The Christmas Cookie Crush (Arcadian Falls Christmas #4)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Nora

The next day I do my best to put the thought of Austin Stanton out of my mind. So what if he’s back? So what if he’s working the same festival I am?

It’s a busy festival. I don’t have to see him again, even if that means avoiding my favorite sugar cookies that I only get this time of year.

Technically, I could get their sugar cookies any other time of year—at least when I’m back for a visit. It’s just not the same when they’re not Christmas themed. I especially like it when they have Santa or Rudolf or Santa’s elves.

Two years ago, Dale Stanton made a cookie that looks like me in my elf costume, and those are my favorite. He made a batch all decorated that way, but he made sure I got as many of them as I wanted before putting them in the case to sell to the general public. He did it again last year. And it makes me sad I won’t get that this year, both because Dale’s injured and not working and because I know there’s no way that Austin Stanton of all people would do something nice for me.

I’m closing today, and then meeting up with Sarah’s weekly girls’ night for drinks at the Red Arrow. It’s an odd group, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get. Most of my high school friends don’t come home for Christmas anymore, and the ones that do … well. We’ve mostly lost touch over the years. They’re the kinds that have turned into saying, “Let’s grab a coffee!” when I bump into them around town, but neither one of us reaches out to schedule anything.

Last summer was the worst in that regard. That’s when I started tagging along to Sarah’s girls’ nights with a handful of other women from the downtown business association that she’s friends with. They’re all real adults, but they’ve never made me feel awkward or out of place for coming. My friend Hailey was in town working for the summer, and she came along with me most of the time, which made it better. But now it’s just me, Sarah, and a bunch of women over thirty. Again, they’re all lovely, but it’s clear that I’m in a totally different phase of life than they are, even Sarah. They all own or manage businesses and have adult relationships and kids and all of that.

Whereas I … well. I’ll be graduating in the spring and have no idea what I’m going to do after that. Right now I’m crossing my fingers I’ll be able to find a job in the Portland area and can afford to stay in my apartment. But I have no idea if my roommate will likewise be staying.

There are too many questions and no answers right now, and I need to focus on getting through Christmas before I worry about that.

“You did good today, sweetie,” Mom says, rubbing my back after we say goodbye to the last kiddo of the day.

I stretch, then take the hug she offers wordlessly. “Thanks.” I didn’t do anything more than normal, but even if my parents are as worried about my future as I am, at least they don’t think I’m a complete flake. They know I’m a good worker, and we all know that they’ll make sure I have a job here if I can’t find anything else.

I should be grateful for that. It’s more than most people can say. I know that. But I’m ready to move on. I don’t want to cosplay as an elf every Christmas for the rest of my life, even if Mom did task me with the job of managing the elves this year. It’s more responsibility than I’ve ever had—more than any of us kids besides Sarah have had as an elf. Sarah has more responsibility now, obviously, since she runs the Christmas Emporium.

Even though I sat in on some of the interviews, Mom conducted the ones when I was away at school and did most of the hiring. But I’m the one who manages the schedule.

“Did you figure out who’s going to do the special event next weekend?” she asks after we break apart from our hug and I start putting the camera equipment away for the night and doing the end-of-day cleanup.

“Yeah. I was planning on doing it, but Sandra and Marcus both asked for extra hours.”

Mom opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the words out, a throat clears behind us. Mom and I turn in unison to see Austin Stanton, the guy I’d managed to forget about for a little while, standing just outside of the area cordoned off by velvet ropes.

My hands immediately go to my hips. “What?” I snap, unable to stop myself.

I feel Mom looking at me with surprise, but Austin doesn’t seem phased. Of course he wouldn’t be, though. He never cared about irritating me. The opposite, in fact. He enjoyed riling me up.

As if I needed confirmation, a ghost of a smile flits across his lips as he proffers a white pastry bag. “I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

My eyebrows climb my forehead. “Yesterday?”

The smile is gone now, replaced by mild confusion. “Yeah. When you came by the stand? For a pastry?”

It was a cookie. I always get sugar cookies. But I don’t bother pointing that out. Why ruin the thing I love even more by telling Austin Stanton my secret. He’d probably just find a way to make me hate sugar cookies forever. The same way he ruined licorice for me when we were kids.

I suppress a shudder at the memory.

I’d thought he was being nice for once, letting me have some of his licorice. But when I ate so much I puked, he laughed like it was the most hilarious thing ever. I felt so betrayed. He’d seemed nice, I’d believed him, and it was all a ruse to make me miserable. I can’t stand the taste of licorice now, and I haven’t eaten any since that day.

