Page 6 of Gift of You
“You want me to decorate cookies with you?” His voice was incredulous, making me feel defensive, but I barreled on.
“I mean, you don’t have to... But I do have all these cookies, and I don’t know... it’s more fun with help.”
I wasn’t even sure why I wanted him to stay so badly. Maybe it was the act of one lonely soul recognizing another... and it was Christmas Eve. I’d made the choice to stay here instead of heading to Texas with the rest of my family. I could have driven back home after the wedding and caught a flight, but I’d wanted—no, needed—to take a week for myself. Maybe I was a coward, but I hadn’t wanted to spend the holidays answering questions about my dating life from people who meant well but only made me feel worse. Especially when my mom shot me those little worried glances when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I let out a defeated sigh when he just continued to stand there blinking at me. “It’s fine. I was planning to do it all myself anyway. I’m sorry I disturbed your evening.”
I stepped off the chair, turning my back to him, and set the baking sheet on the counter. Thankfully, I’d already managed to bake most of the cookies before the smoke detector went off, though the most recent batch were ruined since I’d had to turnthe oven off and open the door, letting the heat out. I took the pan from the oven over to the waste bin and began scraping the cookies into the trash, when Matthew finally spoke up behind me.
“My late wife used to bake cookies every Christmas.”
I paused, but didn’t turn. Great, now I’d managed to bring up memories of the man’s dead wife. It was settled. I was going to have to spend the rest of the week avoiding this guy at all costs. Surely he hated me by now. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I scraped the last cookie into the trash then turned. “And I’m sorry if this”—I gestured vaguely around the kitchen—“I don’t know, poked at a sore spot, I guess.”
“They’re always sore spots. The memories of her. They’re like a bruise that won’t heal.”
“Maybe they’re not meant to heal. Maybe they exist so we don’t forget.”
He huffed out a laugh, completely devoid of humor. “You ever lost anyone you loved?”
“No. I’ve never been in love,” I whispered. “No one’s ever...” I waved my hand in front of my face, dismissing the thought. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I’ve never had that, and I shouldn’t have said anything.” I reached over and set the cookie sheet in the sink for washing. “I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. I’ll just try to stay out of your way while I’m here. I’ve obviously disrupted your peace enough.”
My shoulders slumped in relief as he turned to go. I could feel a good wallow coming on. Best to do that in private with a bottle of wine. Though after this morning’s champagne-induced hangover, perhaps I’d have to rethink the wine part.
I heard the door snick shut, but when the floor creaked behind me, I turned to see Matthew coming toward me, rolling up his sleeves. “What can I do to help?”
“Oh, you don’t have to?—”
“You invited me to help, didn’t ya?”
“Well, yeah,” I blustered. “But—” I faltered when he simply crossed his arms and glared at me. “Okay, yeah. Hang on.”
I grabbed a couple of cans of store-bought frosting, popped them open, and squirted drops of food coloring in each one. I didn’t love the idea of using store-bought frosting, but I hadn’t properly catalogued the equipment included in my rental before I went on my little shopping expedition, so I’d opted for the shortcut. I handed him a butter knife and the canister with red coloring and instructed him to mix while I took the one with green. Once mixed, we repeated the process making one blue and one yellow. I pulled over the little shakers of various colored sprinkles, created an assembly line of sorts, and then we began decorating.
We worked quietly for a time, but long, uninterrupted silences weren’t really my strong suit, so I blurted out, “Tell me about your wife.”
Seriously, Louis? Bringing up the man’s dead wife?
He paused in the middle of spreading frosting on a snowman.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to?—”
“You do that a lot, d’you know that? Apologize.”
“Oh. I suppose I do. I have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. Blurting out things that make people uncomfortable.”
“I’d rather you do that than beat around the bush. I’ve never been much for having to guess what a person’s trying to say.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, nonplussed. “Okay. Um, you just mentioned that your wife baked every Christmas and it made me wonder what she was like.”
“Allison was... she was quite possibly the most sarcastic woman I ever met.” A startled laugh burst out of me. I hadn’t expected him to say that. “But she was also the kindest. She was the perfect combination of humor and generosity.” He set aside the snowman and started on an ornament. “It was just the twoof us, but she insisted on baking those cookies every year. She’d keep a dozen or so for us, then package up the rest and give them away in the shop. She always said she just wanted to spread holiday cheer.”
“She sounds lovely.” I traded my snowflake for a Christmas tree. “How did she pass?”
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
