Chapter 15
Sunday, December 9
After cleaning ourselves up, we headed to the kitchen, where I peered into my worryingly sparse fridge. “Hmm…We may have to order in because all I have is half a head of lettuce, a few boiled potatoes, and some sliced ham. Oh, and there’s a small onion. I really need to buy groceries.”
“Got any eggs?” Marco asked.
“Three.”
“How about cheese?”
“Small block of cheddar.”
“Perfect.” He rubbed his hands together. “How do you feel about R?sti?”
“I love it,” I said, my mouth watering as my mind immediately conjured the image of the Swiss hash brown–type dish made from hard-boiled potatoes, grated and sautéed golden brown with a little butter, and to which my father always added ham and cheese. “My dad makes it all the time. Did you first try it in Switzerland?”
“Yes.” Marco grinned. “Best place was at a restaurant at Kleine Scheidegg on my trip down from the Jungfraujoch.”
“Going up there is on my bucket list,” I said with a gasp. “I can’t believe you can take a train that goes through two mountains and all the way up to more than eleven thousand feet. Did you stop and look out of the windows they built in the north face of the Eiger?”
“It was incredible,” Marco said. “Swiss engineering at its finest, and the views…never seen anything like them before or since. Want to see some pictures?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped a finger across the screen.
As I leaned in, I gawped at the sheer magnitude of the rugged mountains and the village of Grindelwald nestled in the valley below. Another photo was of the famous Aletsch Glacier, its icy reach stretching for over ten miles.
“Wow,” I whispered. “I’m definitely going on my next trip.”
“These don’t do the place justice,” Marco said, eyes full of awe. “It blew my mind. I remember sitting on the terrace outside the restaurant and staring at the mountains, thinking, ‘I was up there.’?” He shook his head. “Then they blew my mind again with the R?sti. I mean, we have hash browns here, but they’re not the same.”
“I was just thinking that,” I said. “If I peel and grate the potatoes and cheese, will you show me your recipe?”
“I’d love to,” Marco replied. “I’ll chop the onion and ham.”
It was incredible watching him work, slicing and dicing so fast I worried he might cut off his fingers. He combined the grated potatoes, onion, and ham before seasoning it all with salt and pepper and melting a chunk of butter in a frying pan. As he pressed the potato mixture down and it sizzled away, I washed the lettuce and opened the fridge.
“Would you like ranch dressing on your salad?” I asked. “Or I could make my own.”
“Happy to try yours,” he replied. “What’s in it?”
I retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and added mustard, mayonnaise, oil, vinegar, chopped dried chives, and a splash of water. “Now for my top-secret ingredient,” I said, sprinkling in a pinch of sugar before whisking everything together and holding a spoon toward Marco. “Tell me what you think.”
“Absolutely delicious,” he declared. “I’ll use that on all my salads from now on.”
When it was time to flip the R?sti to fry the other side, I asked Marco for help because whenever I’d tried this before, I’d always made a mess with half of the potatoes splattering onto the stove. He told me that the secret was to use something bigger than the pan, so I pulled out a huge pizza tray.
Marco stood behind me, our bodies as close as they’d been when we’d sat on the sled. He guided my hands, talking softly in my ear as we worked, making my body tingle as his breath tickled my hair.
With the R?sti expertly flipped, he took a step back and I instantly missed the closeness. After digging two holes in the potato mixture, we cracked an egg into each one. Not ten minutes later, lunch was served along with a cold beer, the perfect accompaniment to our Swiss dish.
“R?sti’s always rustic and simple,” I said after we’d settled at the dining table in the living room and had taken our first bites. “Your version’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’ve always thought cooking doesn’t have to be complicated.” He ate another mouthful, and as his eyes landed on my Christmas tree, said, “Your tree’s looking even better.”
“Ha, yes. Anita will be delighted. We made most of those decorations when we were kids. Generally a new one every year. It was one of our traditions.”
“Do you have a favorite ornament?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t possibly admit to which.”
Marco put a hand over his heart and leaned back. “You won’t confide in me despite us being Advent calendar task buddies? I’m crushed.”
“Okay, okay.” I pushed back my chair and got up, trying to ignore the sting of him calling us buddies . It shouldn’t have bothered me because we were friends. That’s what I kept telling myself I wanted, wasn’t it? “Promise not to point and laugh?”
