Page 77 of A Very Merry Enemy
Holiday grabs a knife and carefully cuts the cookie bar into fat squares. She places a slice on a plate and scoots it toward me.
“Shall we?” she asks.
“Together,” I tell her, slicing it in half.
Crumbs fall to the ground as we pick each of our halves up.
“On the count of three,” she says.
We tap the pastry like we’re toasting with wineglasses, then take a bite.
“It’s missing something. It needs sea salt on top,” I tell her. “To counteract the richness.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes, I think you’re right. Do you have some?”
“Yeah.” After we sprinkle the salt on top of another piece and halve it, we pop it into our mouths.
She moans. This is fucking torture.
“It needed that,” I say. “Perfect cookie bar.”
Holiday reaches for the salt and somehow knocks the box over. It tips to the side and crashes to the floor, spilling everywhere.
“Shit,” she says.
I chuckle, and we kneel at the same time to pick it up. Leaning forward, I pinch some salt and throw it over her shoulder. She does the same for me.
“No bad luck for either of us,” I say. It’s one of Mawmaw’s rules. Salt gets spilled, salt over the shoulder.
We stand, and we’re close enough that I can see her pulse jumping in her throat. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Close enough that if I just leaned forward?—
“Lucas,” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
She doesn’t finish what she was going to say, but neither of us moves.
Another second passes. Two. Three. An eternity could slip away right now and I’d welcome it.
Her phone buzzes, pulling her attention away, and the moment is lost.
“It was just Sammy checking in.”
I sprinkle salt on the tray of bars and take another square. It’s so fucking good, it makes me moan.
Holiday turns red.
Every instinct is screaming at me to close this distance and finally taste her lips again after fifteen years. But I can’t.
“I should sweep up this mess.” It gives me an opportunity to break away from her.
“Sorry about that,” she tells me. “Also, the salt is a perfect touch.”
“We should make some of these for Mawmaw to try on Sunday.”
“Yeah.” Holiday chuckles. “These won’t last until then.”
“No chance. I think it’s the one. This recipe has everything. Tastes like the holidays.”