Crossing my arms, I tilt my head so I’m looking down my nose at him. “I’m not sure there’s a right foot for us to get started on,” I say, proud of my crisp tone, but aware that my mother’s looking at me with obvious surprise on her face.

“I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding,” she says in a valiant attempt to smooth things over. “Are you helping Dale and Diane while he’s recovering from his surgery?”

Austin seems reluctant to look away from me, but after a beat gives his attention to my mom, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I am. They’re my grandparents.” His smile goes lopsided. “I guess I’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw me, Mrs. Daniels. It’s me. Austin.”

Mom claps a hand over her mouth. “Of course! Austin! Now I recognize you. I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. And we see so many people here …” She waves a hand, dismissing the rest of that thought. “When did you get back in town? How long are you here for?”

His eyes dart to me, where I’m still standing with my arms crossed and my hip cocked, watching this exchange. I’m not sure why, though. I should take the chance to finish up and escape while Mom’s holding his attention.

Forcing myself to move, I go to the computer and make sure it’s shut down, still listening to the conversation despite my attempt to ignore it.

“I got back in town a little before Thanksgiving, right after Grampy’s surgery. I wanted to make sure that everything got up and running in time for ChristmasFest. It’s been challenging, but we’ve managed to make it work. It’s not the same without Grampy, though.”

I snort, because he has no idea how right he is.

Both of them stare at me for a beat, and I glance back, doing my best to keep my expression mild, the nonverbal version of, “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m so glad you were able to come back and help,” Mom says after a moment. “Give and Cake is a staple, both in town and at the ChristmasFest. I couldn’t imagine it without them.” Even though I’m now straightening books and toys and making sure there are plenty of candy canes for tomorrow, I glance up long enough to catch Mom giving Austin an appraising look. “Does that mean you’re likely to stay and take over the business? I know Dale doesn’t know how to retire, but …” The remainder of the sentence goes unspoken but hangs in the air anyway. Dale and Diane aren’t getting any younger. Eventually someone will have to take over the place.

My heart squeezes at the thought of Give and Cake closing. Or being sold to some random person who changes the soul of the place.

But Austin coming back and taking over?

My nose wrinkles involuntarily at the thought. I won’t be able to go there if that happens, either.

Of course, I’m hoping it won’t be a real issue. After I graduate, I’m going to find a job. Moving home isn’t an option I want to consider.

The problem is, not moving home isn’t much of a life plan. I guess knowing what I don’t want to do is useful, but I’d feel better if I could figure out what I do want to do.

I’m the odd one out in my family who doesn’t have a grand plan already. Ty’s been into art since he was a kid, so him going into graphic design was no surprise to anyone. Sarah’s always loved the shop as much as Mom and Dad do, and it’s been her dream to take over since she was a teenager, taking that option off the table for me. While I could still come back and work there, I don’t want to just be an hourly employee. It’s fine as a backup plan, but the kind of backup plan you only use for emergencies. Even Dylan had figured out what he wanted to do by now. Not as early as our other siblings, but pretty early in his college career. And he’s been working toward that goal for years and is killing it now.

Then there’s me. I didn’t declare a major until my sophomore year, and then I only picked psychology because the intro class I took as my social science credit was more interesting than most of the other things I did. And since I was late declaring my major, I signed up for the fast track version of the degree, which means a packed schedule every semester plus summer classes. Because of that, I’m on track to graduate a year early. Fat lot of good it does me, though, since I don’t want to continue with another degree, and what do I do with just a Bachelor’s in Psychology? At this point, getting a random office job seems like my best bet, but that doesn’t sound appealing. Neither does grad school, though, and those are basically the options.

Sighing, I stand with my hands on my hips and look around the area, realizing that Mom and Austin have finished talking and Mom’s gone. She must’ve gone to meet Dad and head home. At least that means I just have to go change in the locker room, then I can meet Sarah and her friends for a drink.

Between today’s slate of screaming toddlers and another encounter with Austin Stanton, I definitely need it.

His throat clearing makes me aware that Austin is still standing there. He holds out the pastry bag again. “Like I said, I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I brought a peace offering.”

My eyes narrow, skepticism flooding my veins. I scoff. “Please. I remember the kinds of ‘peace offerings’ you liked to give me when we were kids.”

His brows crimp together again, and he shakes his head. “Sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Licorice?” I prompt. “Warheads?”

His confusion slowly clears as the memory obviously returns, dissolving into what can only be termed as delight .

The ass.

