Chapter Twenty-One
Layla
Tyler hasn’t called or texted me for a few days. Well, he’s not completely ignoring me because he shoots me simple texts that say, “Can’t talk. Family crap.” “Missed you. Sorry I’ve been busy.” And the last was, “Sweet dreams, princess.”
Is he punishing me because I hung out with Rachel instead of going out on a date with him? No. That would be something Adam would have done. Ty isn’t like Adam.
I didn’t think I would care about a few days without seeing Ty, but I do.
I pick up my phone, about to shoot him a text and then I stop myself. Ugh. I’m not turning into one of those girls who constantly needs to be around their boyfriend.
I glance over at the pile of wrapped packages near my nightstand. Tyler’s gifts seem so meh. I can hear Rachel’s voice in my head, “The way to win over a guy’s heart …” oh, that’s it. Tyler said his favorite dessert ever is cookies. The problem with this is I can’t bake to save my life. The whole measuring correctly does it for me. And the last time I attempted to bake something I burnt to a crisp for setting the oven too high. I could easily go to the store and buy some but that seems like such a cop-out.
I dart out of my room and into Juliet’s.
She’s snuggled up in her bed and I should let her sleep, but Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and I need her help. She makes the most amazing cookies ever and puts all store bought and even some bakeries to shame.
“Juliet … Juliet.”
“If you like your face you’ll leave the room,” Juliet grumbles.
“Hey. Are you making cookies for Santa this year?”
She pops open an eye and snarls, “No. Aren’t we too old for that? Go away.”
“Please. Please. Please.” I drop to my knees making me practically eye level with my sister. “I’ll do anything.”
The side of my face blossoms with sharp pain and warmth as her palm connects with my cheek. She turns over and mutters, “I wanna sleep.”
I should pounce on her bed and hit her back. “But I need to know what to buy at the store,” I whine. Yeah. I really need to tone it down before she rips out my hair. Juliet is a scrapper when it comes to fighting.
She grumbles into her pillow and then glares at me. “You’re so getting coal.”
“I’m sorry. I need your help making desserts.”
“It’s eight in the morning. You couldn’t wait until ten?”
I frown. “You know how busy stores are so close to Christmas. Mom is always complaining about it. I figured if we go in early to get the stuff you can come back and nap.”
She shakes her head. “You’re still getting coal.” She gets out of bed and makes her way over to her closet.
I’m about to ask her to get a shower but I don’t want to push my luck. I should be happy she’s willing to help. She stalks out of her room. “What kind did you want to make?”
“His favorite is white chocolate chip, but I also wanted to make some other with white chocolate chips in it. Like cranberry oatmeal cookies, and ohhhh peanut butter,” I answer while following her downstairs.
That earns me a stern glare. “Who’s favorite? Oh, for crying out loud, you woke me up to make cookies for Tyler? You’re really pushing your luck.”
I pout, and she gives me the side eye. “Quit making that puppy dog face.” She walks over to the pantry. I stand by the door, and she wrinkles her nose. “Ugh fine. You win. I know a few recipes you can make.”
“Thanks, Juliet! You’re the best.” I go to hug her but then rethink it and give her shoulder a little pat.
“I don’t know why you’re thanking me. You’re baking them.”
My jaw drops. “What? Come on. Juliet, your cookies are freaking awesome. Please.”
“He’s your boyfriend. If you think you’re going to screw up so much just buy some from the bakery.”
“Juliet, I need your cookies. Not some bakery. Pleeaaassee. When have I ever asked you for anything?”
She holds up her hand and tilts her head. “Hmmm let me see. There was the trash you blatantly forgot to take out and I covered for you so many times it wasn’t funny. Then there was the time I covered for you and pretended to be you when you purposely left your phone to go hang out with Adam.” She sneers. “Let’s not forget the time you had me make all this crap for your stupid cheerleading bake sale freshman year and claimed to the entire football team how you made it all—” And she goes to tick off another.
“I get it! I get it. I ask you for a lot of stuff. I’m sorry.”
Juliet sighs. “Ugh, stop making that face, Layla. You know I hate it.”
I keep giving her the puppy dog eye pout. She stamps her feet. “God, you really are the devil. Fine. I’ll do it but don’t expect it to taste amazing. Good baking requires care and I don’t know if you noticed lately but I don’t give a crap.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I know my sister is awesome even in her foulest of moods. I leave the kitchen and grab my purse hanging by the front door and sift through my dollars. “I’ve got about fifty bucks. Is that going to be enough?”
My sister quirks up one side of her mouth. “I think so. Come on.”
“Wait, we’re leaving now?” I don’t mean to ask like this, but her hair is super cray-cray. The shirt she’s wearing may be clean, but she doesn’t match. She has on fuzzy flannel bottoms that are white and green and a hot pink shirt. Come to think of it, I think that’s actually my shirt, and Mom must have accidentally hung it up in her closet.
“I can’t give you the list of ingredients.”
I scowl. “Thanks a lot. You’re a jerk!” Never mind. I don’t know why I bother asking her for help. I mean she’s a hot mess. Maybe I’ll go to the bakery after all.
Her green eyes soften. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant you don’t bake so I am pretty sure you have no clue what fleur de sel is, and from your blank expression, I can tell I must be right.” My sister sighs. “It’s a special type of sea salt by the way.”
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s go.” I’m still upset with her. Well, mostly with myself. Truthfully, I really want to be the one to make these cookies for Tyler. But they’ll probably taste like garbage if I did it. How the heck am I ever going to make cookies or anything else for Tyler if I can barely read the ingredients? Let alone measure out the correct amounts? My dyslexic brain will screw it all up.
Juliet plows past me, out the door, and slides into the driver side of her Wrangler. Of course, she wants to drive. That’s just one more darn thing she’s better at than I am.
Juliet tosses one more item into our cart. “How much stuff is this going to cost? I told you I only have fifty bucks,” I snap. The more crap she tosses in there, it’s looking close to seventy dollars’ worth of stuff.
She glares. “You either want me to make cookies or do you want to keep crying while you’re pushing the cart? He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have to be doing any of this.”
I puff. “I know. But I think this is getting up there in price, right?”
“It’s not. We barely have fifteen dollars’ worth of stuff in the cart. I only need two more items. Everything else is already at the house.”
“Oh.” I feel so stupid.
She lifts her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I wanted more sleep today and you know I hate shopping.” The aisles are stacked with people too and my sister hates crowds. She snorts at something. “This whole ‘tis the season to be jolly’ feels like a kick to my throat.”
“Because of Mark?”
She glances over at me. “What? No. I mean yeah, I thought he was someone awesome and it turned it out he was a total douche. I was talking about the other stuff. Mom and her mystery boyfriend. You, going off to your prince charming. I’m alone.”
I frown. “I get it. You can totally come with me.”
Juliet gives me the side eye. “Um … no offense, Layla, but I’m not going to be in the mood to hang out with your man’s family. Thanks for the offer though.”
I wish I could do something to bring her out of her depressed mode. Before Tyler entered my life, or maybe my text message entered his, whatever way sounds the best, I felt like she did. I didn’t think I would find someone ever again. I certainly never thought the perfect person for me was Tyler. But he is.
“Ugh. You’re doing it again. Getting all starry-eyed. Stop thinking about him for two seconds and help me unload this stuff,” Juliet grumbles as she pulls the cart to the checkout lane. I don’t even remember pushing the cart here. That’s what thinking about Tyler does to me though. I get so happy that I forget reality. That’s real love, right?