Page 26 of The Christmas Cookie Crush

Nora

Austin’s the perfect gentleman,holding open doors for me, offering me his arm on the slippery sidewalk, especially when he realizes I’m wearing cute heeled boots instead of winter boots with actual traction.

That wasn’t my intention when I chose these shoes, but as we walk from his car to the restaurant with my hand securely clutching his arm, I’m not upset about this turn of events.

It’s a relief to be able to admit that I’m attracted to him without feeling like I shouldn’t be. We’ve both grown up. He apologized, both for his behavior when we were kids and for the little prank after moving back. And it’s clear to me that his intention, at least this time, was always to try to connect with me. Even the Warheads he had someone bring me were supposed to be a joke, not piss me off.

And it’s beyond time to let go of something from half a lifetime ago.

I didn’t tell anyone that I had a date with Austin tonight, though. I just said I had plans after work so Mom and Dad know not to worry about including me for dinner. Even so, Mom’ll save me leftovers from whatever’s on the menu tonight. And while I wouldn’t care if Mom and Dad know, or even Ty and Olivia, I don’t want to hear Dylan’s opinion of me going on a date with his childhood best friend.

Sure, eventually it’ll come out. But that can wait until later.

Right now, I just want to enjoy this for what it is—a nice dinner with a cute boy who’s apparently been trying to get to know me better since I got back to Arcadian Falls for Christmas Break.

Once we’re seated, we both take our time studying the menu. I’m not sure if he’s nervous—though I’d guess so—but I know I am. And I spend an inordinate amount of time studying the options, even though I picked what I’m going to order nearly immediately. I just need the excuse to figure out what to talk about. I mean, I’m curious about him of course. But do I just jump right into the deep end of questions? Or should I warm up with something more surface, like how he’s handling the long hours of ChristmasFest and what he’s planning to do after?

Finally, I close the menu and set it down, sipping from my water glass while looking around the restaurant. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. It’s usually a tourist haunt during the times I’m home, so I tend to avoid it. Too crowded. Long waits. Not worth the effort when I could grab something quick elsewhere or just eat at home.

Austin clears his throat, drawing my attention. “You know what you’re going to order?” he asks.

And it seems we’re starting with surface questions.

I nod and tell him.

He grins. “That’s what I was going to order.”

I raise my eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Is that a bad thing? Do you feel like you need to change your order now?”

That makes him laugh, and he shakes his head. “No. Why would I do that? Isn’t having similar taste in food a good thing?”

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I dated a guy for a while last year whohatedordering the same thing as anyone else. When we went out, either just the two of us or in a group, he’d quiz everyone on their orders before deciding on his. And heaven forbid everyone picks his top three choices, because then he’d take forever studying the menu again to decide what else to get.”

Austin’s eyebrows climb his forehead the longer I talk. “That sounds …”

“Terrible?” I supply when it seems he’s at a loss for words.

Laughing, he nods.

“Yeah, it was pretty terrible. It got to the point where I refused to invite him along for group things because he just pissed off everyone. And then he’d get mad at me for hanging out with people without him when he used to be invited. We had a big fight about it and broke up.” Austin looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh or smile. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “You can laugh. It’s entirely ridiculous.”

A grin splits his face, and he leans back in his chair, covering his mouth with his hand as he laughs. “Who officially broke up with who?” he asks at last.

I shrug. “I told everyone it was mutual because I was too embarrassed to admit that he was the one who said we were over.” I lean forward and lower my voice. “It should’ve been me.”

“It absolutely should’ve been you. How long did you date this guy?”

Shrugging, I straighten and twirl my water glass, doing the mental math. “A few months? I think five.” I meet his eyes and grin. “Too long.” He nods, trying to keep his face solemn. “What about you?” I pivot. “Who’s the most ridiculous person you’ve dated?”

He screws up his face in thought, then shakes his head. “You know? I can’t think of anyone I’ve dated that I’d call ridiculous?”

“What, seriously? I thought everyone had at least one terrible dating experience story. How unfair that I have several and you have none.” Pausing, I screw up my face and shake my head. “On second thought, let’s not talk about past dating experiences. Isn’t that supposed to be a first date faux pas anyway?”

Chuckling, he nods. “You’re right. I apologize for bringing it up.”

I give him a doubtful look. “I’m pretty sureI’mthe one who brought it up, not you. So mea culpa.” I hold up my hands in surrender, but we’re both grinning like idiots.

“What should we talk about instead then?”

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