Chapter Twenty-One #2
Brent had gone to the base exchange when he’d returned to stock up on some items he thought would add some flavor. He’d hung a large wreath over the window and two snowman dish towels draped from the oven. A long garland full of lights now lined the tops of all the kitchen cabinets.
He had all the ingredients they needed for several types of cookies, all lined up and ready to go.
He’d spent nearly an hour getting the kitchen organized for baking that morning.
Just like with anything else, good preparation was the key to success.
Whether it was making cookies or making plans for the future, Brent needed to know he still had some control over his life.
Even printing out a recipe or two gave him that warm and fuzzy feeling that hard work would yield results.
“Here, got you this.” He tossed Clara a gingerbread-style apron with a row of colorful gumdrops down the middle.
She caught it in her free hand. The other picked up a red spatula with white snowflakes on it. “Love it,” she said. “But where’s yours?”
Brent pulled out a matching apron from the bag and tied it around his waist.
“You’re full of surprises today, Major McNally.”
Brent could tell Clara was happy to be there, and that made him feel more relief than he knew he needed. He never knew with her lately. So far, things today seemed to be rolling along nicely, ready for a smooth takeoff.
He started a Christmas playlist on his phone.
“All I Want for Christmas Is You” began to play, and he instantly skipped to the next song.
Brent loved Christmas music and all, but he must have heard that song at least a thousand times over the past couple of weeks.
Even he had his limits. Instead, someone else started singing about a Christmas tree farm.
He smirked at the reminder of their outing the other day.
“So, what are we making today, chef?” Clara tied on her apron and grabbed a mixing bowl.
“A lot of cookies.” He glanced down at his list on the counter. “Sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodles . . .” He looked up with a grin. “And, of course, gingersnaps.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that all?” she joked. “What in the world are we going to do with all those cookies?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan for that.”
“Of course you do.”
Brent reached over to grab his organized bundle of notecards. “I’ve got the recipes for each, all printed out with the necessary ingredients laid out by each type.”
“Impressive.”
“Okay, let’s get started on the sugar cookies first. They’ll need longer to cool so we can ice and decorate them.”
Clara gave him a salute. “Roger.”
He pulled the measuring spoons from a drawer and narrowed his eyes, deciding which to use.
“Come on, let’s get baking,” she said, tossing a sprinkle of sugar at him.
His eyes popped open. Brent turned toward the bag of flour behind him and reached inside.
He grabbed a handful and tossed it back at her.
It was about time this kitchen had a little mess in it.
He reached for Clara’s hand and spun her around to the music.
She let out a delighted scream. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close.
Brent ran a hand along her cheek, then twirled her again and leaned her backward.
Her hair cascaded behind her. He dipped his head and kissed her on the lips with a mood that matched his enthusiasm.
When he pulled back, they were both out of breath. His heart was racing. They locked eyes.
He stood her back up and let out a long exhale. Brent looked around his kitchen, and he felt his chest grow warm. He couldn’t think of anything in the world he’d rather be doing at the moment than this. He looked at her again.
Clara gazed back at him, her eyes drifting to his mouth. Her cheeks were pink.
He leaned in closer, lowering his head, ready to meet her lips again.
Instead, she stuck out her thumb and wiped the tip of his nose. “Got some sugar there.”
He laughed. The tender moment was not what he’d expected, but it was just as sweet.
As the two of them baked cookies side by side, Brent thought about the last time he’d felt this happy.
It had probably been a year ago, when he and Clara had first begun to date, before the deployment.
He thought back to how simple things were back then—before the realities of military life reared their ugly head into their new relationship.
Brent wondered again about the toll the deployment had taken on them as a couple. He knew Clara was uncomfortable talking about it. He knew she hadn’t accepted being a part of military life yet. He also knew that when all of that was taken out of the equation, they were a perfect match.
He wanted this feeling to last forever. He breathed in the scents of the kitchen, rich and creamy, like butterscotch.
The smell of burning dust from the unused oven lingered in the air.
It reminded him of that time of year when the weather would turn cold, and he would switch on his heater for the first time of the season.
That welcome smoky scent that signaled the return of the comforting chill of winter.
He watched Clara at the sink, washing out a mixing bowl.
His house looked the way he wanted it to—after months of renovations and a year away from it.
His kitchen smelled better than anything he could dream up.
And Clara, his fiancée, was right here—and happy.
What more could he ask for? Maybe some of his hard work had paid off after all.
When the two of them were together like this, everything was exactly as it should be.
The notes of “Blue Christmas” sounded from Clara’s phone, interrupting his thoughts.
It was sitting on top of the counter, but she didn’t hear it between the music and the running water.
Brent stole a quick glance at the screen.
It showed an incoming call from Matthew.
A picture of a man with dark hair and a strong jaw stared back at him.
He looked like a model for a toothpaste ad, taunting Brent with his flawless smile.
Brent clenched his fists, and his stomach hardened. Why was he calling? Brent forced himself to remain calm. He supposed it was only reasonable that they kept in touch, especially since they’d worked so closely together over the past year. His jaw tightened at the reminder.
Clara used to fill him in on everything that went on at work; the things she was learning, the skills she was developing.
Working with her ex was an unfortunate requirement of the job, but one that he’d accepted.
She’d assured him it was never an issue, that they’d always remained professional. Still, he hated it.
The call went unanswered, but a few seconds later, a text appeared on the screen.
Hey, Clar, just checking in to see how you’re doing.
Brent’s blood boiled. Why did Matthew need to see how his fiancée was doing? He wondered if it was a professional call or a personal one. The use of the familiar “Clar” would suggest the latter.
From their conversations over the past year, Brent had gotten the impression that Clara was no longer sure that hotel management was what she wanted to do for the long term.
Maybe she had changed her mind about that and was keeping Matthew around for his industry connections.
Was there still a friendship there? Was there still a personal connection?
After all, Matthew had been there beside her throughout the past year. Brent may as well have been a million miles away.