Page 9 of Booked for Christmas

I press my fingers into the sugary mix, enjoying the sticky sensation as it creeps into every crevice of my hands. The motion of kneading dough relaxes me, more things on my mind than I care to admit. Lifting a hand, I wipe at an itch on my forehead with the back of my wrist.

My eyes dart up, landing briefly on the box of abandoned decorations by the couch.We still need a tree. I sigh. My usual cheer and excitement for Christmas is severely lacking this year, and I can only attribute it to George’s betrayal.

I smack the dough roughly as a tear slips down my cheek.

“These cookies aren’t going to bake themselves,” I mutter, wiping my cheek on my shoulder. Sniffling, I start pressing the sugar cookie dough flat before I reach out and wrap my sticky fingers around the rolling pin beside me. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do than bake.

I roll the dough out with extra force, my mind stuck on the breakup. George hadn’t even bothered to put pants on when I walked into our apartment to find him banging his secretary.His goddamned secretary!I smack the counter hard, the betrayal and fury rushing back full force. The door swings open, and I lift my head, meeting Hadlee’s startled gaze.

“Are you angry baking again?” she asks, closing the door and tossing her keys into the small bowl on the entryway table. I sigh, relinquishing my tight grip on the rolling pin. She toes off her heels and holds out the bag in her hand. “I brought Chinese.”

“Oh good!” I rub the excess dough from my hands before moving back to the sink to wash my hands again. “I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

“You know you shouldn’t skip meals, Jana,” Hadlee scolds. Words neither of us say hang in the air, a constant reminder of my eating disorder.

“It was an accident, I swear. Mrs. F is still out, and the bakery got crazy, and I just…forgot,” I say in my defense. While thatisthe truth, it’s not the only reason. I gesture to the pile of mail I dropped on the coffee table before I started to bake. “They’re gettingmarried.”

Hadlee sets the bag of food on the table and picks up the offending piece of mail as she drops onto the couch. I grab two glasses and a bottle of wine before walking around to sit beside her. Hadlee’s brow furrows into a frown, her lips pinching in anger.

“Why would she evenlethim invite you?” she asks, tossing her glossy black hair over her shoulder. She tears the cream-colored paper in half and drops it to the coffee table. “I wouldhateto have an ex show up to my wedding, but knowing he invited her? That’s just wrong on so many levels.”

She shakes her head and starts pulling boxes out of the bag. I fiddle with the wine bottle, struggling to open it with my mind elsewhere. George and I dated for a year and a half, and I genuinely thought I would marry him—until I realized he’d been cheating for the second half of our relationship.

“What iswrongwith me?” I ask, pressure building behind my eyes for the third time today. Hadlee takes the wine and pops it open, pouring us each a glass before turning to face me. “Am I just…unlovable?”

“George is an idiot.” She pushes my hair away from my face and rubs her thumb over my chin. “You had flour on your face.”

“Okay, so George is an idiot,” I say, dropping my face into my hands. I can’t argue with her statement, because Georgeisan idiot. “What about Jonathon? I dated him for three years.Three years, Lee, and what do I have to show forthatrelationship? Fucking trust issues, that’s what.”

“Who sleeps with their TA anyway?” I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but I can’t keep the tears back, even as a laugh pours from me. Hadlee pats my back softly. “Jonathon was an idiot, too, Jana.”

I lift my head, dashing the traitorous tears away, and reach for my glass. I swish the red liquid around in the glass, trying to ignore the way my heart sinks in my chest. “So what? I just have terrible taste in men?”

She looks at me with thatpoor Janalook, and I sigh, shaking my head.

“You just haven’t foundthe one, yet,” she says, rubbing soothing circles over my back.

“The one?” I bite out a belittling laugh. “Maybe there’s no such thing.”

“Just give it some time.” She sounds so certain, I nod, letting her words assure me. “You’ll find him.”

???

“Jana, I—sorry, sweetie,” Mrs. Filly says, her voice cutting in and out. “We’ve b—snowed in, and I w—make it back—til they—”

Her words cut out completely, and I stare at my phone screen in shock. Thecall droppednotice flashes before the screen goes dark. Quinn, the assistant manager of The Little Button, stares expectantly at me, her brown eyes darting to the phone in my hands. Her jaw works as she chews her bubble gum, then blows a bubble the size of her face.

“Well?” she asks, drawing out the word. “When is she coming back?”

“They’re snowed in,” I say, rubbing a hand down my face. “She’s probably not going to be back before Christmas.”

“I don’t know why she called you,” she says with a sigh, glaring at the wall behind my head. I don’t know either, so I keep quiet, waiting for her to decide. With Mrs. F out for the rest of the holiday season, Quinn is in charge. She twirls a strand of her red hair around a perfectly manicured finger, her chewing speeding up with anticipation. “Well, if she’s not going to be here for the festival, I guess that means you’ll need to stay on the booth while I manage the bakery.”

“Wait, what?” Staying on the booth wasnotan option. Not only is the idea of overseeing something so obviously important to the community horrifying, but I’m not about to buddy up with the only man in town who apparentlyhatesChristmas.

“You’re in charge of the booth.”

“I would really rather work in the bakery, Quinn,” I say.

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