Page 63 of Noel
Roxie wheels out a silver tray like she’s unveiling the crown jewels.
There must be two dozen varieties, each more intricate than the last—powdered, drizzled, dipped, and filled.
“This is our international holiday cookie sampler,” she announces with pride.“Inspired by traditions from around the world.”
Holly gasps, then claps her hands like a little kid.
“Oh my god, Roxie, you outdid yourself.”
I’m trying to stay professional, really, but then she beams at the tray like Christmas just came early and my heart does something stupid in my chest.
“These are Italian anistette cookies,” Roxie says, pointing to the pale, glazed rounds with rainbow sprinkles.“Classic nonna-style.They have that licorice kick—old school.”
I bite into one.
It melts in my mouth, soft and sweet with a punch of anise that reminds me of holidays spent with my own grandma, may she rest in peace.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.“These are my favorite so far.”
“I knew you had good taste,” Holly teases, brushing her fingers along mine as she reaches for one too.
I nearly groan.
Roxie moves on.
“These beauties are Germanzimtsterne—cinnamon star cookies.Gluten free, packed with almond and spice, topped with meringue.”
I watch Holly’s eyes flutter closed as she takes a bite.
“Ridiculously good,” she murmurs.
“Up next, Polishkolaczki,” Roxie continues, tapping the folded pastries filled with raspberry jam.“Delicate, flaky, fruity.Your gala guests will fight over these.”
I don’t even taste them.I just watch her.
The way her lips curve.The way her lashes fan out when she concentrates.
The way she scribbles tasting notes in her planner like this is the most important thing in the world.
And maybe it is.To her.
She’s not just working.She’s creating a moment for people.Magic.Memory.
“This one is Norwegiankrumkake—rolled and filled with whipped cream,” Roxie adds, passing the crispy cones.“And over here, Mexicanpolvorones—aka Mexican wedding cookies.Nutty, crumbly, powdered sugar heaven.”
Holly hums.“These could work as a take-home treat.Something guests can bag on the way out.”
“Brilliant,” Roxie says, jotting it down.
I’m leaning back, arms folded, trying to keep it together.Because me?
I’m completely fucking wrecked.
She doesn’t even know it.
But I’m done for.
And it’s not just her curves or her laugh or the way she eats a cookie like it might bite her back if she’s not careful.
