by Lucy Knott
Everyone is respectful of Mr and Mrs Rolph and so conversation is kept to a minimum while every participant focuses on getting their areas tidy while the cookies bake in the oven. I don’t even know how to describe the smells to you but it’s pure Christmas overload and it’s delightful. From warm vanilla sugar and mulled wine inspired flavours, to cinnamon, eggnog and peppermint; there are currently so many festive aromas dancing around the tent. It’s heavenly.
As the chimes of oven timers begin to go off in jingle-bell-like fashion, one after the other, excited gasps and joyous hand clapping can be heard all around and the smell becomes even bolder as the oven doors open, revealing their precious cargo.
Mine and Devon’s is the last oven to ping and I anxiously step from foot to foot while Devon sees to taking out our creation. I love cooking and I love to experiment with food. I think it’s been my way of getting my creativity out over the years without drawing – that and these Christmas craft stalls. The smell of the peppermint hits me first, making me lick my lips, followed by the hint of cinnamon, a faint hint of vanilla and, finally, a dash of Baileys, because really nothing quite says Christmas like a glass of Baileys.
Devon places the tray on the counter and sends me a smile, which I can see is confident mixed with surprised impressed. The cookies look great: perfectly round, with a few bigger and smaller, the odd lump and bump, but I could bottle their smell and make the next number-one Christmas fragrance guaranteed.
‘I should trust you more often. These smell incredible, Scar,’ Devon notes as we both plate up the cookies ready for the judges and pop the majority in a Tupperware container.
‘You haven’t tasted them yet,’ I say playfully.
‘True,’ Devon responds, giving me a side glance and laughing. I have to say I was nervous when my dad mentioned the tag team being back together. I still am, but if I just take this evening for what it is and nothing more, no thinking about him sticking around when I know he can’t, then I’ve had a truly wonderful time teaming up with Devon again. Watching him place each cookie neatly in the snowman tin, I note he looks relaxed. Crinkles around his eyes give evidence of his laughter from moments ago. His hair is threatening to wave from sweat – it’s hot inside this tent even with the snow falling outside – and there’s a look in his deep brown eyes that tells me he really wants to eat one of those cookies.
I don’t know what life is like for him in New York, sure I assume he’s landed on his feet with this movie role; living his dream and playing a superhero. But besides the strong desire to devour a cookie, his eyes are sparkling the way they used to when we were kids and we’d just learnt that Superman was Clark Kent. Considering the last time I saw those eyes was when we were sixteen and they were streaming with tears, seeing that twinkle is much preferred.
‘See something you like?’ I jump out of my skin as Hope creeps up beside me, her not so innocent words frightening the life out of me. I had well and truly disappeared into my own world, or more accurately a world where nothing had changed between Devon and I; where it was still simple, and we were best friends again. I shake my head to compose myself.
‘I do in fact. Those, my dear Hope, are the winning cookies,’ I proclaim, taking a step closer to Devon to try and walk off my sudden shakes from Hope scaring me. Hope eyes me suspiciously. Devon breaks a cookie in half and hands me one half.
‘No, Devon, you’re not supposed to try them now. We wait until Mr and Mrs Rolph judge the first bite.’ Hope informs Devon of the rules in a hushed and urgent whisper. He already has his half of the cookie hovering by his lips. He looks from me to Hope then back to me, worry lines creasing in his brow, then just like the spoon of gloop at the hospital all those years ago, I go to speak and before I know what’s happening Devon stuffs his cookie half into my mouth.
‘She did it first,’ he says. My eyes go wide. Devon shrugs at Hope and points at me tutting, before taking my cookie half out of my hand and helping himself to neat bites. I’m momentarily stunned, cookie crumbs falling from the corner of my mouth. I consider spitting it out, but my tongue is too happy with the flavours that it just allows them to hang around for a minute before I start chomping unattractively to break up the huge bite Devon force-fed me.
‘I wonder what punishment Mrs Rolph will give the two of you should she find out about you breaking the rules.’ Now I know Hope is just winding me up by the smirk on her face.
‘Ready to give these in, babe?’ Jess asks, wandering over with their plate of cookies. When he catches sight of me, he gasps. I’m stood stock-still trying to manoeuvre the chunks of cookie in my mouth without choking and making too much of a mess, but crumbs are going everywhere. Unable to form the words ‘I know, I know’ I wave him off, nod my head and roll my eyes instead.
