I nod once. “Thanks for the food.”
“No problem.”
I head for the stairs. It’s been a long day. My body feels heavy, my mind even heavier.
I unlock my bedroom door with my fingerprint and wait for the soft click.
Maybe I can get through these two nights and leave it all behind.
5
SHORTCAKE STROKES
CHRISTMAS EVE
“I need a little more frosting. It would be perfect.” I grab a spoonful of frosting and spread it across the cinnamon rolls.
I have been working on my Grandma’s ‘Steal a Man’ red velvet homemade cinnamon rolls for the last hour. Every Christmas, I make them the same way she taught me. With a whole lot of love and sweat. Only this time, I swapped the white frosting for red. Holiday spirit and all.
I miss her so much. When she passed six years ago, it felt like she took the holiday spirit with her. I have been trying to keep it alive ever since, at least by sharing the joy.
Finishing the last roll, I glance at the clock on the kitchen door.
3 pm.
Perfect time for a Christmas movie marathon before bed.
I have not heard a peep from Heaven in over an hour. She has been locked away in her room. She never gave me a real reasonwhy she is alone for the holidays. Maybe I should check on her. Or maybe I should mind my business.
Then again, she could have kicked me out but did not. A cinnamon roll and a movie invite feels like a decent thank you.
Placing one roll on a plate, I head upstairs. I do not need directions. The fingerprint-scanned door screams Heaven. Very private.
As I reach her hallway, I hear faint music from behind the door. I hesitate for a second before knocking, then step back.
No answer.
I raise my hand to knock again just as the door swings open. My fist freezes midair, level with her chest.
She is wearing a white tee and gray sweatpants with no bra. Nipples on full display. I try not to stare, but I definitely notice.
I shake my head and smile. “Do you want?—”
“Alexa, turn the music down,” she cuts in.
“Music down,” Alexa replies.
Heaven looks down at me. “Do you need something?”
“Yeah,” I say, holding out the plate. “I wanted to see if you would like a cinnamon roll. It is homemade.”
“Uh.” She glances at the roll, then back up at me. “Nah, I am good. Thanks though.”
She starts to close the door.
“Oh, and I was planning to watch some movies downstairs,” I add quickly. “There is pizza in the oven. If you want to get out of your cave, you are more than welcome.”
Her lips twitch slightly, like she is trying not to smile. “I do not.”
