Chapter One
COOKIE
DAY 1 ~ CHRISTMAS EVE PM
“Just show up with some cookies and Christmas cheer. That’s all.”
I’m elbow-deep in flour when Beth announces I need to go see her hermit uncle with baked goods and Christmas carols.
"What?" I look up from the flour-dusted counter.
“You heard me.” Beth grins as she places a tray of maple pecan plaits beside me.
The scent hits me, and I practically drool. Two months of working here and I still haven't gotten used to resisting these delicious little pastries.
"Sing to my uncle and deliver these." She points at the yummy pastries. "That's it. We close early today anyway—Christmas Eve gets quiet after the morning rush."
I stare at her. "You wantmeto drive up a mountain on Christmas Eve to sing toyouruncle with a tray of pastriesyou'vebaked?"
It’s Christmas, and she’s askingmeto go see her uncle? Thesame uncle she's mentioned only in passing, always with that slight furrowing of her brow that speaks of complicated family history.My first instinct is to say no. Christmas Eve used to mean family gatherings, laughter, and belonging. Now it means an empty apartment and memories I'm not ready to face. The thought of spending the evening alone with nothing but those ghosts makes something twist painfully in my soul.
"Sasha." Beth uses my real name, which means she's serious.
Except… ever since the day of the accident, I haven’t been able to bear hearing it. The last time I did, it was from the people who loved me the most.
My parents.
I wave her off, hoping she doesn’t notice my eyes watering. "It's Cookie. You know I hate Sasha."
"Fine. Cookie." She softens. "I know it's a lot to ask but he’s alone?—"
“It’s Christmas," I say, surprising myself. "No one should be alone." Maybe that's why I'm considering this—because I know how lonely the holiday can feel when you're by yourself. I'm already mentally packing cookies, wondering if this strange mission might be exactly what I need.
Beth waves her hand. “I worry about him.” She sighs. “We all do, but he won’t see us.”
I glance at her and can’t help the pang of sympathy in my chest I know she’d hate. It must be hard having family so close by when they don’t seem to want you around.
Beth’s been talking me into questionable decisions since our freshman year—like the time she convinced me to dye my hair purple for Spring Break, or when she talked me into movinghalfway across the country to help run her bakery. This latest request feels normal coming from her.
“You have this way with people. Remember Mrs. Carlisle from the apartment upstairs?” Beth leans against the counter. “She actually smiled after you brought her those brownies.”
“I can’t sing,” I remind her, and she rolls her eyes.
“It’s Christmas. No one cares.”
“Seriously though, why can’t you go?”
Beth hesitates and then purses her lips—something she does when she doesn’t want to answer.
“Beth?”
“He’s extra grumpy.”
Oh.
“And maybe he could do with a little cheering up.” Beth gives me a wink. “He’s your type, too.”
“Beth!”
