I try to salvage my snowman, but he ends up looking more like a victim of a frosting avalanche. “Turns out that I’m a musician, not a baker.”
Reese holds up his cookie—a perfectly iced Christmas tree with silver sugar pearls arranged like ornaments.
“Show off.”
His grin in response gives me a warm, fuzzy, fizzy rush like I used to feel on Christmas morning.
“As it so happens, I’m a baker in training, so this is good practice.”
I think about the bakery he and his buddies are opening with a twinge of jealousy. Sure, I wanted to share my music with the world because I saw how it made people happy, but I didn’t factor myself into the equation. I wasn’t anticipating having to surrender my privacy, my personal life, and my peace in the process.
Working side by side, I’m hyperaware of every time our elbows brush and when we reach for the same container at the same time. It’s hard not to think that every shared laugh and every moment our eyes meet doesn’t mean something.
My hands are sticky with icing and I’m certain there is edible glitter in my hair, but I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun or felt this content.
“Here.” Reese reaches over with a napkin and gently wipes a smudge of icing from my cheek. “I’m not sure if you were sneaking a bite or if this Christmas wreath cookie was trying to eat you.”
My laughter fades as his fingers graze my skin and my breath catches, much like it did when we were outside earlier and before that when he held my hand during the group photo.
If he had any idea how much I appreciate his steady presence, he’d probably tease me. Then again, this is adult Reese and not the goofball kid who was always hanging out with my brother.
Once more, our gazes drift together. The noise of the other guests disappears into the background music. It’s just us and unspoken questions suspended in the air. Is he just my brother’s best friend? Am I only his best friend’s little sister? Or is there something more going on?
Then Pookie whines, likely because she’s snarfled up all the sprinkles out of my lap and is having a sugar crash or she needs to go outside.
I get to my feet, and by the way Reese’s gaze follows me out of the room, something has shifted. I can feel it.
After freshening up for dinner, we meet in the main dining room for self-serve fondue with both sweet and savory options along with multiple charcuterie boards laden with cheese and crackers, fruit, smoked meat, spiced and glazed nuts, and dips and veggies. Each one is a different shape, including a tree, a star, a Christmas ball, and a wreath.
Fresh pine garlands drape across the mantel above a crackling fire. The scent of woodsmoke and the delicious meal make me forget about the storm outside. The long tables each host several candlelit centerpieces of red berries and winter greenery.
Reese and I sit with some of the other guests, and Hollis leads everyone in a blessing.
I’m struck again by how no one treats me like Rebecca Rios, Pop Star. I’m just Rebecca, the woman in the ridiculous, jingly ugly sweatshirt who’s great at painting but terrible at decorating cookies.
It’s the best gift anyone could give me. Well, that and the man who sits by my side, listens when I talk—and not because he wants something from me. When our eyes meet, it’s like we share a Christmas secret.
After dinner, Noella announces caroling in the main lobby, and my stomach drops.
“We don’t have to,” Reese says, reading my expression.
“No, I want to.” And I do, even though the thought of singing—my actual job—in front of people makes me nervous in a way performing for thousands never has. “It’s ...” But I’m not sure how to finish the sentence. I don’t want this snow globe bubble of real, genuine fun and anonymity to burst.
“No pressure. No performance. Let’s sing Christmas carols with people who are slightly off-key and only know half the words,” he whispers, stirring the loose hair on my neck and sending a delightful shiver through me.
I giggle because that doesn’t sound so bad.
As we gather by the tree, everyone smiles and sings. Nobody cares that I hit every note perfectly or that my voice is trained and polished. We’re all just people celebrating Christmas together.
When we finish the last verse of “Mary Did You Know,” I realize I’m crying. Happy tears, but still.
Reese’s hand finds mine and squeezes.
After caroling comes Christmas bingo, which turns out to be hilariously competitive. Reese gets three bingos in a row and wins a stuffed reindeer that he immediately presents to Pookie, who looks insulted or terrified, I can’t be sure which.
Next, we get to participate in a live Nativity scene. Pookie rebels against playing baby Jesus in the manger and opts to be a smug pug who parks herself next to the camel.
Watching the reenactment is a much-needed reminder of the reason for the season—the pageant and story, not my dog. I’ve let so many things that are important to me fall by the wayside and for what? To please Lilith? To make money? At some point, I lost track.