“Oh my god.” He covers his mouth with his hand, as though that adequately covers the irrepressible smile on his face. Which some part of my brain catalogs as hot, but I shut that thought up as soon as it enters my head. There is no universe in which I think Austin Stanton is hot. I can think of a number of other adjectives I’d use to describe him, but never, ever hot .

“God,” he breathes again. “I’d forgotten all about that.” His hand drops, letting free that beautiful smile.

No! I scold myself. Not beautiful! Not hot! This is Austin! Dylan’s shittiest best friend ever! You hate him! You swore you’d always hate him! You do not find him attractive!

My friend Miranda always talks about how even hot guys seem ugly to her when she knows they’re assholes. I’ve never really agreed. I mean, a guy can be objectively gorgeous even if I’d never date or even want to be in the same room as him. But this encounter with Austin is putting that theory to the test.

Even if Austin Stanton is objectively gorgeous, I do not want to view him that way. At all. Ever.

When he moved away, he was in that awkward adolescent stage of existence. And he has glowed up very nicely.

And I hate that I can’t stop noticing.

“You were such a little shit,” he murmurs, and I nearly choke on my own spit.

“Excuse me? I was the little shit?”

He nods, still grinning. “Yeah. You’d never leave Dylan and me alone. You were always up in our business, begging for candy. Your mom’d tell us we had to be nice, so …” He shrugs. “We were.”

My eyes practically bug out of my head. “I’m sorry, you were what? In what world were you ever nice to me?”

He proffers the little white bag in his hand. “I’m trying to be nice now .”

“Suuuure,” I scoff. “Like you were ‘nice’”—I make air quotes with my hands, a practice I despise, but no amount of sarcasm fully conveys how I feel about his use of that word—“when you fed me licorice until I puked?”

He shrugs. “You asked for it. Like I said, your mom told us to be nice.”

“You laughed at me!”

A chuckle bubbles out of him. “It was pretty funny.” The ass. He’s not even pretending to be apologetic now.

Not that you’d believe him if he did.

But that’s not the point!

“And the Warheads.” The words come out dripping with venom. I wish I could inject it directly into his bloodstream so he’d slink off to whatever rock he crawled out from under and leave me alone forever. The last ten years without him in them have been so much more pleasant than the ones before.

He grins.

“I could hear you, you know,” I tell him. One of his eyebrows raises in silent question. “You and Dylan. When you were plotting. I heard you whispering about how funny it’d be to give me a Warhead and see what would happen. I knew they were sour. I knew you were laughing at each other. I knew .”

Understanding dawns on his face, and a surge of triumph flows through me. The same triumph I felt all those years ago when I popped one of the most sour candies they could get from the gas station convenience store on their way home from school, stared them down, and didn’t flinch at all. “Thanks,” I’d said around the big ball in my mouth. Then I’d trotted off, fighting down every involuntary tug of my facial muscles in response to the sourness. Even out of sight, I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting. I ate the whole damn thing without so much as a twitch.

That confession makes him laugh. He throws back his head, even. “Oh, that’s priceless.” He’s still grinning when he meets my eyes again, shaking his head, bursts of laughter still erupting occasionally. “No wonder you didn’t react.”

“I’d’ve sooner died than let you see me flinch.” My eyes flick to the bag still in his hand. “So what’s that? Licorice surprise? Warhead surprise?”

He cackles. A good and proper cackle. Such an ass.

Shaking his head, he runs a finger past the corner of his eye—and I don’t at all notice his long, dark lashes that’d be the envy of women everywhere or his even brows, and definitely not the way his golden eyes sparkle with humor. “That’d be funny, actually. But no. Those aren’t on the menu at Give and Cake. It’s a cranberry scone.”

“So you picked the sourest fruit since you couldn’t give me sour candies?”

He grins like I’ve made a hilarious joke. “Honestly, I’d forgotten all about that until you just mentioned it. Fitting, though, isn’t it?” He shakes his head. “They’re sweet, though. I mean, sure, it’s cranberry, there’s a hint of tartness, but there’s enough sugar that it doesn’t make your mouth pucker or anything.”

As he says the words, his eyes drop to my lips, and I fight the urge to roll them between my teeth. My hot childhood nemesis has no right to look at my lips like that!

He holds up the bag once more, taking a step closer to offer it to me.

But I cross my arms again, rearing back and shaking my head. “No, thanks,” I say firmly, stepping back. “You like sour things so much, you eat it.” Turning on my heel, I head for the locker room, muttering under my breath, “I hope you choke.”