The Christmas Cookie Crush (Arcadian Falls Christmas #4)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nora

“Our annual open house is Thursday,” Mom announces at breakfast on Monday morning, as though I wouldn’t already know.

I nod my head as I scarf down the breakfast burrito I prepped last night for this week’s breakfasts. It’s the tradition during ChristmasFest that we each take turns prepping breakfasts for the week for everyone. Mom insists that we need something filling to get us through the long days, but by the end of the first week, we’re all so tired that getting up early enough to do more than grab something easy is too much. It started when Ty was a teenager during his first season as an elf, and the tradition’s continued ever since, folding each of us in as we got old enough to join the family business. Mom always said that once we’re old enough to work, we’re old enough to cook.

It’s usually something like breakfast burritos or egg sandwiches. Things that are easy to make in a batch, portion out, and leave in the fridge for everyone to grab in the morning and heat up quickly in the microwave.

Mom’s week is always my favorite, though Dad makes a good breakfast sandwich. Sarah’s burritos were always perfect, though. I still haven’t figured out how she rolls them so well. I miss Sarah’s breakfast burritos.

At least I don’t have to deal with Dylan’s slapdash sandwiches with their uneven amounts of egg and limp, greasy bacon.

I always take the time to make sure my bacon is crispy and drain it well so it still tastes good reheated. It’s amazing how much faster it goes now that we’re down to just Mom, Dad, and me. Of course that means I also have to do it more often. Going from five to four when Sarah moved out didn’t seem like such a big deal, but cutting down to three now that Dylan’s gone feels like a much bigger jump for some reason.

I never thought I’d wish for Dylan to be around again, annoying brother that he is, but here we are. It’s lonely being the youngest.

“Dylan and Lydia are coming in later this week.” Speak of the devil … But I’m glad. It’ll be nice having more people in this house again.

“Are you going to let them share a room?” I ask, watching Mom over the rim of my coffee mug.

She gives me the stink eye. “Yes. Of course.” She sniffs. “I’m not so foolish as to think they don’t stay over at each other’s homes fairly regularly.” She lowers her voice. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised they aren’t living together already.”

I shrug. “Lydia likes living on her own. She doesn’t want to be too dependent on Dylan. I think that’s a good thing, personally.” I thought Lydia was a little standoffish last year when she worked ChristmasFest—nice, but she kept to herself quite a bit. Of course, I was wrapped up in my own social life and didn’t think to invite her along. But since she and Dylan started dating, she and I have started texting, and I’ve gotten to know her pretty well the last year. I’m excited to see her again, even if it means my stinky brother will be here too.

“I know,” Mom says, but she sounds like she’s lamenting something rather than acknowledging reality. “It’s just nice having all my older kids coupled up.”

I suppress a flinch. I know she doesn’t mean it to sting, but it does all the same. Her older kids. Aka, her more responsible kids. The ones that know what they’re doing with their lives. In their adult relationships.

Meanwhile, I can’t keep a boyfriend more than a few months. And my family has actively encouraged me to take a break from dating for a while so I can focus on my studies and what I want to do next.

Which I suppose is better than emphasizing marriage as the only correct course of action—one of my friends from high school went to college with the express purpose of finding a husband, and that was the only reason her parents agreed to pay for her to go to school at all. We lost touch by the end of freshman year, so I have no idea if that happened for her or not, but I’m glad I don’t have to contend with that, at least.

As difficult as it seems right now, finding a job, even if it’s just an entry-level one that I’m not excited about other than as a vehicle to pay the rent, seems far easier than finding a husband . That’s assuming I want to get married at all anyway.

Only one of my siblings is married. And while Sarah’s obviously living her best life and loving it, I don’t know if I can see myself following in her footsteps. Which might be partly due to the fact that I can’t see myself with anyone longer than a few months.

I get bored with guys by that point. Or they get bored with me. Or maybe it’s mutual. Either way, it always ends up feeling like too much effort for too little reward. They expect all kinds of things from me but don’t reciprocate with nearly the same amount of care and consideration they want from me. And who has the time and energy for that?

Not me.

I don’t think any of my siblings deal with that, though. I’ve seen how they are with their partners. They’re all clearly in love, and even when spats inevitably break out, it’s nothing earth shattering or relationship ending. It’s just the normal kinds of things that happen when you’re in close proximity to someone for a long time.

While it’s not quite the same, I’ve had practice navigating those types of situations with roommates. The difference is, I actually care enough about my roommates to put in the work, and they feel the same way.

