The Christmas Crush

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The moment she had been waiting for arrived. Their jumpy waiter delivered a pristine cr è me br ? l é e in a scalloped dish. Caramelized sugar formed a glassy surface, and three of the most perfect raspberries along with bright-green mint leaves made a colorful garnish. Lawrence watched her hover her spoon over the dessert, taking it all in before she disrupted its beauty.

“Don’t you want to crack it? That’s the best part.” Lawrence seemed more at ease than he had at the date’s outset. Considering their other encounters, she suspected he had some degree of social anxiety. At the town hall meeting, he’d stumbled over his words, only hitting his stride as the argument got more heated. His intimating size made it easy to miss the vulnerability behind his bungling attempts at conversation. “The hallmark of a great cr è me br ? l é e—besides not curdling it, which most people, not me, can manage—is a strong crack when you break the sugar top. You need the right amount of sugar and then torch it until it’s smooth as ice on a pond. The torching part is the only element I don’t mess up.”

“See, I knew you had pyromaniac tendencies.” Elena never had an issue making chitchat, even if she often worried later she’d said too many ridiculous things, tried too hard to be funny. Her minor eccentricities shouldn’t come as a surprise to Lawrence after they’d spent several hours together at the cookie swap.

“All chefs do, although bakers are the sanest,” Lawrence said after a beat.

Lawrence held up his end of the back-and-forth, but she decided to take it easier on him. The temptation to keep him at arm’s length with sarcasm was outweighed by her desire to be authentic. Since he’d made such an effort to plan a great date, she figured the least she could do was offer a real response.

“I’m actually waiting because I want to take a picture so I can paint it later.” She looked down at the flawless dessert, a tendril of shyness gripping her now. “But I hate when people are on their phones at the table. So rude.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Lawrence said, “I won’t deduct any points if you promise to show me the painting when it’s done.”

Elena never minded telling people she loved to paint. Showing them her work, on the other hand, made her timid. She did a better job of hiding her insecurities than Lawrence. She gave him a smile and coy nod before the phone’s flash illuminated the table. Once she had the picture, she tapped her spoon in the center of the caramelized sugar, broke it into shards.

“Music to my ears,” Lawrence said.

The silken texture of the vanilla custard base and the complex, nutty flavor of the sugar melted into her tongue. “Mmm. Amazing. You weren’t lying about this being the place to get a good cr è me br ? l é e.”

“Glad I didn’t disappoint.” Pride made his handsome features all the more striking. She caught herself gazing at him too openly, assessing what a splendid portrait subject he would make. He ate a spoonful of his cr è me br ? l é e, his eyes rolled back. “Perfect. Even though I can never eat cr è me br ? l é e without reliving the nightmare of my custard practical exam in school.”

“Do tell,” she said, encouraging him to be vulnerable as she had about her family and painting.

“I forgot to put the ramekins in a water bath, threw them in the oven, and thirty minutes later had a mess that managed to be both burnt and raw. Chunky, watery disaster.”

He shook his head, lips in a half smile. She decided to risk a playful jab. “Stop, please, you’re ruining my dessert.”

He shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face, and she sensed he appreciated her faux disgust.

After they finished dinner and he paid the bill, they both walked to the exit, quietly chewing on the peppermints that had come with the check. Wait until Priya hears about this perfect date , Elena thought as he helped her into her coat. Then she noticed Lawrence looking down at her feet several times, finally staring right at them once they were back on the sidewalk.

Please tell me he isn’t going to ask for feet pics on a first date , Elena thought, dread building at a rapid pace. It would be just her luck to have a wonderful night only for it to end on an outlandish note. “Everything all right?” she prompted, an edge creeping in her voice.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I do have a weird question, though.”

Great, here we go, I knew this was too good to be true.

“Shoot.” No stranger to bad dates, Elena found herself alarmed by the sinking dismay she felt as Lawrence hesitated.

“I wanted to surprise you with a visit to the New Hope village light show, but I’m worried about you walking on the icy paths in those shoes.”

Ekk! An impulse to jump up and down, thrilled by his thoughtfulness, overpowered her, made her as bouncy as their waiter. “I have winter boots in my car. Take me, take me. I’d love to go.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t bounce around in those shoes. There could be black ice.”

Impulsively, Elena grabbed his hand and led him back to her car. They wove their fingers together as if they’d held hands a thousand times.

“Here, take my bag.” Elena thrust her handbag at him, letting go of his hand to perch on the passenger-side seat. She kicked off her gold pumps, then pulled on tan shearling boots. “Is it all outdoors?”

