Christmas Therapy

She had to know. “Did I—”

He shook his head. “No, it was me.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Heather, I need you to believe me. Please? There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He held up the bags. “Let me make it up to you.”

Chapter 19

Allen stared at the ingredients he bought on Heather’s kitchen island. Flour, molasses, sugar, and ginger. With her rolling pin in front of her, she agreed on his choice to make gingerbread cookies.

He didn’t know what he was getting into, but he looked up enough recipes to know he bought all the essentials for their baking adventure. It would be interesting. He hoped they could have fun baking.

“Ready?” she asked.

“No clue.” He dried his hands and stepped over beside her. She sat on the barstool. “All of this goes in here?” He pointed to the bowl.

She nodded. “And then we roll the dough and use this.” She held up a gingerbread man cookie cutter.

He rubbed his hands together. “It’s now or never.” Though Crystal's face flashed in his mind, he blinked the memories away. Would she even recognize his face if they locked eyes? Would she know his name? He swallowed.

The past was in the past. He had an opportunity with the woman next to him, her curls pulled into a high ponytail and an apron secured around her waist. He could easily bend and kiss the space behind her ear.

Heather tilted her head towards him, facing him straight on. Her eyes shined. She then gave a slight smile and returned her gaze to the mixer. Allen licked his lips as his nerves stirred and tingled.

He watched as Heather added butter and sugar to the mixer. He handed her the eggs and one cup of molasses. Allen watched as Heather added more ingredients into the mix, while he stood next to her leaning against the counter holding the flour.

“Add this now?” he asked.

She nodded, and he poured it into the mixture.

“You make these often?”

“My sister and I would make them as kids. We got out of the habit, especially once I got into fitness,” Heather said. “What about you and your family?”

He would pick out a Christmas tree with his mother. When he and Crystal would celebrate, she wanted more elaborate decorations with each year that passed.

“My Mom loved Christmas trees. Only Douglas Firs allowed in the house.”

Heather’s mouth fell open. “She wouldn’t have liked me then.”

He folded his arms. “Yeah, what’s up with the fake tree?” He gestured to her tree in her living room, recalling their tinsel fight.

“Call me crazy, but I can’t stand to throw it away later.”

“Someone’s sentimental I see.”

She giggled. “Are you teasing me now?” She rubbed the excess flour on her hands on his nose.

Allen’s mouth twisted into a grin. “This is the second time you’ve attacked me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What are you going to do about it?”

Allen leaned in closer hearing her breath hitch. He reached out, stroked her cheek, and planted a kiss on her forehead. Heather shivered and his own skin prickled. Then he kissed her eyelids and trailed his lips down the bridge of her nose. His chest flooded with warmth. When his lips hovered over hers, he gently brushed them against hers.

She exhaled. “Not fair.”

“Who said anything about playing fair?”