Chapter 5
Monday, December 3
“Hold on a second, Callie,” Oliver said, walking over as Hazel and I left the conference room with the rest of the finance team. “Do you mind if we talk?”
Hazel glanced at me. “I’ll get coffees for us two.”
As she headed for the kitchenette, I turned to Oliver and plastered another smile across my face. I was nothing if not the consummate professional whenever we interacted, and I couldn’t afford to let that impression slip now, especially with Grant standing a few feet away.
“How can I help?” I asked, my tone neutral, wondering why he’d come back downstairs to see me again.
Oliver led me to an empty cubicle, away from everybody. “While you were in your meeting, an email about the office reshuffle went out.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you having to sit near me to be an issue. Maybe I can work from home the days you’re in the office. I’ll stay out of your way so it’s not too hard for you.”
I bristled, specifically at his last words. Oliver was being considerate, yet the fact that he felt certain I was still a heartbroken mess because of him suddenly bothered me. Was this how everyone at Whitlock & Blake saw me? If so, I had a feeling Grant wouldn’t appreciate it. According to what Oliver had once told me, my new boss equated being emotional with being ineffective.
I looked at my ex, calmly said, “It’s not a problem. I’d better get to work.”
“What was that about?” Hazel asked when she arrived at our cubicle with two steaming mugs. “Did he come to grovel?”
“Not exactly.”
“Didn’t think so.” She reached under her desk for her bright yellow sports duffel and pulled out a paper bag, which she handed to me. “This might cheer you up a bit.”
“Is that a honey donut?” I said as I peered inside the bag, and despite my mind reeling from this morning’s developments, the treat reminded me of the embroidered logo on Marco’s beanie, making me smile.
“That worked like magic, and you haven’t eaten it yet,” Hazel said. “What’s with the grin?”
“Nothing,” I said, but she raised an eyebrow. “All right, I met a guy.”
“What?” She leaned in, elbows on her knees and her eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? You meeting someone is far more interesting than everything else that has happened around here this morning combined.”
“It’s not like that.” I had to rein in her imagination before it darted off in all directions. “Anita and I were picking up a Christmas tree, and this guy had a funny slogan on his hat.” I described the “Donut Panic” beanie before giving her a shrug. “Puns make me happy.”
“No way,” Hazel said. “You’re not getting out of this that easily. Go back to the beginning, and tell me everything. You know I haven’t dated in ages. Let me live vicariously through you.”
For the next few minutes, I explained Anita’s Advent calendar challenge in detail, followed by how I met Marco while searching for my Charlie Brown tree at the parkette on Sunday morning.
“I have questions,” she said. She’d always been a stickler for the minutest of details, at times even more than me. It’s what made her so great at her job. “First, what’s his name?”
“Marco Lancaster.”
“Nice. Is he hot?”
Laughing at her directness, I answered, “Uh, yeah, I mean he’s about six feet, brown hair, green eyes. Dimples.”
“Definitely hot. Single?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did he say he needed”—she made air quotes—“?‘a bit of joy these days’ when he went to find a Christmas tree?”
“He’s just a stranger,” I insisted, shutting down the conversation before I started asking myself more questions than Hazel. “I don’t expect I’ll see him again. Fallbrook’s a big place.”
“Only if you want it to be,” she said with a wink.
—
As soon as I was able, I called Anita to tell her the news about Oliver’s engagement, Jennifer leaving, Grant now being my boss, and the new seating arrangements, and she’d been equally flabbergasted by everything that had transpired. I spent the rest of the day reconciling bank statements and ensuring employee expense reports had been processed, grateful when it was time to go home.
“I was beginning to worry about you,” Anita said as soon as I walked into our kitchen, where I unsuccessfully tried to greet Dazey before sitting at the table. “Let’s have a chat and see how we can solve this mess.”
“There’s nothing to solve,” I said. “Nothing to talk about, either. To be honest, I want to forget everything for tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is. Want to open your calendar? Today’s a treat day, so no horrible surprises from me, I promise. Come on.”
I followed Anita to the living room. The sight of the pretty boxes lifted my mood a little, so I took my time as I scoured the stack for the one marked with the number three. I picked it up, gave it a shake, and heard a rattling inside.
“Open it,” she said with an encouraging nod, and I tore into the reindeer motif paper, quickly discovering a box underneath with a note stuck to one side.
These won’t bite, but you might.
“Huh?” I said. “What on earth does this mean?”
She shrugged. “You wanted clues.”
“Not cryptic ones.” I laughed as I lifted the top flap and found a cluster of metal cookie cutters inside. The set consisted of a star, a stocking, a gingerbread man, a Christmas tree, and the head of the Grinch. “Oh, cool. Aren’t these almost identical to the ones we had when we were kids?”
Anita nodded. “Remember how we always made cookies with Dad? His orange shortbread is still the best I’ve ever had.”
“Agreed, and what about the cinnamon stars? You know, the Swiss recipe he got from his mom. The cookies with the flooded white icing.”
“Zimtsterne,” Anita said with a snap of her fingers.
“We haven’t made them in ages.”
My sister smiled. “Maybe we’ll find time to bake soon. We can take the whole day when I get back after Christmas.”
As I held the gift in my hands, I tried to remember the last time I’d made cookies. It had been years since I’d baked anything. I loved desserts, but Oliver, who didn’t have the slightest sweet tooth, wasn’t a fan. He’d never asked me not to make treats when we lived together. He’d never told me not to eat candy, cakes, or other sugary foods, either—it wasn’t his style, and I wouldn’t have agreed—but somehow, I’d simply…stopped.
Why hadn’t I baked in so long, when it was an activity I used to enjoy almost as much as I’d loved eating my creations? Almost more importantly, why hadn’t I noticed that until now?