Page 8 of Offside for Christmas
"Not too much clove?"
"Perfect amount of clove."
"Not too sweet?"
"Mom. It's perfect. Everything you make is perfect."
Caroline beamed, then turned back toward the kitchen. "Amber! Your sister's here!"
"I know," came Amber's voice from somewhere in the back. "I'm not deaf."
Ellie's younger sister emerged a moment later, phone in hand, looking the way twenty-one-year-olds always seemed to look—effortlessly cool in ripped jeans and an oversized sweater,dark hair in a messy bun, minimal makeup highlighting features that were sharper than Ellie's softer ones.
"Hey." Amber didn't look up from her phone.
"Hey yourself."
"Mom wants to know if you're bringing anyone to Christmas Eve dinner." Still not looking up.
"Amber!" Caroline's voice carried from the kitchen.
"What? You do!" Amber finally glanced up, smirking. "Translation: are you still single, because Aunt Marie keeps asking and Mom's running out of excuses."
Ellie felt the familiar prickle of defensiveness crawling up her spine. "I'm twenty-seven and perfectly happy with my life."
"Of course you are, sweetie," Caroline called out. "But wouldn't it be nice to have someone to share the holidays with? Someone special?"
"I share the holidays with you guys. And Sophie. And the team. I'm good."
Amber set down her phone, finally giving Ellie her full attention. "Translation: still single, still pretending she doesn't care."
"I don't care."
"Liar."
"Amber—"
"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking." Amber grabbed her own cookie from the cooling rack. "You've been single since Marcus, which was like, a million years ago—"
"Three and a half years."
"—and you haven't even gone on a date. That's not 'perfectly happy.' That's 'scared.'"
Ellie felt something sharp lodge in her chest. "I'm not scared. I'm selective."
"You're hiding."
"I'm focusing on my career."
"You're making excuses."
"Girls," Caroline interjected, appearing in the doorway with diplomatic timing honed over decades of refereeing sister fights.
"Ellie honey, don't forget you're running the cookie decorating station at the festival this year." Caroline pulled a tray of gingerbread cookies from the oven, the warm scent of molasses and spice filling the kitchen. "Your father's doing the gingerbread house display."
"You mean Ellie volunteered for it," Amber said.
Ellie grabbed another cookie from the cooling rack, mostly to have something to do with her hands. "Someone has to do it."