Jess heeds my gesture and takes Hope with him to the front of the tent where everyone is starting to gather for the cookie tasting. My eyes water when with one giant gulp I free my mouth from the festive treat. I promptly turn around and whack Devon in the chest, making him cough on his own bite of cookie; that serves him right. He gives me an innocent, ‘What?’ with his eyes, his shoulders rounding, his forearms coming up to shield his chest from any more blows.
‘These are bomb, Scar, like amazing. All the flavours are awesome.’ I see Devon eye up the tin and before I have time to overthink or really know or understand what I am doing, I’m scanning the room to check that all eyes are now on Mr and Mrs Rolph and that no beady ones are interested in Devon and me or looking our way, then I grab the tin of cookies and dash to the door; hoping that Devon doesn’t leave me running like a loon through the square in the snow, on my own, with a tin full of hijacked cookies.
Letting my feet guide me I don’t stop until they find their intended destination. Squinting through the shower of snowflakes and the dimming light of the sky – the sun having long since set – I come to a halt at the park. I’m standing in front of an overgrown wintergreen boxwood that takes up one length of the fence at the edge of the park. A chill sweeps over me now that I’ve stopped running as I study the shrub.
‘Are you not going to go in?’ I nearly send the tin of cookies flying but Devon grabs my shoulders to stop me from falling. His strong grip warming my skin.
‘Holy moly, D, don’t do that.’ I exhale. When I turn around, he’s got both our coats tucked under his armpit and he’s wearing a grin of pure joy as he looks from me to the shrubbery. I steady my breath staring at his chest a minute longer while I focus on breathing in and out.
‘Have you got your phone on you?’ I ask. I left mine on my desk at the office. Devon fumbles in his pocket excitedly.
‘Got it – stand back, Scar,’ he says handing me the tin and stepping forward. OK, right, so it was all right getting me to jump out of that tree first to test our ability to fly and it was perfectly fine for me to allow the spider we captured to bite me first that one time, but grown-up Devon got brave and when it comes to crawling under a totally safe bush he’s one hundred per cent got my back. I suppose I should be grateful. There is a possibility all sorts could be lurking in the shadows, so there’s a chance Devon could be scratched or bitten. Not that I’d want that or anything, but I have had my fair share of injuries on his account.
*
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ I ask, as D sets fire to the small bundle of twigs and branches we put together in the middle of our new den.
‘Every den should have a campfire,’ D replies watching in awe as the twigs catch alight with ferocious speed. The smoke quickly fills the small space and embers spark off the branches and land on the shrub that surrounds us.
‘D,’ I say, panic in my tone. ‘D!’
‘It’s working, Scar – did you bring the marshmallows?’ Devon says enthusiastically.
‘D, our whole den is on fire. Forget the marshmallows, get out, get out,’ I yell, shoving him and kicking him to crawl faster. By the time I reach the entrance and breathe in the smoke-free air, the ends of my ha
ir are scorched, and my jumper has a hole in it. I lob the whole bag of marshmallows at D’s head like I’m pitching a baseball.
*
With Devon’s phone now lighting up our path he bends down to where there’s a small arch between the soil and the branches. His butt is in my face and I can’t help ogle. Forget Man of Steel, Devon has a butt of steel. What am I even thinking? I cough and shake my head and thankfully my ogling is short-lived as Devon disappears within a matter of seconds. I clear my throat and scold myself for objectifying a man like that, least of all my ex best friend – a guy I used to take bubble baths with – ewww, I cringe.
‘Are you coming in, Scar?’ the bush shouts.
‘Grab the cookies,’ I croak, clearly not fully over my view from moments ago. I bend down, grateful that Devon has no clue of the reason for my shaky tone, and hold the tin out under the branches. Once Devon has relived me of it, I get down on my hands and knees in the damp earth and scuttle through the bush. My heart rate starts to pick up when I suddenly start to feel like this is a very bad idea. There wasn’t a whole lot that scared me when I was a kid running wild with Devon. Now though I have just willingly crawled into a spider’s haven. How much Baileys had I put into these bakes?
The bush becomes a clearing being lit my Devon’s phone flashlight, and oh my gosh if it isn’t tinier than I remembered and extremely cramped. I can feel a breeze on my backside that is still sticking out of the tree, but I have no more room to move. Devon is sitting cross-legged with his neck tilted to his right, his ear touching his shoulder, and there is absolutely nowhere for me to straighten out or sit, without sitting on Devon’s knee or getting tangled up with him in some way and I’m definitely not doing that. Without warning laughter barrels out of me.
