Page 71 of Spicy or Sweet
“Ten.”
Nico nods, his face lighter than I’ve seen in a long time. “I know I missed when you first opened the patisserie, but I’m not going to miss any more. I’ll be there.”
35
NOELLE
I’m starting to think that Shay seriously undersold her board game abilities. Since we made things official, she’s joined me at every family dinner, most of which end with a board game. The only time she lost was last weekend, when we’d been up since three a.m. because we had to drive to Cheyenne to pick up the new bakery sign, because there was a delay and they couldn’t ship it to us in time. A thirteen-hour round trip, and she still came second.
Pre-Christmas is the official start of the Christmas season in our house—we celebrate year-round, of course, but Rora’s birthday always falls a few days before Thanksgiving, so we don’t go full out until after that. I was sure the Christmas board games would foil her, but she takes first place in Christmas-themed Scrabble with seemingly zero effort, and she’s never been sexier than when she plays JINGLES for 119 points.
She fits in with my family like she was always supposed to be here. It helps that they’ve been spending a lot of time together. No one was surprised to hear that I wouldn’t be reopening The Enchanted Bakery, or that Shay and I were going to be working together going forward. Apparently, it wasn’t a secret how miserable I was running the bakery. My family was giving mespace but planning an intervention for after Christmas if I was still so unhappy.
I’m not.
My parents and Uncle Henry (and Sunny) have been amazing, splitting their time between helping Shay and me set up the new bakery and helping out at The Enchanted Workshop now that the Christmas season is in full swing. Rora took a last-minute job at a local ski lodge, covering for their photographer for a couple of weeks, to get away from the festivities. That’s not to say she hasn’t helped with our new bakery; she single-handedly designed our new branding, website, and did a beautiful photoshoot for us. And, though she might complain about Wintermore at this time of year, she still showed up to pre-Christmas dinner and dutifully put on the “Mrs. Claus” sweater that my mom handed her.
It’s clearly a not-so-subtle hint, considering my uncle Henry’s matching “Santa Claus” sweater. I know my parents are dying for them to get married, mostly because they want Rora to legally be a Whitten. Both Rora and Uncle Henry have been going by Stanley-Whitten since Sunny was born, but I don’t think either of them is in a rush to plan a wedding, especially not if they’re trying to have another baby. I’m surprised they haven’t eloped, to be honest.
When Rora and my uncle Henry continue to dodge the hints my parents are dropping their way, Shay and I become their targets. Shay, mostly.
“Have you ever been married, Shay?” my mom asks, and Rora snorts, probably just happy the attention isn’t on her anymore.
“I got divorced four years ago, but I was married for seventeen years.”
“Seventeen?” Felix says, his jaw practically on the floor. “Damn. I can’t imagine being with someone that long.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Rora tosses a pillow at him.
Shay doesn’t seem to mind—she’s used to Felix at this point.
As she’s telling my parents about Philippe, Felix leans over and whispers, “You would’ve been nine when Shay got married.”
“Right,” I reply. “So that’s one year older than Abigail was when you graduated high school.”
His face turns scarlet, and I snuggle into Shay’s side, satisfied. Do I feel a little bad that Felix clearly has the biggest crush of his life on the one person he absolutely can’t have without ruining his relationship with his best friend? Of course I do. On the other hand… I’m his sister—if I don’t humble him, who will?
I yawn, and Shay looks over at me, her gray eyes reflecting the twinkling Christmas tree lights. “Sleepy,mon délice?”
“A little,” I admit.
“You two should head up to bed. Big day tomorrow,” my dad says, and I’m on my feet, tugging Shay toward the stairs, bidding everyone goodnight, before he’s finished speaking.
My parents don’t insist that we all stay on holidays, but they like it when we do. Even Rora, Uncle Henry, and Sunny, who live across the street, are staying.
I took most of my stuff with me when I moved, so my childhood bedroom is mostly old trinkets andGrey’s Anatomyposters I’ve had since I was twelve.
Shay peruses the room, no doubt cataloguing the alarming number of Addison posters. She looks at me, eyebrow raised.
“She was my lesbian awakening.”
“Good choice,” Shay hums. “Alanis Morrisette for me. I lost my virginity at a house party my junior year of high school on an inflatable couch listening to ‘You Oughta Know.’”
“I couldn’t have guessed any part of that sentence. Jesus,” I say after laughing so hard my abs hurt. “Damn, that’s a much better story than mine. Also junior year, but a plain old bed—not that one, I got a new one when I graduated college—listening to her One Direction playlist. She cried for three hours after and called her mom to come pick her up at like two a.m. because she was homesick.” It’s no wonder that Mayor Blackwood doesn’t like me.
“Three hours? Damn.” Shay peers at my bed. “Did you bring a lot of people back here before me?”
“Oh sure,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. She steps closer, and I spread my legs so she can tuck herself between them. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Wintermore is full of queer women, and they’re all breaking my door down to get to me.”
