I bark a laugh. Maybe a little bit. “I just love seeing you smile,” I muse, pulling the stool next to her and climbing onto it.
They did a decent job, transforming the dining room into a more conducive environment for today’s lesson. Next to the bar is a table with all the ingredients and tools we’ll be using. Then, there are three stations throughout the room with the same fixtures and some of the same equipment. There are six couples, so I assume it will be two couples to a station. The dining table is pushed against the wall where the buffet is usually hosted. It seems like a challenging layout to decipher, but they figured it out nonetheless.
“I’m texting my dad,” Krystal finally says, clicking her phone off and resting it on the table. “He’s trying to convince me not to spend Christmas in New York.”
“I don’t know if it matters much, but I’m on his side,” I add.
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she sighs.
“What’s not to know?” I pry.
“I just…I don’t know. At first, I didn’t go because I couldn’t bear the questions and pity stares. Then, last year, I didn’t go because I knew how I was feeling, and even though I didn’t care for the holiday anymore, I didn’t want to ruin it for anyone else,” she explains.
“And now?” I ask, my eyes are stuck on her. She’s so pretty with her hair clipped in a ponytail on the back of her head. Uncertainty washes her features as she considers my question.
“Before coming here, I wasn’t going to go for the same reason…but since then…”
Satisfaction takes root in my core, blooming into a proud smile with the knowledge that I had a part to play in her Christmas feeling different this year. It’s not just me, though. Crescent Bay is like an incubator for dealing with unresolved emotions. I’m not sure if it’s the size of the town or the warmth of the people who live here.
Our conversation is cut short when a stout, older woman storms out of the kitchen and takes her place behind the table at the front of the room. The place hushes, and Rita and Kendra rush over to join us. I say a silent thank you that we got stuck with them, and turn my attention to the older woman at the top of the room.
Her gruff, raspy voice booms when she talks. “Sorry, y’all haven’t seen much of me these past few days. I’m Mary, the head chef here at Emerson Bed & Breakfast—”
“Whoo!” Alex hollers.
I shake my head, but clap along with the rest of the group. Her cooking is described as iconic for a reason.
“Well, thank you,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back and nodding, a warm glimmer in her eyes. “We’re working on opening a co-op downtown, trying to reclaim some power from the gentrifying assholes—”
“Ahem!” Gayle, who nobody realized was standing in the corner, clears her throat loudly.
“Err—right, you’re not here for town politics, you’re here to learn how to make my cinnamon roll cookies,” Mary corrects.
The crowd offers sympathetic laughter as Mary begins the lesson.
“You big on cooking?” Rita asks the table as we begin by making the cinnamon roll filling. It’s straightforward, with everything measured out for us beforehand. We needed a daylike today to break up all the holiday excitement we’ve been exposed to. Toni Braxton’s sultry voice drifts through the house as we follow Mary’s instructions. The energy in the house crackles with the familiarity of home.
“I actually love cooking,” Krystal says.
My head jerks back. “Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Nick,” Kendra quips, humor in her gaze as she focuses on their mixing bowl.
“Yeah, don’t look sosurprised,”Krystal joins.
I release a defeated chuckle. “You just don’t look like the cooking type,” I say.
Krystal’s pretty mouth pops open as she cracks an egg into the bowl with one hand. My brows shoot to my hairline as she discards the shell, not a bit of raw egg on her.
“Okay,” I laugh. “That was genuinely impressive.”
She shakes her head, whisking together the eggs and vanilla until they’re well combined.
“Maybe, one day we can cook for each other…with each other,” I offer.
Her face is buried in the task at hand, but I still catch the way her cheeks flush.
“Next, we cream the butter and sugar. This is easier if we do it in a stand mixer, so we’ve already creamed yours for you,” Mary instructs.