Marco grinned. “I promise I’ll try.”
I retrieved the ornament, an empty wooden spool I’d painted red and to which I’d glued a tiny handwritten letter. Passing it to Marco, I groaned and said, “This was the Christmas list I wrote when I was eleven. Try not to judge me too hard.”
“Dear Santa,” Marco read aloud, making me giggle and cringe at the same time. “For Christmas I’d like a new jigsaw puzzle.” He looked at me. “Well, that doesn’t come as a huge surprise. Okay, the second one’s more obscure. You wanted a karaoke machine?”
“Apparently so. I’ve never sung karaoke in my life.”
“What, never?”
“No way.” My face fell as the sudden realization hit me full on. “Crap. I bet Anita’s going to make me do it for my calendar task tomorrow.”
“Why do you think that?” Marco asked.
“Because she gave me her playlist today, and the calendar treats are always related to the next day’s task. Ornaments and tree. Cookie cutters and baking. Snow globe and sledding.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe she’d do this. She knows I detest the idea of karaoke.”
“Why?” Marco said. “What’s so terrible about it?”
“What’s terrible about it?” I waved my hands around. “Standing on stage, everyone staring at you, while you attempt to belt out a tune? No thanks.”
“How about this? If your nightmare comes true and it’s a karaoke task tomorrow, I’ll make sure I’m free in case you want backup. Pun intended.”
“That’ll be even worse. You must be a really good singer, considering your family’s musical background, even if you can’t play the triangle.”
Marco grimaced and shook his head, but I didn’t believe him. “All right, back to your list,” he said. “Item number three is a date with Nick Jonas? That’s cute.”
I put a hand to my chest. “What can I say? I loved Nick with all my heart.”
“Lucky man.”
Marco uttered the words so softly, I wondered if I’d misheard, and as I looked at him, he suddenly seemed very interested in the old ornament still clutched in his hand. He didn’t meet my gaze, and his smile was tentative.
It felt like the air crackled and sparked, filling with all the things so far left unsaid. Despite not having spoken, my throat was drier than a sandstorm, but when I reached for my beer, my trembling hand knocked it over.
I yelped, and as Marco used his napkin to mop up the mess, I dashed to the kitchen to fetch a towel. Crisis averted. Marco plated us a slice of chestnut cheesecake each, and by the time we sat back down, whatever tension I thought I’d felt between us had gone.
“What would you choose if you were to rewrite this list today?” Marco said. “Not jigsaw puzzles because that’s a given. What’s something you’ve always wanted to try or a place you want to go, other than Paris and Santorini?”
“Dogsledding in Finland,” I said, before eating a forkful of cheesecake and making appreciative noises because the stuff tasted divine. “I watched a documentary about it, and it was completely fascinating.”
“Interesting choice. What else?”
“I’d love to see the northern lights,” I said. “That’s definitely near the top of my list.”
“Maybe you could combine the two. What’s next?”
“Go to New York City, preferably at Christmas.”
“You’ve never been?” Marco asked.
“No, and I’ve dreamed about being there in December since I was a kid, but Oliver…” I dropped my eyes to my silverware, fiddled with my fork. “He doesn’t enjoy crowds and thought it would be too busy over the holidays. I want to see the decorations and window displays. Maybe next year I’ll go by myself or with Anita, if she has time.”
“I’m sure you’d love it,” Marco said. “My parents took us years ago because Syd and I bugged them after watching Home Alone a million times. I’d go again in a heartbeat.”
As I imagined the two of us wandering down the streets of New York and stopping in front of the legendary Macy’s windows, I rested my elbow on the table and tucked a hand under my chin. “What would be on your Christmas wish list?”
“The Grand Canyon and Big Sur. Most of all, I’d love to go back to Switzerland. There’s so much of the country I didn’t visit, especially the Italian-speaking part.”
“Same,” I said with a grin. “I only went to Lugano briefly, and it’s out of this world.”
Marco pushed his empty plate aside, reached for a fresh napkin, took out a pen from the inside pocket of the jacket he’d hung on the back of his chair, and wrote:
Callie’s Christmas List
Go dogsledding & see the northern lights
Visit New York in December
Travel to Switzerland again
As he slid the note toward me, he said, “I read somewhere that having a list of your goals means you’re more likely to achieve them. I hope you get to do all these someday soon.”
