hands it to me to dip in sugar. At first, the touch of his skin sent a thrill through me that zinged all the way to my chest. Now, every time we touch or graze each other, it feels familiar, but wonderfully so. Like that sigh of relief and acceptance you feel when someone hugs you.
“That’s how I feel about my mom’s nuts and bolts,” I say.
“What are those?”
“They’re like Chex Mix. You know my mom was Canadian, right? Nuts and bolts is the Canadian version. They use different cereals there—Shreddies instead of Wheat Chex and Crispix instead of the other kinds. It’s my favorite snack in the world.”
“I love Canadian chocolate,” he says, handing me another rolled ball of dough. “Whenever I play a game in Toronto, I fill my suitcase with Canadian Smarties and Aero bars.”
“Oh, Aero,” I say with a sigh. “But you haven’t lived until you’ve tried Crunchie bars. And Hickory Sticks!”
Soon, I’m telling Coop everything about Canadian goodies and my favorite parts of Canada, including Banff and Waterton National Parks and the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. And the more I talk, the easier it is to mention my mom without my throat threatening to close.
“Half of my mom’s family lives in the US now, and half are scattered across Canada. But everyone gets together for Christmas Adam—that’s the Stewart family way. They’ll fly in just for Christmas Adam and take a flight home on Christmas Eve so they can spend the rest of the holiday with their in-laws in Edmonton or Toronto. We used to take turns flying to the different families’ houses, but when my mom got sick, everyone started coming to Chicago. My uncle transferred for work so he could be nearby, and everything.”
“Wow,” Coop says. “I can’t imagine everyone traveling like that. We’ve never traveled anywhere for Christmas. My parents are both only children, and so am I.”
My brothers are twerps, to steal Kayla Carville’s word, but I can’t imagine life without them. My heart clenches imagining Coop and his parents in their little apartment by themselves year after year. That’s probably patronizing to even consider, though. “That sounds lonely. But cozy.”
“You just summed up my childhood,” he says. He takes the sugar cookie dough out of the fridge and swaps it for the rolled gingersnaps. Then he spreads flour all over the counter and starts rolling out the dough with the efficiency of a pastry chef.
“You really are an elverino wizard,” I laugh.
He grabs a pinch of flour and flicks it in my face.
I sneeze. “Rude.”
“I can call myself an elverino wizard. It’s offensive when you do it.”
I grin, but it softens into something sweet and a little sad as I watch him press an angel cookie cutter into the dough. “My mom collected cute angel figurines, and that cookie cutter was her favorite. We made cookies with it a lot when I was little. I called them Guardian Angel cookies, but my brothers called them Herald cookies.”
“Harold? Who’s Harold?”
“Like ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,’” I say.
Coop sighs like I’ve just said something sad. He wipes his hands on the ruffly red apron. Then he puts his strong arms around me and pulls me into a hug. “Herald Cookies is such a better name than Guardian Angel cookies. I’m sorry, but I have to give it to your brothers on this one.”
I laugh, resting my cheek on his chest. “Whatever. Guardian Angel cookies is cute.”
“It’s basic. Bush league, even,” he says, smoothing my hair like I’m sobbing instead of laughing over cookie names.
“Was this just an excuse to hug me?” I ask.
Coop leans us to one side and then to the other, his arms firm around my back. “Do you even have to ask?”
No, I did not. I don’t mind the confirmation, though.
The oven beeps, and Coop gives me one final squeeze before releasing me. “Thanks for letting me come bake with you. This is the first time in my life I haven’t been able to bake with my mom during the Christmas season. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say.
By ten p.m., I have three dozen gorgeously decorated sugar cookies, four dozen melt-aways, another four dozen gingersnaps, and flour on my nose.
Oh, and Cooper Kellogg’s arms around me.
“Thanks for coming,” I say for the tenth time.
“Thanks for letting me invite myself over,” he says for the eleventh.
I think it’s my turn to thank him again, but I’m starting to get lost in his spiced sandalwood cologne. This may be the longest I’ve ever been hugged, and I can’t seem to find the motivation to end it.
That is, until I hear the key jiggle in the lock. I back up from Coop just in time to see Juliet and Nate open the door.
Juliet’s eyes fly between us. “Well, well, well,” she says, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse eating forbidden cheese.
Not forbidden. Just cheese. Regular, old, totally normal cheese.
“Hey,” Coop says. “You must be Juliet and Nate. I’m Coop.”
