Page 47 of Wishing for Christmas
At least,that was what he’d thought at the time. After last night, Brent was rethinking everything. He lowered the jack stands, bringing the truck back down to the floor. Maybe he had been wrong about all of it. Maybe he had misjudged her reaction. Brent began to doubt everything he believed to be true. He didn’t know what to think anymore. If Clara hadn’t viewed the gift with the same significance he had, then could the same be said for their entire relationship?
Brent popped the hood and opened the fill cap. He poured in a new bottle of oil while making a mental note to get in touch with one of the squadron counselors, just to be safe. In the meantime, Brent knew he needed to relax and try not to make too much out of it for Clara’s sake. He reasoned there must be some logical explanation for her strange behavior. Perhaps they simply needed some more time together. When they put thetopic of the deployment behind them, everything seemed to be perfect. Perhaps he needed to stop focusing on the past year and instead look forward to the new memories they were making.
He screwed the fill cap back on, then checked the dipstick. Flawless. He wiped his hands with a cloth. Brent put away his tools, eager to turn his attention toward more pleasant things.
With perfect timing, the blare of a car horn jerked his head up and away from his thoughts. Clara pulled into his driveway, a mischievous smile peeking out above the steering wheel.
His mood instantly lightened. At least she was still showing up, still eager to share in all of his well-planned Christmas activities. Besides, there was one thing he knew for sure; they were going to have fun together. They always did. He just needed to make sure the topic of the deployment didn’t come up.
Brent watched Clara as they went inside together. He noticed her eyes brighten at the sight of his kitchen. It was small and homey—but now—it was also full of Christmas. He was thrilled to finally get to use it with her today, his first time since being back. He wasn’t much of a cook, and with Clara at the hotel most evenings, he’d been picking up his dinners from the café down the road. His white granite counters and matching cabinets were clean and sparkling, having been completely untouched for the past year.
Brent had gone to the base exchange when he’d returned to stock up on some items he thought would add some flavor. He’d hung a large wreath over the window and two snowman dish towels draped from the oven. A long garland full of lights now lined the tops of all the kitchen cabinets.
He had all the ingredients they needed for several types of cookies, all lined up and ready to go. He’d spent nearly an hour getting the kitchen organized for baking that morning.Just like with anything else, good preparation was the key to success. Whether it was making cookies or making plans for the future,Brent needed to know he still had some control over his life. Even printing out a recipe or two gave him that warm and fuzzy feeling that hard work would yield results.
“Here, got you this.” He tossed Clara a gingerbread-style apron with a row of colorful gumdrops down the middle.
She caught it in her free hand. The other picked up a red spatula with white snowflakes on it. “Love it,” she said. “But where’s yours?”
Brent pulled out a matching apron from the bag and tied it around his waist.
“You’re full of surprises today, Major McNally.”
Brent could tell Clara was happy to be there, and that made him feel more relief than he knew he needed. He never knew with her lately. So far, things today seemed to be rolling along nicely, ready for a smooth takeoff.
He started a Christmas playlist on his phone. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” began to play, and he instantly skipped to the next song. Brent loved Christmas music and all, but he must have heard that song at least a thousand times over the past couple of weeks. Even he had his limits. Instead, someone else started singing about a Christmas tree farm. He smirked at the reminder of their outing the other day.
“So, what are we making today, chef?” Clara tied on her apron and grabbed a mixing bowl.
“A lot of cookies.” He glanced down at his list on the counter. “Sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodles . . .” He looked up with a grin. “And, of course, gingersnaps.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that all?” she joked. “What in the world are we going to do with all those cookies?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan for that.”
“Of course you do.”
Brent reached over to grab his organized bundle of notecards. “I’ve got the recipes for each, all printed out with the necessary ingredients laid out by each type.”
“Impressive.”
“Okay, let’s get started on the sugar cookies first. They’ll need longer to cool so we can ice and decorate them.”
Clara gave him a salute. “Roger.”
He pulled the measuring spoons from a drawer and narrowed his eyes, deciding which to use.
“Come on, let’s get baking,” she said, tossing a sprinkle of sugar at him.
His eyes popped open. Brent turned toward the bag of flour behind him and reached inside. He grabbed a handful and tossed it back at her. It was about time this kitchen had a little mess in it. He reached for Clara’s hand and spun her around to the music. She let out a delighted scream. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. Brent ran a hand along her cheek, then twirled her again and leaned her backward. Her hair cascaded behind her. He dipped his head and kissed her on the lips with a mood that matched his enthusiasm. When he pulled back, they were both out of breath. His heart was racing. They locked eyes.
He stood her back up and let out a long exhale. Brent looked around his kitchen, and he felt his chest grow warm. He couldn’t think of anything in the world he’d rather be doing at the moment than this. He looked at her again.
Clara gazed back at him, her eyes drifting to his mouth. Her cheeks were pink.
He leaned in closer, lowering his head, ready to meet her lips again.
Instead, she stuck out her thumb and wiped the tip of his nose. “Got some sugar there.”