These dudes that want all the benefits with none of the responsibilities?

Nope. Pass. Moving on.

And even though it irritated me when Mom suggested I take a break from dating for a while, I ended up taking her advice. It helped that Sarah said basically the same thing. She was just more indirect and let me reach the conclusion on my own, which is why I haven’t dated anyone at all this school year.

Maybe that’s why Austin Stanton’s face keeps popping up when I think about dating again …

I’ve been in a self-imposed dry spell, and he’s the most attractive man in my orbit right now, so of course I’d think about him that way occasionally, even if I have zero desire to date him.

My previous attempts to tell myself that I don’t find him attractive because I don’t like him as a person have failed miserably, and I’ve given up on that tack. Now I’m just acknowledging the reality that he is an objectively attractive person, that I now understand where the idea behind hate-fucking comes from, and that I still don’t want to do it, even if my lizard brain thinks it might be fun if the opportunity presented itself.

“Since Dylan will be back in time for the open house, I think we should make sure to invite Austin,” Mom says, as though picking up on my thoughts.

I’m mid-swallow when she says that, and I choke on my coffee, hacking and clutching my chest as I try to clear my throat and catch my breath.

Mom jumps up from her spot immediately, coming around the table to me and thumping me on the back.

Sucking in a breath, I wave her off. “Thanks,” I wheeze. “I’m good. I’m good.”

She hovers over me for a second, then resumes her seat and picks up her mug. “Since I saw you two talking the other day, I was wondering if you’d mind telling him about the open house? He might be more interested in coming if he knows it’s not just a bunch of old folks like your dad and me.”

“You’re not that old, Mom,” I protest, frantically searching my brain for another reason I shouldn’t be the one to invite Austin. “And anyway, didn’t you already invite his grandparents? Surely he’ll know he’s invited as well.”

“Well, of course I did, sweetie,” Mom says, placidly sipping her coffee. “But like I said, I want him to know that it won’t just be people our age and his grandparents’ age. Would you want to go to a party if you thought everyone was old enough to live in a nursing home?”

I open my mouth to respond but realize I can’t really refute that point.

When I close my mouth, she nods like the point is settled. “Exactly. You’re only working a half shift today, right? Be sure to stop by Give and Cake’s kiosk and ask him after you’re done working.”

I suck in a breath, hoping some excuse will magically pop into my head before Mom leaves the table, but she’s already standing up and moving to the sink to rinse out her mug. Once she’s done, she pauses and kisses the top of my head, and still nothing comes to mind. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she says. “See you at the North Pole!”

The morning passes faster than it has any right to considering that I have to go talk to Austin Stanton. And not just talk to him. But be nice to him.

Sure, I asked him to give his grandparents a Christmas card from me. And told him about the special cookies his grandpa usually makes for me. I didn’t mean to do that last thing. It just kinda slipped out when I got to the front of the line.

I was thinking about how much I wanted a sugar cookie. And when I got there, I saw the blond boy elf cookies, and I felt a physical ache at the knowledge that I wouldn’t get a special batch of cookies this year. That I wouldn’t see them in the case and know that Dale had set aside a small box just for me.

Once my shift is over, I head back to the locker room and take my sweet time changing out of my elf costume and into my regular clothes. I think this’ll be my first time going to the Give and Cake kiosk dressed normally this year. Every other time I’ve gone on my break or before I changed so I could make sure to get there before they left at the end of the night. Well, before Austin left at the end of the night because it’s always him there, much to my irritation. Doesn’t he get a day off? He should, if for no other reason than to give me a break from him so I can get a Christmas cookie.

Clutching the half sheet of red paper Mom used for invitations this year, I weave my way through ChristmasFest shoppers and kiosks, pretending like I’m looking around at the different offerings, but all my attention is on the bakery kiosk near the front door.

It’s not fair. Him being here. How much of my thoughts he occupies. The fact that I have to go talk to him now. That my mom is making me go talk to him now.

And then, of course, I have to wait in line for the pleasure of talking to him. Ughhhhhh. Kill me now.

When I get to the front of the line, it’s clear he’s surprised to see me. Keeping my arms crossed but doing my best not to murder him with my death glare, I gesture at the case. “A sugar cookie, please.”

His eyebrows jump, like me using basic niceties is unexpected, but he doesn’t comment on it as he gets me the requested cookie. It’s an elf, of course, but not the special kind.

