Page 20 of Not In The Christmas Plan
Grant laughs while fanning the air.
“You did that on purpose!” I accuse.
“I promise you I didn’t,” he claims, while his laughter suggests otherwise.
He grabs a dish towel off the counter and steps closer, swiping gently at my cheek.
His hand lingers longer than necessary but he pulls back. “See? All better.”
I turn back to the bowl to finish the dough, willing my heart to calm down.
We shape the dough, add jam to the centers, and this time Grant suggests to let the cookies chill in the freezer so they’ll hold their shape. Another trick his mom taught him.
When we pull the first batch out of the oven, I gasp. “They’re beautiful.”
There are actual, individual cookies—not a blob.
“So, these are the famous Matthews cookies, huh?” Grant says beside me.
I nod with my smile on full display. They look so good. Exactly as they should.
“Yeah. Ivy and Dad used to make these every Christmas.”
“Just them? Why not you too?”
“I never had the knack for baking, which I’m sure you’ve picked up by now. There’s a reason Ms. Thomas looked like she wanted to book a vacation to the Bahamas to be far away from my cookies.” I giggle remembering her reaction. “Dad and I used to collect snow globes though. There’s this huge Christmas market the town has, and we’d go every year and pick one out together. It was our little father-daughter tradition.”
“A Christmas market you say? You taking me this year?”
I roll my eyes. I hadn’t given the market much thought, and now my heart immediately says no. It won’t be the same without Dad.
“I don’t think I’ll have the time. There’s already so much more we have to do around here before everyone gets home. We need it to be—"
“Perfect,” Grant finishes. “As you’ve said.” He grabs two cookies, heedless of their too-hot temperature, and puts them on a small plate he then sets aside. “But it is Christmas. You’re spending all this time doing things for everyone else and worrying about what they need to be happy. What about what you need, Eve?”
What I need is to fill the Dad-shaped hole in my chest. I need Ivy, Nia, and Amani here. My heart won’t be full without them.
Yet Grant eyes me, looking like a man ready to provide all of my needs.
“Let’s do a taste test,” I say quickly.
Grant grabs the cookies and tries to shove one in my mouth like a groom feeding his bride. I give him a flat look, grabbing his wrist with one hand and taking the cookie from him with the other. When I bite into it, my eyes roll back.
“Oh, my God,” I say, stuffing the rest into my mouth. Warm, buttery sweetness perfection.
Grant pops his into his mouth and begins nodding while pointing at the rest of the batch. “Oh yeah. You did this.”
“Wedid it,” I correct him. Because without his help, I would have been battling dough blobs.
“I guess Ms. Thomas will be happy she stayed home after all,” I say, smiling up at him.
Grant’s eyes rake me over, laughter lighting them. “You still have flour on your cheek.”
“What? Please don’t tell me I’ve been standing here talking to you this whole time looking a mess.” I swipe at my face. “Did I get it?”
“Not even close. Here, let me.”
He reaches up to brush my cheek, the pad of his thumb both warm and a little rough. The smell of cookies clings to his skin, sweet like the smile he aims down at me.
