Page 81 of Booked for the Holidays
He licks his lips again and I follow the movement of his tongue, marking each inch it covers. “I’m starting to think there might be a list. A rather exhaustive list, because every time I’m around you, I become more and more confused.”
“Confused about what?”
Darkened eyes grow an even deeper hue of brown. “How when I’m with you, everything is better. You make life fun. How I keep wondering what you–”
“Aren’t you two a hoot?” Lindsay says. She interrupts us, hand folding onto Theo’s shoulder. I want to peel her fingers away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up so we can keep our day moving along? Your employees are ready for us next door.”
We nod in unison, and Theo is the first to step away. He accepts a towel from one of the cameramen, tousling his hair to expel rogue chocolate chips. His smile vacillates, indifference replacing child-like joy.
I move back toward the group waiting to resume the session. From across the room his eyes find mine. A tantalizing glance, paying no attention to anyone except me. His gaze roams freely down my body. My hair. My chest. My legs. Back up. When he turns away, his mouth tilts again.
There’s a question behind the raised lip. A promise buried there, too.
He tosses a wink my way, concluding our showdown with a game-winning shot that makes me weak in the knees, happy to lose.
We’re not done with our conversation,the look says.
Good, I think.I want to hear more.
* * *
When we reunitewith the gang for the rest of our pictures it’s pandemonium. No one can keep a straight face. Someone sneezes. Malik’s phone beeps. Paint cans topple to the floor and Lucas throws confetti in the air. Professionalism goes out the window when Santa hats get put on everyone’s head. Everyone except Theo, who glares at Chandler when she covertly tries to sneak it over his hair.
We walk the photographers through our theme and design ideas, pointing out the half completed homemade figures. The lights lining the wall, making it appear like it’s snowing. We show off the yarn clothesline that will hang pictures of holidays from the past. The two menorahs Felicity brought in, ready to be lit in two weeks. Bradley shares the slideshow he’s putting together. After another forty-five minutes, last minute questions, and a few more photos, the magazine staff calls it a day and clears out.
“I made cookies!” I announce, placing the basket of treats on the counter. “We have less than three weeks until judging, y’all. Everything looks great so far. We’ll tweak the remaining decorations leading into the final days, including the fake snow and the cool light stuff Malik has been working on. Friday we’re doing the holiday hayride out at the DeLand farms. It’s going to be cold so bring a sweatshirt! We can organize carpooling in the group chat. Thanks for all your hard work.”
A flurry of movement answers me. Someone turns on the speakers, music playing. Hands grab for food. A flash of a cell phone camera goes off.
“No cookies for you?” Theo asks. He leans against a metal shelving unit and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I got my fill with the brownie batter earlier.”
“I think there’s still some flour on your face.”
“No thanks to you. Can’t wait to see how that shows up in a magazine. The editing they’ll have to do to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s stupid.”
He turns, facing me, and his brows furrow. “It’s not stupid. What’s going on?”
“My hair’s been frizzy all day. There’s dark circles under my eyes. My jeans are too tight. I don’t know. I normally love taking photos but a big camera in your face is invasive. I’m sure my flaws will broadcast for all to see. And in ten countries, too!”
“You’re not serious.”
Now it’s my turn to face him. “Serious about what?”
“This… thisflawsnonsense.”
“I’m partially kidding. I’m sure they’ll photoshop the shit out of it and I’ll look as good as new.”
“Bridget. Those aren’t flaws. Your hair isn’t frizzy, but if you think it is it’s only because we live in an actual hellhole and you spend six hours a day bending over a hot oven. You have dark circles under your eyes because you bust your butt, frequently and excessively. And then you go out of your way to help others, too, because you’re that kind of person. Your jeans make your legs look like they stretch on for miles and…” He rubs his lips together. “They look great. I think you look great. All the time.”
“Y-you do?”
“Yeah. I do. So if you think you’re flawed, I guess I’m flawed too, because I like those parts of you. And if being someone who likes your flaws is wrong, then screw being right.”
