Page 18 of Catch Yourself a Snowmance
“Okay. Probably not, unless I’ll offend you.”
“No. I want it. Here. Trade.”
She hands me the uneaten part of her s’more. And I swap her for mine. We finish our treats in silence, taking in the conversationaround us.
We all hang around the fire talking and laughing for the rest of the night until someone starts yawning. Pretty soon that yawn travels.
“I’m going to head up to bed,” Liam says.
“Me too,” Jennifer says.
I stand up and start grabbing trash and skewers, everyone else pitches in. Alyssa and I take our places at the sink, standing side by side to wash the skewers.
She’s scrubbing, I’m rinsing and drying. Our friends start to say goodnight one by one.
“See you in the morning,” Noelle says, giving Alyssa a side hug and smiling over at me.
And then we’re alone.
The murmurs of sounds from bathrooms down the hall and upstairs, and people shuffling and talking in their bedrooms filter in like white noise in the background.
“I actually do make a good dessert,” Alyssa says quietly, turning off the water.
She grabs a towel off a hook on the wall and wipes a spot on the counter.
I watch her. She’s efficient, but not uptight. There’s a care to the way she cleans, like she knows she’s preparing things for the next day—as if closing out this kitchen is the way she gives a little something back to Noelle, even though this cabin is nothing like what we had been led to imagine we’d be staying in.
“What?” she asks, looking over at me.
“Nothing. I’m just watching you.”
I smile at her. The light in here is dim, but I think she’s blushing.
“So, what’s this dessert?” I ask.
My voice sounds a bit lower and drowsy, even to my ears.
“Huh?”
“The dessert. The one you make.”
“Oh. My apple fritters are to die for. Noelle even says they’re the first thing she craves when fall rolls around.”
“Apple fritters. No offense, but that sounds a lot better than burnt s’mores.”
She smiles. “For the less discerning palettes, I think they probably are.”
“Less discerning, huh?”
I nearly push off the counter I’m leaning on and walk over to her. I cross my arms to keep myself anchored in place. Two days with her is wearing on me like water hitting the same spot on a stone.
“I’ll have to make you some after we’re back home,” she offers easily. “Then you’ll see. I can make a dessert that will have you literally licking the plate clean.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Guaranteed.”
I like the idea of her baking for me more than I can say. The only person who ever bakes for me is my mom, and that’s only when I come around to visit.