“Good to meet you,” Juliet says, sprinkling innuendo in my face like its flour.
Coop drops his eyes to Juliet’s gray sweatshirt—it has a calico cat sitting in a stocking, and on it is written the words, “The stockings were hung by the chimney with cats.”
Coop’s eyes alight. “That is the best sweater I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Tell me about it,” I say. “It’s almost enough to convince me to wear Christmas sweaters. They don’t sell it anymore.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Nate says wryly.
But Juliet has triumph written all over her face. “Told you. Best sweatshirt ever!”
Nate chuckles at his fiancée and then shakes Coop’s hand and they exchange pleasantries.
“Are you just leaving?” Nate asks.
Coop gives me a regretful look that makes me lean forward on my toes toward him. “Yeah, I have to be up early for rehab.”
“Coop!” I tsk. “I forgot about your elbow. Are you okay? I shouldn’t have had you rolling all that dough.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Juliet asks.
“Come on, Jules,” Nate says with a laugh. He pushes her into the apartment, giving Coop and me a semblance of privacy. “It’s nice to meet you, Cooper. It’s snowing, so be careful on your drive home.”
Coop thanks Nate, who joins Juliet on the couch, and then he smiles at me. The Christmas tree lights reflect in his brown eyes, dozens of points of light twinkling as he looks at me. “My elbow was fine. I would tell you if it was acting up.”
“Do you promise?” I ask, which is silly, because we’re just friends. With feelings. Friends with feelings. Which is nothing like friends with benefits.
“Of course. I’ll always be honest with you.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you hiding the fact that you’re in pain because you’re worried about my feelings.”
He rubs my shoulders over my hoodie. His hoodie. That I won fair and square.
“You’re a tough cookie. I don’t need to wear kid gloves around you, Liesel. I know you can handle the truth, however hard it is.”
My lips curve up softly. His words are so simple, but they pertain to some of my most core values—honesty, trust, even empowering. If Coop is really promising to be honest, he’s putting confidence in my ability to not only handle truth but manage it. I may have been my family’s admin and my mom’s backup caretaker for years, but I never feel like I can make decisions without their blessing.
Coop is saying the opposite. He’ll challenge me, but he’ll trust me, too. The meaning of his words pours into my chest, as warm and comforting as hot cider on a cold day. “Good.”
“In the name of honesty, though,” he whispers, “I should tell you that I really want to kiss you goodnight.”
I breathe out. “I don’t think my dad or Doug would be okay with that.”
“I don’t think I asked their permission.”
My insides bubble with excitement. I want to kiss Coop more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. In three weeks, we’ve gone from nemeses to friends to … more.
So much more.
Kissing him would be a teenage Liesel’s dream come true.
It would also complicate everything . Right now, we’re friends. Friends who covertly flirt at work and who spend all night and weekend texting each other.
But if we kiss, what next? Are we going to date, in spite of my family’s objections or Doug’s? If I knew he was serious about me, if I knew this was a long term commitment, that would be one thing. But I don’t know that, not for him or for me. The risk is too great. I’m not looking for a fling, and I’m not looking to rock the boat. Or the Christmas tree.
“I don’t kiss on the first date,” I say.
“You did, though.”
“That was for the escape room,” I say with a mock glower.
“As long as we’re clear that that was a date and so was this.” His eyes dance, and he takes my hand and rubs my knuckles with his thumb.
“Fine. I don’t kiss on the second date, either,” I say.
“If you want more dates with me, just ask, Sugar Plum. I’ll add the third and fourth to my calendar right now.”
I spin my earring and look at Coop’s full lips, wanting so badly to throw caution to the wind. No one’s here to see us—no one who wants to keep us apart, at any rate. But my dad and brothers and Doug are all lurking like shadows in my mind.
I haven’t quite decided how much I care …
“How about we see each other at the charity event tomorrow before you get on the plane?” I ask.
“It’s a date.”
“Good night, Coop.”
“Sweet dreams, Sugar Plum.”
I close the door behind him and then walk into the family room. I throw myself onto the couch, my head dangling upside down.
“Well, roast my chestnuts on an open fire,” Juliet says. “Lee has it bad for Mrs. Claus.” I look up to my friend cuddling with her fiancé.
“What?” I laugh. “ Mrs. Claus? ”
Juliet gives me a knowing look. “He’s still wearing my apron.”