“I talked to Grampy,” he says quietly as he passes me the cookie and rings up my purchase. “My grandpa, I mean.” I have to admit, if only to myself, that it’s kinda cute he calls his grandpa Grampy.

“Good for you,” I retort, then roll my lips between my teeth. I’m supposed to be nice to him right now. Not snotty. I just can’t help it, though.

He lets out a huff of amused laughter, shaking his head. “Right. Yeah. Anyway, I told him what you said about the elf cookies. He told me where he keeps the notes on it.” He pauses, studying me for a beat, his eyes dipping to my mouth before rising to meet mine again.

He doesn’t say anything else, instead looking back at the cash register and telling me the total. As I pay, I’m filled with an odd sense of disappointment. But now I’m avoiding his eyes as much as he’s avoiding mine.

It’s only when I put my phone back in my pocket that I remember the real reason I came here. “Oh, uh …” I pull out the now-crumpled piece of red paper. Laying it on the counter, I do my best to smooth it out. “Here. My parents have an open house Christmas party every year. It’s on Thursday. My mom wanted you to know you’re specifically invited, not just an add-on to your grandparents’ invite, and that there’ll be people of all ages there, not just retirees. Or people who should be retired, like in my parents’ case. Or your grandparents too, I guess, huh?”

He grunts and reaches for the flyer. I jerk my hand away like I might get an electric shock if we both touch it at the same time.

He gives me another raised eyebrow look, and my cheeks heat. What is it about this guy that makes me feel so ridiculous? That brings out the absolute worst in me? He’s not the only one of my brother’s friends who picked on me growing up. And he made a good point last time that I should’ve gotten over it by now. My god, we’re both in our twenties. I shouldn’t be pissed about something that happened when I was in elementary school. It’s not like he murdered my dog or something. Not that we had a dog. But that’s not the point.

He didn’t steal my toys—well, there was that one time, but Sarah made them give back the dolls they took and Mom and Dad made Dylan pay for the replacement Barbie they gave a haircut. But he didn’t like … cut my hair in my sleep. Though Dylan threatened to do that a few times, but when Dad found me crying about it, he put a stop to it. But all Austin really did was go along with Dylan’s bad ideas, feed me candy till I puked once, and tried to laugh at me while I ate sour candy. It’s still a point of pride for me that he never got that particular pleasure, at least. Not that he didn’t laugh at me for other reasons, of course. He and Dylan both did. But I don’t hate Dylan—not really, even if I don’t particularly like him—and if anyone deserves my hatred, it’s my brother. He encouraged his friends to treat me that way, after all. He was the instigator, not Austin.

But for some reason, Austin’s the one who’s attracted my anger all these years.

“Thanks,” he says, looking at the paper. “Tell your mom I said thanks. I’ll see if I can make it.”

“I hope you do,” I say, and he jerks his head up, his expression a comical mix of confused and startled.

“You do?” He’s completely incredulous.

My mouth opens and closes a couple times, then I suck in a deep breath, square my shoulders, and nod once. “Sure. The more the merrier. It’s Christmas, right?”

And before he can respond, I walk off.

It’s only after about twenty steps that I realize I forgot my cookie. Stopping, I close my eyes and sigh.

“Dammit,” I mutter quietly as I turn around. Part of me’s tempted to just abandon the cookie, but those cookies are delicious, and I haven’t had one since last week. I’ve been avoiding Austin as much as possible, and so avoiding Give and Cake, one of the few shining treasures of being home. Or it was, anyway. And since I had to go talk to Austin, I figured I might as well treat myself. I really want that cookie, dammit.

Maybe he’ll be busy with another customer and won’t even notice me slip in to snag the cookie I left on the counter. Maybe he’ll be getting a pastry or something and won’t even see me.

But that wisp of hope is quickly dashed when he grins at me, holding out the pastry bag to me. “Forget something?”

Why does he sound like he’s gloating?

And why does it feel almost intimate when I take the bag from him?

Unlike me, he doesn’t feel the need to snatch his hand away as I take it, our fingers brushing.

I was right to be worried about an electric shock, though, because one zings through me at the brief contact. And as much as I’d like to blame it on static, I know it wasn’t that. It felt entirely different and traveled through my body, causing a wave of goosebumps up my neck and making the hair on my arms stand on end. Static shocks just make your finger hurt for a second. This was not that.

Clearing my throat, I nod, unable to form words.

“See you tomorrow,” Austin calls after me as I turn to leave again.

I hold up my hand in a wave of acknowledgement and flee.