Page 92 of Peppermint Bark

His cocky grin may as well have said, ‘It’s cute that you think I wouldn’t do it again.’

“This is sweet, Grace,” Mallory said, poking her head through the kitchen door frame, “but I’m hungry.”

I got an ice pack for his hand as he rifled around in a brown paper bag, then lobbed a container at his sister’s head. “Here’s your stupid salad with no cheese, flavor or commercial appeal, Shrimp.”

I reached for a quarter pounder and the chocolate shake, waited for everyone else to gather their meals, said a silent blessing, and sat down for a salty, greasy, delicious meal with my family.

Chapter 32

Grace

New Year's Eve

“Grace, why aren’t we in bed?” Alex complained, lugging groceries into his aunt’s kitchen.

“You insisted that we use this kitchen,” I said, turning on the lights.

“I don't fit into yours,” he grumbled.

“Not my problem that you’re a giant.”

“I don’t see why we have to do this ourselves, we could have bought it.”

“You said you wanted my peppermint bark,” I said, unloading the chocolate bars onto the island. I usually use the cheap brand, but he insisted on San Francisco-based Ghirardelli.

“I thought I wouldn’t get it because I lost the bet,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Although as far as I’m concerned, I still won.”

His lips grazed my neck and I considered giving in to what he obviously wanted, based on the hardness pressing into my butt cheek through his jeans. What the heck was I doing baking when his flight left tomorrow?

Self-preservation, that’s what this was. Pretending things were normal, ignoring that his flight left in less than 24 hours.

Returning from the Adirondack cabin, Alex simply put his suitcase into my truck. We hadn’t discussed our plans, which would lead to a discussion of the imminent end. We lived in the present with blinders on like a horse racing to the finish line, full steam ahead into inevitable heartbreak.

Probably, if we were being honest, to be shot and turned into glue.

We barely left my apartment for the past two days. If it had been up to him, I’m not certain we would have put on pants until his flight was boarding. We would have stayed in bed, laughing and touching and dozing off and waking up and making love.

Because I’d had sex before, but I’d never made love until Alexander Clarke.

I wondered if the same held true for him. He’d called sex ‘utilitarian,’ but there was nothing about his tender touch that felt anything but reverent.

Part of me wanted to follow his lead, to create a cocoon and ignore the world. But I knew if I let go of reality, even for only 72 hours, clawing my way out would be infinitely harder. He’d get on that plane, return to his real life, and escape into his demanding job.

But me? I’d be in my apartment with his ghost. Maybe Mallory would help me cleanse it with incense, but I wouldn’t ask. It would be better to live with the phantom than the void.

So I forced him out of the house … Well, first I forced him to put on pants, then dragged him out the door. Every day, we went to yoga class together, then explored this city where he’d grown up, this city I loved. On our final morning, we strolled by the Saratoga Candy Company and the sugar scent lured him in like Pepe le Pew. When I saw the shelf of peppermint pigs, a tradition started right in their shop, I knew how we would spend our afternoon.

“Here, make yourself useful,” I said, handing Alex the pig. The candy company made them in three sizes: Holly, Noel, and Clarence. Helen chose the smallest one for Christmas, but when I’d seen the one-pound chonker pig, I knew he’d be perfect. “He’s almost big enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.”

Alex took the pig, eyeing the tiny mallet. “This is going to take forever.”

I handed him a rolling pin to crush it. He scanned the island with a scheming look, then disappeared. I was pouring the bottom layer when he reappeared wearing safety goggles and carrying a sledgehammer. He attempted to look exasperated when I laughed, though the twinkling in his eyes betrayed his mirth. “You don’t think that’s overkill?”

“This damn pig is keeping me from getting you naked again,” he grumbled. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“Alright,” I said, wrapping the candy in Ziploc bags, “but not on the granite.”

We bundled up and went out to the driveway and he took his aggression out on the pig, turning it into finely ground peppermint dust.

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