Page 33 of Best I Never Had

“Cookies?” I ask, holding up the bag containing about four or five cookies that smell amazing even through the plastic seal.

“I baked them,” he answers.

“You?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “You baked these?”

He shrugs. “I made some of my mom’s oatmeal cookies not too long ago, and the baking bug bit me.”

“What kind are these?” I ask, rippingopen the bag and inhaling the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Snickerdoodle.”

My mouth spreads into a gleeful grin as I take a large bite out of a cookie, leaving behind teeth marks that rival the Cookie Monster’s. The flavors dance on my tongue. Everything that reminds me of fall and warmth and sugar is mixed together to make me take another large bite.

“These are amazing, Hayden.”

I reach out to offer him one, but he refuses.

“Those are yours,” he says. “I have plenty at home.”

“Oh good,” I say through a full mouth. “’Cause I didn’t really feel like sharing.”

He laughs as he watches me eat greedily.

“Seriously, Hayden. I can’t believe you made these.”

“Well, believe it, lab partner.” He turns to reach into his backpack for his binder. “I added ground ginger to the recipe. I read somewhere that it makes the flavors pop.”

I silently nod while I listen. I practically inhale the rest of the cookie while the crumbs fall onto my open notebook.

“I’m thinking of making a vanilla cake next. At least, once I can hunt down this rare vanilla bean that’s only sold in specialty stores.”

My eyes widen as I push down a rough swallow. “Oh my god, Hayden. If you do, please let me try some. I promise I will be the best taste tester in the world.”

He chuckles. “I’ll make sure to save you a piece,” he says, just as Mr. Khan closes the door to our classroom to signal the start of class. I brush the crumbs off my hands and carefully tuck the rest of the cookies into my backpack.

Hayden’s gaze lingers on my hand as I pat the puffed pouch of the front pocket, securing them safely so I can enjoy them later. A light smirk presses the shallow dip in his dimple before he turns to face the front of the classroom.

“I’mglad you like them, Marquez,” he whispers over the droning of Mr. Khan’s voice calling over our classroom for roll call.

present

Fall has always been my favorite season. The leaves start to become a palette of colors as the air becomes crisp, and the scent of everything pumpkin and cinnamon wafts into the air. Or at least the storefronts of every Starbucks nestled within the streets of New York City. This is my eighth fall in Manhattan, and it’s by far the best place to experience it. But aside from the change in temperature, it’s the air of expectancy that I love the most. Each passing week means I’m that much closer to the usual holiday festivities that bring me and my sisters back home, like presents on Christmas morning and champagne flutes of sparkling cider on New Year’s Eve.

My sisters and I grew up partaking in various seasonal activities. Painting eggs on Easter, lighting fireworks on Fourth of July, shopping for a real tree the second week of December. And now that we’re adults, we’ve established our own set of traditions.

When Matteo first introduced me to apple picking, it was by accident. His colleague brought it up at work and when he mentioned it to me, I thought it would be fun, inviting Carmen along with us. After that, we went every year, adding to the list of holiday-themed traditions we’ve collected since we were children.

Today’s the day of our apple picking feat, and I just received a text from Hayden fifteen minutes ago letting me know that he’s on his way. I’m finishing getting ready, dressing myself in a warm, cream-colored sherpa sweater, fitted jeans, and my ever-so-trusty Doc Martens when I text him back with a simpleokay. I took the time to braid my hair into two long pigtails, Dutch braiding them to lightly trail down my shoulders. After tying up the tough laces of my boots, I walk into the living room just as David buzzes Hayden up.

I open our front door, timing the minutes it takes to get there from the bottom floor to the elevator and through the narrow hallway, just as Hayden rounds the corner to my right.

“Hey, lab partner,” he calls, coming to a stop at the doorway. His gaze drops, his eyes fixed on my feet for a few seconds before traveling back up.

“You want to come in for a minute?” I offer.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds quiet, his answer coming out as a deep sigh in place of his usual composed response. He closes the door behind him, and his hand cups the back of his neck at the same time he shakes his head.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

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