Page 41 of Cross Check Christmas
"Yeah." He straightens, giving me a tired nod. He's already distracted, checking his phone.
Colette's smile falters slightly. I jump in, "You remember Colette from high school, right? She was in my grade."
Liam looks up, squinting at her like she's a particularly confusing crossword puzzle. "Who?"
"Colette McAllister?" Her voice goes up at the end, hopeful.
Liam squints at her, clearly drawing a blank. "Sorry, lot of faces from back then."
"Oh." Colette's cheeks flush pink. "Well, thank you for the tickets. It was really nice of you to think of me."
Liam's frown deepens. "What tickets?"
"The... the box seats? You texted me about having extra tickets?"
"Why would I have box seats for an away game?" Liam shrugs. "And I definitely didn't text anyone."
Wait. What? I know for a fact Gran and Aunt Goldie arranged this whole thing, but pretending to text from Liam’s number is pretty out there even for them. Gran still types with one finger and calls emojis "those little yellow faces."
So why does Colette think...
The temperature in the hallway seems to drop ten degrees as Colette turns to me, the hurt evident on her face before it hardens into something else. Her eyes blaze. If looks could kill, I'd be a pile of ash on the floor.
"You." The word comes out like a curse. "You set this up?"
"I didn't?—"
"I should go find Emily," she says through clenched teeth.
"Colette, wait." But she's already storming off down the corridor.
Liam gives me an apathetic look. "What was that about?"
"I have no idea." But I do, and it's got Grannie Bell and Auntie Marigold written all over it. But somehow, this is absolutely going to be my fault.
14
COLETTE
Ishuffle through Grannie's front door with my plate of gingerdoodles—a hybrid between gingersnaps and snickerdoodles that took me three tries to perfect this afternoon. Baking always helps me process my emotions, and boy, did I have some processing to do.
The house smells like butter, vanilla, and cinnamon - a combination that would normally lift my spirits, but today just reminds me of how Hendrix manipulated me.
"Colette, dear! Come in, come in!" Grannie Bell waves me over to her judging table, already laden with plates of cookies. "I was worried you wouldn't make it."
"I wouldn't miss the annual cookie bake-off." I force a smile, knowing full well I wouldn’t have come this year if Hendrix were still in town.
The kitchen buzzes with activity as neighbors crowd around, their own cookie offerings filling the air with cinnamon, nutmeg, and competitive tension. Mrs. Fraser's famous shortbread sits next to Mrs. Patel’s chocolate crackles, both looking picture-perfect.
Mrs. Fraser eyes my cookies. "Gingerdoodle? How... unique."
I bite back a retort. The last thing I need is to get on the bad side of the Peppertree Lane Christmas committee. Besides, my mind is too preoccupied with wondering if Hendrix managed to get home okay. Not that I care. He deserved it after that stunt he pulled.
"These are stunning, dear." Grannie lifts one of my cookies, examining the intricate royal icing design. "Such delicate work."
"Thank you." I manage a smile, though inside I'm still seething about last night's disaster. The nerve of that man, letting me believe?—
"Speaking of delicate matters..." Grannie's eyes twinkle as she leans in close. "Heinrich never came home last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
