Ugly Sweater Weather

"I'm so sorry!" Dea said, wincing down at the run in Noel's stocking.

"Don't worry about it. I have it glued on my other leg from Lillybean too," my sister said, shrugging. "I probably should have known better than to wear stockings in a house where a dog lives."

"Dea, this is Noel. Noel, Deavienne," I said, putting my armfuls of groceries down on the island.

"I've heard all about you," Noel said, making me cringe, wondering if that was too much.

"I've heard so much about you too. Does it feel good to get away from school for a bit?"

"I almost feel like I'm doing something wrong," Noel admitted, smiling. "I'm excited to get back this way after I graduate though. I'm going to be doing my residency in the city."

"That's what you want to do, right? Be an E.R. Doctor?"

"Yeah. I know, I'm breaking the lady business doctor tradition in my family, but I've been more drawn to the idea of having each shift having different challenges, y'know? Not the same thing day in and out."

"That's awesome. I felt faint when I accidentally cut Lock's quick one time I gave him a nail trim. I admire people with a tough stomach for things like that."

"She called me sobbing," I recalled. I'd barely been able to understand her over her sniffling as she went on and on about how he was never going to trust her again, and she needed to go get more treats because she'd already given him a whole bag while she applied pressure to the nail.

"He showed up with styptic powder and a giant bone for him and a big milkshake for me," Dea told Noel, smile warm.

"He's a keeper, that one," Noel agreed, nodding, making Dea look over her shoulder at me.

"Yeah, that he is," she agreed, ducking her head for a second as a pinkness tinged her cheeks. "So!" she started, voice loud enough to make the dogs jump. "Cookies. That's what we are doing today. I brought my recipe book and just about every ingredient known to mankind, but we need to decide which ones we are working on. I mean... chocolate chip and sugar go without saying."

"Oatmeal is my favorite," Noel said as Dea dug through her bag for a small binder, flipping through to find each recipe that were each in laminated sleeves, putting them on the counter.

"And Chrusciki for Crosby, obviously," Dea said, making Noel send me a raised brow look.

"Chrusciki?" she repeated.

"Polish angel wing cookies," Dea explained. "Oh, I thought that was his favorite," she said, eyes going wide.

"I always thought it was peanut butter," Noel said.

"It was," I agreed. My mom's peanut butter cookies, to be exact. "Until Dea made Chrusciki for me last year. She converted me."

"What are they?" Noel asked, looking at the picture.

"Basically, deep-fried twists of dough covered in powdered sugar. They're amazing."

"Well, if they are Crosby's favorite, we have to make them," Noel agreed, giving me a knowing look. "Just out of curiosity, is his favorite dessert still Boston Cream pie?"

"Oh, ah," Dea said, looking between the two of us, unsure. Since I'd told her differently.

"Actually, it is Dea's peanut butter cup cheesecake."

"Really now? That must have been some cheesecake," Noel said, smirk pulling at her lips. Because since I was four years old, the Boston Cream pie had been my favorite. It was what my mother made me for my birthday.

"It is," I agreed. "Maybe if we are lucky, we can coerce her into making it for Christmas Day," I said, getting a smile from Dea.

"I already planned to do it. I mean, I know you want it for your birthday too, but I figured you wouldn't be sick of it."

"Not at all."

"So, Crosby, do you have a new favorite meal as well?" Noel asked, and while I had long outgrown acting on it, the elementary desire to slap her for the comment sprang up.

Watch it I mouthed at her when Dea turned to find the sugar cookie recipe, her personal favorite.

To that, she gave me a classic What are you going to do about it look.

From there, we got to work on the cookies, cranking up a Christmas playlist on Spotify that Dea and I had worked on the previous year, putting on it all our favorites. Including her beloved Christmas Tree Farm.

"Did you see that? He's singing along," Dea said when it came on and she and Noel sang their hearts out. "He still claims he doesn't like it, but he was totally singing it. I think I am wearing him down."

"I think you might be right," Noel said, giving me a knowing look behind Dea's back.CHAPTER NINEDeaMy feet hurt from baking cookies for ten hours the day before. We hadn't even finished. There was still a ton of cookie dough in Crosby's freezer that he said he would work on before our Christmas Eve party at our friend's house where we were expected to show up with some sweets.