Iwantto, but instead, I dream about a chaotic kitchen with a frantic feline who somehow breaks into hybrid mode, turning into Spider-Cat a moment before spinning a web from the rafters to swing himself into the frosting bowl as the camera rolls. Pistachio green splatters everywhere, and I wake up in a pool of sweat.
Though it’s an hour and a half before my alarm goes off, I don’t try going back to sleep. I shower, get dressed, and sit on the sofa with my favorite devotional because I need Jesus more than ever.
I’m too wrapped up ingetting. Getting the job, getting the guy, even getting revenge, because it would sure put Patty in her place if I got it instead of her. And since this season is meant to be about giving, I feel like a crappy human.
My friends are showing up for me, andJudeshowed up for me, but what have I done for them lately?
Just then, my phone lets out a soft buzz. And call mein tunewith the man who still owns my heart, but I know it’s from Jude before I even flip the phone face-up.
It is.
Jude:I miss you.
My heart begins leaping likeI’ma hybrid now—part woman, part lemur. It’s not as cool as Spider-Girl, but I’ll take it. If I were teleported to a rainforest, I’d be swinging with a perma-grin from vine to vine.“Did you hear that, world?”I’d holler with glee.“He misses me!”
Sure, he was just here, but I know what he means. He misses being together. And our time yesterday—the extended glances, warm smiles, and familiar banter—made it all the more clear. There are still feelings between us. Our breakup is unresolved: a dangling thread just begging to besavoredinstead of snipped—spun into a path of new beginnings.
I stare at the text while sipping my coffee, wondering if it’d be weird to print and frame it. Maybe dip it in bronze? It feels momentous—Jude misses me! I could die a happy woman right here and now. But I should probably text him first.And I don’t really mean it about the dying thing,I say inwardly with a glance toward the heavens.
I grab my phone to text him back but pause to consider. Does this mean he’s not dating Lisa?
Maybe. Either way, I can’t let the what-if question stop me now.
Me:I miss you too. Thanks again for being there yesterday. It meant…
I pause, not wanting to use a trite phrase likeit meant the worldormeant more than I can say,but it did.
Me:It meant everything. Safe travels.
I hit send, then open my web browser. I order a gorgeous Christmas bouquet of flowers for Nellie with a note thanking herfor being such a spectacular friend. I send a bundle of cookies to Mr. Bruce and gasp when I see they sell cookies for pets, too—genius. I send Jinxy a few cat cookies shaped like birds and wryly muse that he could swallow Polly whole.
And since I have extra time on my hands, I send Patty a gag gift with a hate note.
Just kidding. Don’t think I’m crazy, but sinceIneed forgiveness andeveryoneneeds forgiveness, and because I selfishly want to feel better, I take a moment to forgive Patty in my heart and pray that whatever makes her so spiteful will heal somehow so she’ll stop being so cruel. The fact is, I’ve seen her good side; if she didn’t want to be enemies so badly, we might actually be…well, maybe that’s a stretch.
I don’t hear back from Jude, which is fine, I assure myself. If this morning’s exchange proves to be our last, I’ll find a way to pick up the pieces and—after rounds of raging tears and agonized self-loathing regret—move on and put it behind me once and for all. Jude has already given me more than I deserve.
As I enter the studio, I lift one final prayer because heaven knows I need it:Please don’t let me panic and make a mess of things.
CHAPTER 13
The calm energy in the studio feels like a gift.
I’m boosted with confidence as I consider today’s feature—a spiced cookie similar to the one I made from scratch. To meet Marsha's criteria, I used just a cake mix, butter, and eggs—it doesn’t get easier than that. The magic comes into play with my rich, pistachio buttercream frosting, and I’ve got to say, it's one of the best I've made. Buttery sweet with the slightest savory hint of roasted pistachios.
Mr. Bruce joins me in the kitchen with Jinxy. We make a batch in advance to display for the show. We frost the cookies, sandwiching some like Oreos, and leaving others open-faced with snowflake confetti on top. Either option is as gorgeous as it is delicious.
“Jinxy’s been a little gassy this morning,” Mr. Bruce says, scrunching his nose as he holds the cat with outstretched arms. “It’s his new diet. We’ve got twenty-five minutes, so I’ll take him back to my office and see if he needs to use his little boy’s room.”
I fight back a grin. “Good idea.” The expression on Mr. Bruce’s face reminds me of a time Jude couldn’t stop gagging in the TSA line at the airport. The offender was a soiled diaper onthe baby in front of us, which was bad, I admit, but Jude has a seriously sensitive sniffer.
The memory is a band of heat contracting around my heart with a painful squeeze. Gosh, I love him, and I can’t believe I let him go over my precious pride.
But he misses me,I remind myself, which makes the band ease up a notch.
Nellie makes a slightly late appearance on the set. She rushes in and tosses her arms around me. “Holyschnikies,those flowers are gorgeous,” she says. “Thank you. I needed that this morning.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
