Page 14 of The Christmas Cookie Crush

Maybe that’s why Austin Stanton’s face keeps popping up when I think about dating again …

I’ve been in a self-imposed dry spell, and he’s the most attractive man in my orbit right now, so of course I’d think about him that way occasionally, even if I have zero desire to date him.

My previous attempts to tell myself that I don’t find him attractive because I don’t like him as a person have failed miserably, and I’ve given up on that tack. Now I’m just acknowledging the reality that he is an objectively attractive person, that I now understand where the idea behind hate-fucking comes from, and that I still don’t want to do it, even if my lizard brain thinks it might be fun if the opportunity presented itself.

“Since Dylan will be back in time for the open house, I think we should make sure to invite Austin,” Mom says, as though picking up on my thoughts.

I’m mid-swallow when she says that, and I choke on my coffee, hacking and clutching my chest as I try to clear my throat and catch my breath.

Mom jumps up from her spot immediately, coming around the table to me and thumping me on the back.

Sucking in a breath, I wave her off. “Thanks,” I wheeze. “I’m good. I’m good.”

She hovers over me for a second, then resumes her seat and picks up her mug. “Since I saw you two talking the other day, I was wondering if you’d mind telling him about the open house? He might be more interested in coming if he knows it’s not just a bunch of old folks like your dad and me.”

“You’re notthatold, Mom,” I protest, frantically searching my brain for another reason I shouldn’t be the one to invite Austin. “And anyway, didn’t you already invite his grandparents? Surely he’ll know he’s invited as well.”

“Well, of course I did, sweetie,” Mom says, placidly sipping her coffee. “But like I said, I want him to know that it won’t just be people our age and his grandparents’ age. Would you want to go to a party if you thought everyone was old enough to live in a nursing home?”

I open my mouth to respond but realize I can’t really refute that point.

When I close my mouth, she nods like the point is settled. “Exactly. You’re only working a half shift today, right? Be sure to stop by Give and Cake’s kiosk and ask him after you’re done working.”

I suck in a breath, hoping some excuse will magically pop into my head before Mom leaves the table, but she’s already standing up and moving to the sink to rinse out her mug. Once she’s done, she pauses and kisses the top of my head, and still nothing comes to mind. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she says. “See you at the North Pole!”

The morning passes faster than it has any right to considering that I have to go talk to Austin Stanton. And not justtalkto him. But beniceto him.

Sure, I asked him to give his grandparents a Christmas card from me. And told him about the special cookies his grandpausually makes for me. I didn’t mean to do that last thing. It just kinda slipped out when I got to the front of the line.

I was thinking about how much I wanted a sugar cookie. And when I got there, I saw the blond boy elf cookies, and I felt a physical ache at the knowledge that I wouldn’t get a special batch of cookies this year. That I wouldn’t see them in the case and know that Dale had set aside a small box just for me.

Once my shift is over, I head back to the locker room and take my sweet time changing out of my elf costume and into my regular clothes. I think this’ll be my first time going to the Give and Cake kiosk dressed normally this year. Every other time I’ve gone on my break or before I changed so I could make sure to get there before they left at the end of the night. Well, beforeAustinleft at the end of the night because it’s always him there, much to my irritation. Doesn’t he get a day off? He should, if for no other reason than to give me a break from him so I can get a Christmas cookie.

Clutching the half sheet of red paper Mom used for invitations this year, I weave my way through ChristmasFest shoppers and kiosks, pretending like I’m looking around at the different offerings, but all my attention is on the bakery kiosk near the front door.

It’s not fair. Him being here. How much of my thoughts he occupies. The fact that I have to go talk to him now. That my mom ismakingme go talk to him now.

And then, of course, I have to wait in line for the pleasure of talking to him.Ughhhhhh.Kill me now.

When I get to the front of the line, it’s clear he’s surprised to see me. Keeping my arms crossed but doing my best not to murderhim with my death glare, I gesture at the case. “A sugar cookie, please.”

His eyebrows jump, like me using basic niceties is unexpected, but he doesn’t comment on it as he gets me the requested cookie. It’s an elf, of course, but not the special kind.

“I talked to Grampy,” he says quietly as he passes me the cookie and rings up my purchase. “My grandpa, I mean.” I have to admit, if only to myself, that it’s kinda cute he calls his grandpa Grampy.

“Good for you,” I retort, then roll my lips between my teeth. I’m supposed to be nice to him right now. Not snotty. I just can’t help it, though.

He lets out a huff of amused laughter, shaking his head. “Right. Yeah. Anyway, I told him what you said about the elf cookies. He told me where he keeps the notes on it.” He pauses, studying me for a beat, his eyes dipping to my mouth before rising to meet mine again.

He doesn’t say anything else, instead looking back at the cash register and telling me the total. As I pay, I’m filled with an odd sense of disappointment. But now I’m avoiding his eyes as much as he’s avoiding mine.

It’s only when I put my phone back in my pocket that I remember the real reason I came here. “Oh, uh …” I pull out the now-crumpled piece of red paper. Laying it on the counter, I do my best to smooth it out. “Here. My parents have an open house Christmas party every year. It’s on Thursday. My mom wanted you to know you’re specifically invited, not just an add-on to your grandparents’ invite, and that there’ll be people of all agesthere, not just retirees. Or people who should be retired, like in my parents’ case. Or your grandparents too, I guess, huh?”

He grunts and reaches for the flyer. I jerk my hand away like I might get an electric shock if we both touch it at the same time.

He gives me another raised eyebrow look, and my cheeks heat. What is it about this guy that makes me feel so ridiculous? That brings out the absolute worst in me? He’s not the only one of my brother’s friends who picked on me growing up. And he made a good point last time that I should’ve gotten over it by now. My god, we’re both in our twenties. I shouldn’t be pissed about something that happened when I was in elementary school. It’s not like he murdered my dog or something. Not that we had a dog. But that’s not the point.

He didn’t steal my toys—well, there was that one time, but Sarah made them give back the dolls they took and Mom and Dad made Dylan pay for the replacement Barbie they gave a haircut. But he didn’t like … cut my hair in my sleep. Though Dylan threatened to do that a few times, but when Dad found me crying about it, he put a stop to it. But all Austin really did was go along with Dylan’s bad ideas, feed me candy till I puked once, and tried to laugh at me while I ate sour candy. It’s still a point of pride for me that he never gotthatparticular pleasure, at least. Not that he didn’t laugh at me for other reasons, of course. He and Dylan both did. But I don’t hate Dylan—not really, even if I don’t particularlylikehim—and if anyone deserves my hatred, it’s my brother. He encouraged his friends to treat me that way, after all.Hewas the instigator, not Austin.

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