Page 26 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

She handed him a smaller pot. “Okay, now, you’re going to bring this water to a boil and then add the baking soda.”

Once he tipped over the measuring cup, he turned on the flame. “I’ll take some of this batch.”

“Sorry?”

He chuckled as if he’d been caught saying his thoughts out loud. “No, just that it only makes her feel better if I make them. She doesn’t want them if they come from the store.”

Did his cheeks turn pink with that confession? That’s adorable. “You two have such a special relationship.”

“Yeah, we do.” His eyes went warm with affection.

“Well, you can’t give her any unless you’ve tried them. Come on.” She reached for another one. “Soil that bodily temple.” She yanked it back. “Oh. Sorry. It’s not Christmas Day. You don’t have anything to celebrate.” She loved teasing him.

“I met you.” He made a gimme motion with his hand. “That’s reason enough.”

“Did you forget I don’t like charming men?” She offered him the cookie, but he was busy adding the baking soda, so she brought it to his mouth. “Taste.” She hadn’t considered the intimacy of feeding a man, but the way he watched her while he took a bite sent her pulse pounding.

“I wouldn’t know how to charm if you paid me. I mean it. I’m glad I met you.”

She stood so close that her hand itched to wrap around his big biceps. His masculine scent filled her senses, overriding the molasses and cinnamon. He smelled of clean clothes, expensive soap, and something uniquely Beau.

His dark hair gleamed in the overhead lights, and she was positive his blue eyes saw right through to her soul. “That’s good.”

Deep inside, she felt an emptiness, a carnal ache, that she instinctively knew only he could relieve. And so, she forced herself to step away. All these years, she hadn’t missed sex. Not at all. In fact, she was relieved when her ex stopped asking for it.

But right then, she could see how utterly essential that kind of intimacy was. That urgent, grinding, wild passion that made a woman lose her mind with the yearning to get as close as possible to her mate. “They really are.”

“Do you decorate them?”

“Oh, no. Aunt Lucy’s a no-frills woman.”

His eyebrows lifted as he gestured toward the kitchen where fresh garlands hung from the walls and wrapped around light fixtures and big baskets stuffed with cinnamon-scented pinecones rested on counters.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “What can I say? She’s a complicated woman. All I know is she likes the cookies plain.” When the water started to bubble, she turned off the flame. “Okay, go ahead and dump the cinnamon, cloves, and ginger into the flour.” She waited while he did it. “Perfect. Now, we’ll add everything to the sugar mixture.”

He poured the water and baking soda into the bowl of flour and spices and stirred until it was all incorporated. “Good?”

“Yep. And now, we form it into a rectangle, wrap it up, and stick it in the refrigerator. They’ll roll it out tomorrow and bake them.”

“Got it.” He dumped the dough onto a floured cutting board. “What’s the one thing you miss most from your former life?”

She had the plastic wrap on the teeth of the box, ready to slice it off, when every muscle in her body squeezed. Wait—could he tell she was missing sex? Was it that obvious? But then, she laughed when she realized he was just making conversation. “That’s an interesting question.”

“I just can’t stop thinking about what that son of a bitch did to you.”

She never should’ve told him her story. The last thing she wanted from anyone was pity. She thought she’d made that clear. She owned her part in what happened. “Look, I’m not a victim—”

“No, I know that. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about it. Because it wasn’t that long ago and look at you—you’re happy and strong and thriving. You’ve gone through an incredible process of self-reflection, and you’ve come out the other side, and it’s just so damn impressive. And I can’t help but wonder, out of everything you lost, what do you miss the most?”

“I miss having my family together. I mean, I get it. They grow up and go out into the world, but isn’t there always a home base, where they come for holidays or crash when things get tough? I told you my daughter’s getting married the first week in January?”

He nodded.

“Well, I’m a guest. I’m not hosting it in my backyard or helping her find a dress or a venue. I’m just… a guest. So, that’s it. I lost the thing I valued most in the world. A home base where my family can be together.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.” Finished wrapping up the dough, he lifted it. “I’ll put this in the fridge.”

As soon as he left, she started putting together the next mise en place. When he came back, she said, “I like how you don’t try to make it better for me. You don’t say, ‘You’re still a family. It just looks different now.’ Or, ‘You gave your kids all the tools they needed…’ or whatever. You listen. You hear me. And you understand. Thank you for that.”

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