Once Upon Stilettos

She eyed the stacks of gingerbread on the table. “You must really like your secret pal. Wait, are those pieces for a gingerbread house?”



I couldn’t look her in the eye. Maybe I had gone a little overboard. “The house may not be for him. It may be a little something for us, since, if we put up a tree, we’d have to charge it rent.”



“Oh, a him, is it?” Marcia said around a mouthful of cookie. “The plot thickens. Do we have any milk?”



While she rummaged in the refrigerator, Gemma picked up the inquisition. “This wouldn’t happen to be that cute guy you’ve mentioned, now, would it?”



“Maybe,” I hedged.



“Now, that’s an interesting color of pink,” she teased. “Marce, get a load of that blush. I do believe our girl has already moved on to greener pastures.”



“He’s just a friend,” I insisted. “He’s shown no signs whatsoever of being interested in me as anything other than a friend.”



“Then why are you turning into Betty Crocker here?”



“Because I kind of feel sorry for him.”



Marcia finished pouring milk for all of us and put the bottle back in the refrigerator. “We still don’t have any water,” she said.



“Because it’s your turn to buy it,” Gemma shot back. “And don’t change the subject. We’re dissecting Katie’s love life. Now, why would you feel sorry for Mr. Cutie?”



“I think he’s lonely. He’s an orphan, and it sounds like the people who brought him up kept him at a distance emotionally. I thought some homemade treats would help give him a nicer holiday.”



Marcia played a dramatic air violin solo while Gemma dabbed away imaginary tears. “It’s like something out of Dickens,” she said with an audible sigh. “You know how else you could ease his loneliness?”



“Ask him out!” Marcia answered. “That’s the only way to find out if he’s interested in you or just shy.”



I snorted and returned to my icing, which had started to harden while I was chatting. “I’d have to get recertified in CPR before I could ask him out,” I said, stirring vigorously. “He’d keel over and die. Besides, I don’t want to do something like that on the rebound. When the time’s right, I’ll know.”



They looked at each other. “Is there any wonder she hasn’t been laid in five years?” Marcia asked.



I discovered the next morning that baking the cookies or even sneaking them into the highly secured department wasn’t going to be my biggest secret Santa challenge. First, I had to get my treats to work without cluing Owen in. That was difficult, given that he waited for me outside my building every morning and escorted me to work.



I came to the conclusion that me carrying something unusual wouldn’t raise any suspicions, since everyone had a secret Santa assignment, and I’d be expected to carry something for someone. The trick would be to make what I was carrying look very different from what I actually left for Owen, once I figured out how to get it to him. I arranged the gingerbread on a plastic Christmas plate, covered it with colored plastic wrap tied with a bow, then put that in a bakery box and wrapped a bow around that. With luck, he’d think the bakery box was my treat and wouldn’t suspect anything when he saw my gift.



I was glad I’d taken the precautions, for he definitely noticed that I was carrying something. He was still playing guessing games about my bakery box when we approached the office building. “You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone else,” he insisted.



“No offense, but the way news spreads, I’m not trusting anybody with my secrets.”



“Maybe you might have some leftovers you could share with other people?”



If the “leftovers” were the same as the treat I’d already given him, he’d definitely figure out who his secret Santa was. But he looked so eager that he was too cute to resist. I decided to bake something entirely different to give him as “leftovers” to throw him off the trail. “Maybe tomorrow,” I said.



His whole face lit up, so that he looked like a small child seeing his first decorated Christmas tree. If I hadn’t had my arms full with the bakery box, I might not have been able to resist hugging him. It was almost enough to make me forget about Ethan breaking my heart the day before.



The building doors swung open for us, and a man even more handsome than Owen greeted us. It took me a couple of seconds to remember that this was Rod with his illusion in place. “Oh good, I’m glad you’re here,” he said.