Page 71 of The Christmas Cookie Crush

Chewing on my lip, I look through the papers. A lot of it is business stuff I only vaguely understand, like profit and loss sheets, sales summaries, that sort of thing. But there’s also a page with a bullet point list of things I’d be responsible for. “I don’t know anything about marketing,” I say in a hoarse whisper.

“You can learn,” she says. “You’re smart. And this is somewhat negotiable. These are the things I’d ideally like to unload orat least share with an assistant manager. It doesn’t mean I’m dumping them on you without any help or guidance. But with you, especially, I’d be willing to make adjustments as needed. I need someone I can trust to help with the workload. This year was bonkers. I need more than just seasonal help for next year.”

“I mean …” I shake my head, not sure if I should tell her what I’m thinking. But then I decide to go for it. “I’ve always loved the shop.” My voice is hoarse, tears threatening. “I was always jealous that it was going to be yours. But by the time I realized I’d want that too, you were already being prepped to take it over someday. There didn’t seem to be room for me.”

“There’s always room for you,” she whispers. “Always.”

I draw in a deep shuddering breath, tears leaking down my cheeks. “Yes,” I whisper. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She squeals and hugs me then tugs the folder from my hand and closes it. “Well? Then all your reasons for breaking up with Austin seem to be solved. Go get your man.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Austin

I’m playinga game of dominoes with my grandparents while we wait for the ham to cook for our Christmas dinner when there’s a knock at the door. Nana prepped the sides yesterday, so only a few other things need warming up once the ham is done, leaving time to relax and play a few rounds while we wait.

We had a low-key morning and a late breakfast, so our Christmas dinner will be at actual dinner time instead of the early afternoon meal I grew up having with my parents more often than not. I still haven’t decided if or when I’ll visit them.

Grampy’s head pops up from studying his dominoes at the knock. “Are we expecting someone?”

Nana and I both shake our heads. “I’ll get it,” Nana says, but I wave her back down.

“No, I’ll get it. You stay. Grampy and you can take your turns while I see who it is.” After laying my dominoes face down sono one will sneak a peek—Grampy’s known to cheat when the opportunity presents itself—I stand and go to the front door.

I’m not sure what or who I expect when I open the door—carolers, maybe? A neighbor with some cookies or candy or a card?—but it certainly isn’t Nora.

She stands on the front porch holding a round dish covered in foil in front of her like some kind of offering or shield. Maybe both.

My jaw clenches involuntarily at the sight of her, a lump forming in my throat immediately.

I never managed to catch a glimpse of her yesterday at ChristmasFest. The last time I saw her, she was wrapped in a towel, standing in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom in the Honeymooners Cabin. How foolish I was for thinking that maybe someday we could book a Honeymooners Cabin or suite somewhere for real. Eventually.

But no. I was the only one who had those kinds of feelings, those kinds of dreams. Nora only saw me as a convenient bit of fun while she’s home on Christmas Break. For all her talk of wanting to figure out what to do once she graduates, none of it included any chance of me.

“What do you want?” The question comes out gruff and angry.

“Who is it?” calls Nana from the table.

“Merry Christmas,” Nora offers in a small voice, pushing the pie toward me. “Can we talk?”

“Austin?” Grampy’s voice comes from behind me, closer than it should, and I glance over my shoulder to see he’s made his way into the living room. He’s gotten faster with his walker sincehe’s been following orders and not overdoing it. He’s the walking embodiment of slow and steady wins the race.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Nora says, a smile on her face, sounding totally normal like she didn’t rip my heart out less than forty-eight hours ago. “I brought one of my mom’s pies. It seems a little silly since, y’know, you’re?—”

“Nonsense,” Grampy interrupts. “Your mother’s pies are always delicious. We’ll happily take it off your hands. Why don’t you come in? Austin, step aside and let her into the house.”

Teeth grinding, I do as Grampy says, ignoring the look Nora throws my way.

She lets my grandparents usher her into the kitchen, Nana standing to take the pie. “We’ll have to save this for after dinner. Have you had Christmas dinner yet? We have plenty if you want to join us.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you to offer,” Nora says, once again casting a look in my direction. “Unfortunately, I’m expected back at home soon. I can’t stay long. I just needed to talk to Austin for a moment.”

“Well, okay. We’ll just give you two some space.”

Nana crosses into the living room to the coat closet by the front door, opens it, and begins pulling out her and Grampy’s coats.

“Nana, where are you going?” I ask, alarm filling me. What is she doing?

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