Olivia, we just talked about this. You need to chill.
He walks over to me, stopping to take my hands into his. His eyes drop down to my lips for a second before dancing around my face.
“You look beautiful.” His words grip my heart.
“All I did was change my sweater,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Someone wise once told me that I should be with someone that gives me the same feeling as when I see my food comingtoward me in a restaurant.” His expression softens as I snort at the memory, because that someone was me. “Here we are, in a room full of cookies, and all I can do is look atyou.”
I try not to reveal how his words are affecting me. But he’s saying everything I wish my exes would have said to me, and it's coming from the one man I can’t have in that way, with words that are fake.
You. Are. Fake. Dating,I remind myself.
“Now I understand how you’ve been able to woo all those old girlfriends of yours.”
I know he’s putting on a show for his family, that he’s saying all the right things because he’s pretending to be my boyfriend.
His brows furrow, like what I said offended him. “I’m not trying to woo you, Liv. I’m appreciating you.”
“You’re appreciating me?” I question, my brow lifting.
“Yes. Because your exes have done nothing but make you feel like you’re too much or not enough. I’m here to prove to you that you’ve always been enough. You’ve just been unappreciated.”
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before brushing his thumb across my pulse point. His touch shifts until he’s tracing each of my knuckles and the dips in between each finger. Goosebumps erupt all the way up my shoulders. I have to force myself to swallow back the words I so badly want to admit out loud to someone other than myself.
That I’m starting to see him differently and it scares me.
His eyes pierce into mine, transforming into something softer. “Come on. Let’s go decorate some cookies.”
I’m laughing so hard there are tears in my eyes. Inmy hands is the ugliest cookie I’ve ever seen—it’s lumpy, with icing that looks like it was applied during a minor earthquake. Two mismatched candy eyes stare in opposite directions, and a crooked smile is sliding slowly down its face. Luke is giving me his sternest glare because the ugly cookie is his, which only makes me laugh more.
“It’s like a Picasso gingerbread man,” Jerrica says, patting Luke on the shoulder and giving him a pity smile.
“This one is my favorite,” I add, holding up a round cookie with what I think is supposed to be two stick figures standing on snow. I look over at where his five-year-old cousin, Emma, is sitting and see that even her cookies were easier to decode compared to Luke’s.
“I’m glad, because that’s supposed to be us.”
I press my lips together, holding in another laugh. I’m just poking fun at him because this feels normal, like we’re drifting back into the comfort of the friend-zone without anyone else noticing.
I lift up another cookie. “And this one looks like a melted snowman.”
He holds my gaze for another moment, a wrinkle between his brows, before he replies, “Because it is.”
“Oh.” I chuckle, and he bumps his shoulder into mine, the tiniest lift in the corner of his mouth.
“What is this one supposed to be?” he asks.
“It’s a gingerbread man going on vacation.”
“Really?”
“Yes!” I giggle.
“I made mine into anOompa Loompa,” Jerrica announces proudly, showing us her orange gingerbread man with green hair. We’re both laughing, and the sound uncoils the tension that was building inside of me from before.
Luke nudges me with his elbow and nods his chin toward his grandmother. “Nonni! Your cookies are beautiful!” I exclaim, impressed with her delicatesnowflake designs.
“It’s from years of experience.” She smiles proudly.