A shell-shocked Lawrence, clutching her bag like a giant with a toy, eyes huge, nodded yes. Was he thrown by her feral enthusiasm? She didn’t have it in her to play it cool. Light displays were one of her favorite aspects of the holidays. Shoving aside her stuffed work tote and stacks of folders, she retrieved an oversized black sweatshirt from the back seat. Huge white paint splatters marred the sweatshirt, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Back on her feet outside, she shimmied out of her peacoat and gave that to Lawrence as well. The sweatshirt hung to midthigh, an inch above the red dress’s hem. She took back her coat and buttoned it up. “All set and don’t laugh at my absurd getup. Let’s do this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lawrence said. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or if she’d startled the sense out of him.

“I do not mess around about light shows.” Once again, she took his hand. “Lead the way.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to warn you to dress for the weather.”

“Who cares? We’re seeing lights!” Between the strict schedule at work and the fact that her family lacked a festive spirit, Elena didn’t get to do many seasonal activities. Not counting the cookie swap where she’d been on duty for Sparkle, jolliness came primarily in gingerbread latte form. On Friday nights she put on TV Christmas movies, which didn’t count because she watched them alone, her lonesome laugh echoing in the apartment. Still, the optimistic stories raised her spirits until fatigue pulled her into sleep without seeing the endings.

“Who’s leading the way, me or you?” Lawrence asked, eyebrow raised at her comical charging ahead.

“Whoops, I forgot I have no idea where I’m going.” Elena stopped in her tracks, surveyed the uneven rooftops of the historic buildings. To the north she saw a distinct glow cutting through the darkness. She pulled Lawrence in that direction. “Has to be this way. Am I right?”

He gave her a look of pure admiration, blue eyes shining down at her upturned face. In all her life to this moment, no one had ever looked at her with that particular expression. Everyone tended to look at her expecting something. Her parents wanted the latest achievement, her boss wanted better numbers. Fellow artists regarded her with envy, disdain, or disinterest. Never had she seen such straightforward kindness in another person’s eyes.

Her breath came out in a sigh, clouding the cold air with its warmth. Let this last forever.

Lawrence looked away, breaking the spell. A bit of its magic remained, crackling in the narrow space between them as they left the restaurant parking lot hand in hand. Another novelty: holding hands on a first date. More obvious attempts at physical affection were the norm, while sweet gestures like this one were elusive.

Proceeding down Main, they came to the bookshop next door to Sweet L’s Bakery. The window display called to Elena, and Lawrence followed along. “Look at that special edition of Pride and Prejudice .” Elena pointed to the hardback book, an impressionistic rendition of the two main characters on the cover.

Lawrence leaned closer to peek in the window. “Can’t say I ever read that one.”

“You are missing out. It’s the best story.”

“I’m still recovering from the trauma of my sister making me watch the movie every Sunday night for weeks. During football season.”

“Yikes. I can admit that’s excessive. Have I done it? Yes, I have. Never subjected anyone else to my insanity, at least.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Your sister does have great taste.”

“And she knows it.”

“Hi, Lawrence.” A middle-aged man in a buffalo check flannel shirt popped his head out of the bookshop door. “Oh hello,” he said to Elena. “I’m Ramon Martinez. This pile of bricks is my bookstore.”

“I love it,” she said. Lawrence introduced her, and then they moved on.

A biting wind blew down the street, hurling flurries. Lawrence drew her closer, put an arm around her to shield her from the blast. They huddled in the alcove by the bakery door until the wind calmed. She felt the rise and fall of his chest where her cheek pressed against it, the strength of his arm. She had a sudden desire to kiss him . She turned her face up to his, but he was craning his neck to see the street. Too soon the flurries settled and he stepped out of the alcove.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a tour of the bakery?” she asked, hoping to prolong the intimacy. She told herself the undeniable attraction pulled her closer to him. Not the safety she felt in his arms as he protected her from the cold, chose to take the brunt of it while offering her the warmth of his body.

Lawrence brushed his hair out of his face with his gloved hand, looking from the alcove to the street with confusion. She suspected he didn’t know what to make of her offering to delay the light show after her rabid hurry a few minutes prior. “Um, okay. Wait. Tell you what, let’s go to the light show before they run out of hot chocolate. Then, if you’re not sick of me, we’ll stop back here.”

She put a hand on his forearm—to be closer to him, and to calm him. “How did you know hot chocolate is my weakness?”

He bit his lip. “I saw you with that cr è me br ? l é e. Almost made me jealous.”

“I have got to work on my poker face.”

This time he reached for her hand, and together they went toward the light show, Elena wondering as they walked how two hours with him had chipped away at her resolve to keep this casual.

Each time he was attentive as she spoke, especially about her family, a piece of her resolve crumbled. She felt safe confessing that her dad’s expectations dominated her choices, a truth she’d only recently realized herself.

She hadn’t accounted for any of those factors when she calculated her ability to keep her feelings in check.

These thoughts had no time to linger, however, because she could see the lights in more detail now, and the wonder of it drew her, a moth to flame. Unafraid of getting burned.