Page 63 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

I hear a low chortle on my way through the kitchen door, and Parker says, “She might like you a little, Elliot.”

“Bonnie!” Marlene yips. She runs her hands down the front of her red Christmas apron with ruffled edges, making me feel like I’m in aLeave It to Beaverepisode. And then I see her daughters—in matching aprons. Oh wow.

“Well, hello there. What are you up to, dear?” May says, her apron green-and-white checkered.

“I—” I draw out, eyeing her as if maybe she has the answer to that question. “I just gave Elliot a kiss—abigone—and now I’m here to learn how to bake gingerbread.” It’s a statement, so why does it sound so much like a question?

Evelyn coughs out a laugh behind me.

May leans close and pats my back. “This isn’t an episode ofThe Bachelor, dear. You don’t have to make a scene every time you kiss him.”

“Don’t I?” I whisper back, my heart running like a freight train.

May scrunches her nose. “Now.” She sets her floured hands on the kitchen island. “Gingerbread. Let’s get started.”

I have declined my matching red ruffly apron, and I’ve got my hands elbow-deep in a bowl of brown spiced dough when Jocelyn sidles up next to me.

“So,” she says, “what are your intentions with our brother?”

I do my best not to cough all over the dough May’s got me mixing. Why I can’t use a mixer or at least a wooden spoon I don’t know, but I’ve been told that no metal or wood shall touch the dough. It will be mixed with my carefully washed hands or nothing at all.

“Wait!” Evelyn says. “Intention talk? Don’t start without me.” She picks up the bowl of her sugar cookie mix and brings it to our side of this long island.

May and Marlene are still arguing about which brand of butter is best. They don’t stop to join us. Between their brand battles and the Michael Bublé Christmas album playing over three different portable speakers, I think they’ve missed Jocelyn’s question altogether.

I swallow, heart thumping, and peek up from my bowl. “Um.” My brows knit. “Well… it’s only been three months.” Is that right? Three months, or is it four? I’m forgetting the script. I am like an actor on stage who has forgotten which play they are in.

“Yes, and?” Jocelyn says, her brown hair bobbing at her shoulders.

“You know about Jess, right?” Evelyn says.

I do. At least, I know what Elliot’s told me. “Yeah,” I say. “Elliot mentioned her.”

“He’ll tell you it was mutual. But he was pretty shaken by their breakup.”

“He was?” I pick dough off my fingers and rifle through my brain, remembering all he said. He did say it was mutual. That neither of them really wanted it to go further. And yet, her engagement rocked him a little.

“Oh, yeah. He never felt good enough for that girl and then she tells him she’ll never get married. It’s just not for her.” Evelyn nods to Jocelyn, and like a magic act, Jocelyn keeps going for her sister.

“Yep. Then just a couple months later, she’s engaged.”

“I’d bet money she was cheating on him,” Evelyn says.

My heart rate spikes and Noel bumps my thigh with her head.

What are these women going to think of me when I’m suddenly gone? What will Elliot tell them? It’s the unknown, and it never settles well with me.

“What kind of woman does that?” Jocelyn says.

“We don’t have to worry about anything like that with Bonnie.” Evelyn winks at me, then turns back to her mixing bowl.

All at once, Noel’s paws are on the counter, her nose nudging my side where my anxiety meds sit snug in my pocket. She’s pretty sure I need one. And she might be right. I’m about to hyperventilate.

“Oh goodness,” Marlene yelps, and cookie dough flies in the air with the flick of her big wooden spoon. She’s no longer looking at May, but right at me. And Noel. “Your dog. I almost forgot about her.”

My chest heaves, though I try to push down my panic. “Sorry,” I say, stepping away from the counter, my hands covered in dough. “I—um…whew. It’s hot in here. Noel and I need a little air. We’ll be back.”

With my hands still covered in goo, I march to the dining area in this large space and step out the sliding glass door to Marlene and David’s backyard. A brisk breeze smacks me in the face, but I don’t care. I am overheating, breathless, and in need of the cold wake-up call.

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