Page 42 of Cross Check Christmas
My stomach drops thinking about?—
Wait a minute.
“Did you just call him… Heinrich?”
Grannie rolls her eyes. “That boy! He doesn’t care for the name that German father of his gave him, well fine. But what kind of name is Hendrix?”
Goldie tuts from the other side of the room. “Cha! Millenials!”
I’m already doing the math in my head. “I don’t think we’re millennials, actually.”
“Well?” Grannie waggles her brows. “Wheredidour Heinrich spend the night? Hmmm?”
"I, uh... probably at his condo?” I say, wondering how he got home.
The guilt I've been suppressing since abandoning him at the Blizzard Dome resurfaces with a vengeance, but then I remember his smug face when Liam revealed he never texted me.
During the game, I actually enjoyed myself. Emily and Maggie were wonderful company, and the box seats wereincredible. For a minute, I’d thought about abandoning my plan entirely.
I'd at least planned to at least drop him at his condo before heading to Emily's. That was the decent thing to do. But when Liam looked at me like I was a stranger, and I realized Hendrix had orchestrated the whole thing, I just left him there. The memory of his face when I turned and walked away still burns.
For a second, I almost turned around. Almost.
Then I remembered how he let me believe Liam had reached out to me. How he watched me make a fool of myself in front of his brother. The memory still burns, hot enough to chase away any remaining guilt.
Well, most of it anyway.
"Mhmm." Grannie winks suggestively. "His condo, you say?"
"Yes, his condo. Where he lives. Alone." I straighten my cardigan, willing my face to cool down. "Oh wow! Who brought the rum balls? I love those."
"Well,” Grannie says, “I hope he at least had a good breakfast. Though some things are sweeter than breakfast, wouldn't you agree, dear?"
“I wouldn’t know anything about breakfast,” I say quickly. "I didn't eat until I got home."
Oh dear Lord, I'm making it worse. By the morning, the whole town will think I spent the night with Hendrix Ellis.
The truth is, my stomach was too knotted up to stop for breakfast.
I'd barely slept at Emily and Owen's, tossing and turning in their luxurious guest room. Their house was gorgeous—all modern angles and floor-to-ceiling windows—but I couldn't enjoy it. By 5 AM, I'd scribbled a thank-you note and snuck out.
Grannie winks, patting my arm. "Of course you didn't, dear."
I trip over words trying to clear things up, but she's already moved on, playing the perfect hostess.
"These cookies won't judge themselves!" she announces to the room, effectively ending our conversation. "Let the tasting begin!"
She positions herself next to her daughter, Goldie—the two ladies holding court, like judges on the Baking Channel. I watch them sample each entry with theatrical consideration, willing myself to count my blessings now that things are back to normal. To think I almost didn't come to Grannie's cookie contest this year. Because of Hendrix. But he's gone now. Back in Toronto where he belongs. That's what I wanted, right?
So why does this victory feel so hollow?
The judging continues as I help myself to another glass of wine and some prosciutto-wrapped melon. Mrs. Fraser keeps shooting me concerned looks as I pile more cheese onto my plate. Whatever. I'm not driving. It's fine.
"And the winner is..." Grannie pauses for dramatic effect, "Jessica's Chocolate Orange Pinwheels!"
My neighbor two doors down squeals, bouncing her baby on her hip as she accepts her prize—a golden rolling pin spray-painted by Grannie herself. Jessica's cookies did look amazing, with perfect swirls of dark chocolate and orange-tinted dough.
"The orange zest really made them pop," Goldie declares, already reaching for another one.
