The mention of Christmas spikes my anxiety. I’d almost forgotten the holiday was so near. It presents a few logistical issues. I’ve known Spencer for two and a half weeks. Am I required to buy him a gift? And what would I get him?
"Are you coming to the Christmas Eve parade?" Anessa, with her brown hair falling over one shoulder asks.
"Yes, you absolutely must come. I hear it's like the highlight of the town festivals." Tabitha’s eyes widen, and she seems a little worked up over a parade that happens every year come snow or shine—normally snow. Very cold snow.
"I haven’t been in a few years. I guess I could watch."
Anessa claps her hands together a few times. "After the parade finishes, we can do hot chocolate and doughnuts here."
"I hope I can actually attend a Pelican Bay event for a change," Tabitha says.
"You do you have horrible luck when it comes to festivals." Anessa rearranges a few cupcakes in the display case and closes the back.
A loud, grating buzz comes from the back kitchen, and Tabitha perks up. "Oh, my cookies." She quickly turns on a heel and, without another word, pushes her way into the kitchen.
Anessa leans over her counter and whispers, "Donoteat any." Her eyes widen and her head shakes to emphasize her point.
A few minutes of cautious coffee sips later, Tabitha returns from the kitchen, a stack of dark brown cookies laid out on a plate in the shape of a Santa hat.
Anessa eyes the plate as Tabitha walks by. "Oh wow, Tabitha. They look much better than the last batch."
Tabitha stops a foot from me, holding the plate out at an angle. From my seated position, the cookies are at perfect eye level, and against my better judgment, I pick one off the top of the pile.
It's dark brown and brittle. A few pieces flick off as I lower the cookie closer to the small plate my cup of coffee sits on. Burnt doesn't begin to describe the abomination in my hand. It looks like she put the cookie through torture.
"What kind are they?" I ask before bringing the cookie to my lips.
"Chocolate chip." Tabitha grins, looking down at the plate. "They’re a little burnt."
A little burnt is an understatement. That’s like saying the Titanic nudged an icicle.
Much to my dismay, she doesn't walk away once the cookie is in my hand, but instead continues to stare at me. To help hurry this along, I stick the cookie between my teeth and try to nibble off a small bite. A huge chunk breaks off, crumbs falling all over the table.
"Still hot," I lie while trying my hardest to chew the cookie and not break a tooth.
"Two cupcakes, and put them on Spencer's tab," Hudson stops in front of Anessa's display case and points without touching the glass.
"I have cookies." Tabitha twists the tray in his direction.
Hudson crinkles his nose at the platter, not doing a good job of hiding his rejection of Tabitha's cookies. "It's okay, Tabs. Ridge doesn't care if his girl can cook. He once dumped a girlfriend over apple pie, so it's probably better."
"What?" I’ve heard more than a few of Ridge’s break-up stories over the years. He’s a hot topic on the phone tree, but I’ve never heard the apple pie story.
"It was right after he got out of the Navy. Some chick baked an apple pie and didn't put any cinnamon in it. You know Ridge…" We all nod. "They got into a big fight and he told her he couldn't date someone who didn't know how to put cinnamon in a pie.”
"Who dumped someone over pie?" Anessa asks.
“Ridge, of course.” Tabitha rolls her eyes with the answer.
The man in question peeks over at the mention of his name, but then his attention falls back to the phone in his hand as he places it to his ear.
Hudson laughs. "I spent four years in the military with Ridge. I could tell you a whole book on the girls Ridge left in the dust."
Tabitha rolls her eyes, harder this time. "Yes, we all know Ridge is shitty with breakups."
Tabitha moves just right, and a glint in the sunlight streaming through the open window catches my eye. Underneath my table, stuck between the wall and the table base, lays something shiny. I lean down and pick it up, realizing it's a piece of glass when the corner jabs me in the finger.
"We missed that one." Tabitha leans over and takes the glass from my pinched fingers. She throws it and the tray of cookies in a large trash can on the other side of the counter, leaving the empty plate on top of the display case.
