There were many ways Charlotte could spend the three hours between when Audrey drifted off to sleep after her last warm bottle of milk and when she would wake up again, hungry for more. She could read a book, but she had started one right before Audrey was born, and more than seven months later, was still inexplicably only on the fourth chapter. She could go over her plans for the party again—but she felt strangely on top of things there. The tight schedule had forced her into action nearly as much as her desire to make everything a success. She could take a hot bubble bath in that luxurious clawfoot tub in her en suite. But Greg could arrive home at any minute.
Instead, she decided to bake. Cookies were the one thing she was good at. Well, maybe not good, but she could roll out a tube of premade dough just as well as anyone else, and besides, the decorations were the fun part. If they came out especially bad, she wouldn’t admit who had brought them. Besides, Fiona packed that tea shop on cookie swap day. Dozens of women from town stopped by for the fun. Her contribution could fade into the crowd, and there were always a few tins that went untouched, like poor Caroline Owens’s rock-hard rugelach.
Marlene was out again, Christmas shopping, she’d said as she tucked her red-knitted hat over her ears not long after Charlotte had come home, still a little shaken up from her interaction with Kate. There was no sign of Greg, but Marlene had left a stew in the slow cooker, and so, after settling the baby, Charlotte had helped herself to a bowl, even though her appetite had dissipated considerably since yesterday. Was it her sister or was it the memory of that near kiss? Or was it expectation of what would happen when Greg came back tonight?
Right. The cookies. She rolled out the dough and cut the shapes with the cutters Kate had lent her. She watched them for the entire twelve minutes they were in the oven, lest she set off a fire alarm again. Once they were cooled, she set to work, decorating each as best she could with the icing and sanding sugar she had picked up at the grocery store in town.
She was just starting a second batch when she heard the back door open and Greg’s tread on the floorboards. She couldn’t help it. Her stomach began to flutter, and she had to set a hand to it to settle herself.
This was really not good at all. In fact, this was exactly what Kate had warned her about. And wasn’t Kate always right?
* * *
Greg had driven fast—faster than he should with the slick roads and the fresh dusting of snow that had accumulated since he’d left for Boston that morning—but he couldn’t help it. Rebecca wanted to work through things, said she’d drop the baby conversation for now, that she’d been swept up in what her friends had, not what she really wanted.
But what did he want? Not Rebecca, not what they’d had. He realized that now. Their life was all about parties and boats and the newest restaurant opening. There were no quiet nights at home. His apartment in Boston was sleek and industrious.
And every second in it, every moment with Rebecca, every thought of going back to the way things were, made him that much more eager to get back to what he had now.
More Christmas lights had been added to the trees that lined the driveway since he’d left early this morning. Clearly, Charlotte had heeded his mother’s advice, and quickly. Garland was now draped over the front door, and a wreath hung from every window by a red ribbon. The kitchen light was on, and he took the back door, puzzled at the smell of sugar and vanilla.
Marlene didn’t bake, not often, and she knew how he felt about the holidays.
But it wasn’t Marlene at all, he realized, as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Charlotte was standing at the center island, a piping bag full of bright green frosting in her hand, a dusting of flour on her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
He grinned. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”
She held up the packaging of premade cookie dough. “I can work an oven. Sometimes.” She motioned to the tray. “Care to join me, or does your dislike of the holiday extend to the treats?”
“I think I’ll just eat one instead,” he said, reaching over to help himself, but she gave him a light slap on his hand.
“You can eat what you decorate. Otherwise, these are for a cookie swap.”
“Cookie swap?” He vaguely remembered a Frost commercial about such a thing at one point in time. “Is that like a potluck with cookies?”
Charlotte grinned. “Exactly!”
Greg looked down at the cookies. They were messy and uneven and some were burnt around the edges. The different colors of icing were bleeding into each other. “You’re bringing these?”
“Yes.” Charlotte stopped icing a cookie and looked up at him. There was challenge in her eyes when she asked, “Why?”
He didn’t have the heart to comment on her efforts. He shrugged. “Just want to be sure I don’t mess any of them up for you.”
“Ah. So you’re helping!” She seemed so pleased by this that he didn’t quite know what to do. He’d almost kissed her last night. He’d almost thought she wanted him to.
He’d convinced himself otherwise the whole drive to Boston. But now…Now he had the urge to try again.
“Show me what to do,” he said, coming around the corner to stand next to her. He was so close, he could feel her hip brush against his, feel the heat of her body. He waited to see if she’d inch away, but she stayed put, happily walking him through the instructions and demonstrating how to use the piping bag.
“You’re quite an expert on this,” he remarked.
She blushed. “My sister and I always made Christmas cookies. We liked decorating them best.”
He tried to trace a white edge of icing along a cookie shaped like a star. Not great. But not terrible, either. “My grandmother used to have me make cookies with her. I was happy to help because then she let me eat them.”
Charlotte laughed. “I can just picture it. I’m sure Audrey will be the same way soon enough.”
Greg studied her smile, felt the pull he couldn’t resist any longer.
She reached across his arm, leaning toward the second tray, and his hand slipped around her waist as his mouth came down to hers. She stiffened in surprise, but he didn’t stop. And soon they were kissing. A long, slow, deep kiss, right against the counter.
Her eyes were bright when they broke apart, and her cheeks were pinker than usual.
He looked down at her hand, which was covered in red frosting and some sprinkles, and the cookies she’d managed to smash without probably realizing it. Maybe not even caring.
She licked the remains off her thumb before quickly grabbing a towel. “So much for that batch.”
“We’ll make another,” he said, eager for an excuse to drag out the evening. “Do you have anoth er tube of dough?”
She laughed. “I bought extra just in case. Clearly, you know me well.”
He was starting to, he realized. And it had been a long time since he’d really gotten to know anyone. And that was a scary thought.