“I hope so, too.” I held the napkin, rereading his elegant writing. “Thank you. Not only for this. Not only for the cheesecake and for helping me paint Anita’s room, either, but for everything. I swear you make me want to be far less of a Grinch.”
“You could never be a Grinch, Callie.” Marco looked at me with gentle eyes. “Your heart’s at least twenty sizes too big.”
As we cleared the table and stacked our plates in the dishwasher, I snuck another glance at him, something I’d done a lot of ever since he’d arrived this morning. My attraction to Marco was growing, but still I refused to let it loose. I wasn’t ready to trust again, he’d recently gone through a breakup of his own, and anything happening between us could be a classic rebound situation, which I desperately wanted to avoid.
“You’ve gone quiet,” Marco said. “Everything okay?”
“I was wondering about Anita’s reaction when she sees her room,” I fibbed, nowhere near ready to voice my thoughts. They were too conflicting, too muddled.
“Hopefully, she’ll be stoked,” he replied. “Let’s get another coat on and the baseboards done to make sure it’s perfect for her.”
A few hours later, we’d finished painting and were going through a box of the Dessert Dudes documents while sitting next to each other on the sofa. Marco lifted out a stack of paper held together by a blue rubber band. “I brought everything I could find,” he said. “All the supplier invoices are in this bundle, and the ones we issued are in that one. Bank stuff and credit card receipts and statements are in here, too.”
“You didn’t happen to write down the log-in for the accounting software, did you?”
“Aha, I did that earlier.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a note.
“Awesome,” I said, and as he pressed the piece of paper into my palm, he closed my fingers with his other hand. His touch set my skin on fire again, and the whisper of delight caused by our proximity burrowed deep into my bones.
“My turn to thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, and… you .”
The air between us crackled again, and as I met his gaze, neither of us pulled our hand away. I watched as his eyes dropped to my mouth, and, noticing how his body was slowly leaning toward mine, I did the same.
As my heart thumped against my rib cage, seconds stretched into minutes, into hours. I wondered how his lips would feel against mine, what his mouth would taste like, and the anticipation of our embrace was almost enough to undo me. Holding my breath, I closed my eyes, slowly tilted my head, and…
Marco’s phone rang and buzzed, instantly making us jump back, breaking the delicate spell between us.
“It’s Vince,” he said, glancing at his cell on the table, and I wondered if he, too, wished he’d left it at home. Marco answered the call, and they exchanged a few pleasantries before he paused to listen. “That’s great, but now…? Sure…yes, no problem. I can be there in ten…Yup, yup, got it. As fast as I can.”
“Good news?” I asked after he hung up.
“Dessert Dudes picked up another gig, but it’s a last-minute order for Saint Honoré choux pastry towers. We need to plan everything to fit it into our schedule. I’m sorry, Callie, I have to go.”
“No problem. I understand,” I said. “I’m all set with the bookkeeping, anyway. I can take it from here.”
“What about Anita’s furniture?”
“I can manage. I’ll leave the paint to dry and sort it all out tomorrow.”
He looked at me. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Marco stood up, and as we moved toward the front door, he grabbed his jacket and turned around. “I wish I didn’t have to leave. I had a great time.”
“Me, too,” I whispered.
Marco leaned in and softly kissed my cheek. The citrusy scent of his aftershave and the way his lips lingered on my skin almost made me throw my arms around his neck.
What would’ve happened if Vince hadn’t called? Maybe I’d be kissing Marco properly by now, slowly at first but with increasing intensity as our desire was given permission to breathe, to exist. I’d slip off his shirt, run my hands across his chest and up his shoulders, into his hair.
Pulling me toward him, his fingers would reach beneath my clothes, gradually moving up, searching, exploring, teasing. He’d whisper my name, his thumb would trace the bottom of the fabric of my bra, dipping underneath and running over my…
Nope . I absolutely couldn’t let my mind go there. As much as I wanted him, I had no intention of rushing into something either of us might regret come morning. I forced myself to take a step back. “I had a lovely time, too. Thanks again, Eggnog Man.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured. “Swiss Miss.”
When he walked away, pausing to look at me over his shoulder, it took every single shred of self-control to not tell him to stay. Whether I’d wanted this to happen or not, and no matter how much I tried denying my feelings, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep Marco in the friend zone for much longer.