‘D, I don’t think this is going to work,’ I note, my face inches from his face when I look up. Suddenly there is a flash of light and my laughter seizes. ‘D, I am not getting stuck under here in a stor…’
‘Shhh,’ Devon cuts me off, his face having gone from humorous to panicked. He hastily switches of the flashlight on his phone, rendering our space pitch-black.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, getting nervous now.
‘Shhh,’ Devon repeats. There’s another flash, which causes Devon to yank my wrist and pull me into him so I’m sitting on his lap.
My breath hitches. ‘What on earth are…’ This time when Devon tells me to shush, I can feel his warm breath on my neck and his finger on my lips. Goose bumps prickle my skin in an instant and that shuts me right up. Can he hear how hard my heart is hammering? I can feel heat radiating off him with the one hand I have resting on his shoulder to keep myself steady. Is this as uncomfortable for Devon as it is for me?
After what feels like a light year Devon pushes me off his lap. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he urges me.
I’m back on all fours and need to focus on something other than the feel of Devon’s solid thighs and the heat in my cheeks from seconds ago. ‘Don’t forget the cookies,’ is all I can manage.
‘Er, yeah, er huh. I got them,’ Devon croaks and stutters to get his words out, sounding rather frazzled. Outside the shrub, I stand up, stretch out my legs and brush down my mum’s choice of pencil-fit skirt. Though the frost is settling in now, just looking at my coat that Devon pushes through the arch first has me burning at my cheeks again. For something to do other than watch Devon and his strong limbs emerge from the boxwood, I gather our belongings, shaking off the mud and leaves, and look around for signs of the flashing light.
‘What was that?’ I ask, handing Devon his coat and doing my best to ignore the flustered state that I find myself in after being in such an unexpected confined space with Devon after all these years. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think my emotions are all over the place. It takes D a moment to recover from being contorted in our old den, his eyes darting around the park and seemingly avoiding my line of vision, before he rakes a hand through his hair and puts on his coat. I can only assume that was as awkward and weird for him as it was for me, if the lack of eye contact and blush I can see even in the dark are anything to go by. So, moving on.
I take a cookie from the box and start walking to the exit of the park. ‘Cameras. Someone was taking pictures, though I can’t exactly say for sure it was of you,’ Devon replies stepping into line with me, reaching out and snapping off some of my cookie for himself. A shiver runs down my spine.
‘Why would someone be taking a picture of me?’ I ask innocently. No one has ever taken pictures of me without my consent here in Springhollow.
‘They must have seen us dive into the bush and wondered what we were doing? That will be a fun one to explain,’ Devon says through a nervous chuckle. I munch my biscuit thoughtfully.
‘Oh gosh, sorry. Right, I sometimes forget. It wasn’t me they were after; it was you. I’m sorry, D. I thought all your people were back at the inn and I hadn’t seen any suspicious outsiders around here, but I wasn’t thinking.’ It finally clicks. The business of The Sunflower Inn over the weekend, the security, the filming crews and entourage that Devon now requires had been lost on me tonight. For a short time baking cookies and running off to escape to our old childhood den had seemed like an innocent enough adventure, not with a movie star but with my best friend.
Something squirms in my gut; the little niggle that, just like our boxwood den tried to tell me, is warning me that a lot has changed in ten years and I’d do right to remember that. I try to dispel it with another bite of peppermint heaven.
‘It’s OK, Scar. I liked that you remembered our den; it’s just a shame we can’t fit in it anymore.’ This time, his chuckle is more relaxed.
‘D, what will they do with the photos? You know, the paparazzi?’ I ask, my voice coming out small. I’ve never had to think about something like that before, but surely my face doesn’t match up to the likes of the actresses and actors that Devon is usually pictured with. It makes me queasy just thinking about it. The twinge in my stomach is back in full force but this time it’s not the worry that things have changed between us but a fierce protectiveness that I can’t place.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Scar. Whoever took the photos only managed to score shots of your butt. Our faces were inside when the flashes went off. So, I don’t think there’s really much they can do with them anyway,’ Devon says chewing his cookie and shrugging nonchalantly. When I look over at him, I can see the corner of his mouth twitching and know full well he’s doing his damnedest not to laugh.
‘Oi,’ I say, mock annoyed. The smirk on his face making me forget what moments ago I had just been anxious about. I pop my last bite of cookie in my mouth and shove him in his bicep with all my might. It has no effect; Devon has since morphed into The Hulk and is no longer the skinny kid I once knew. ‘Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the shots being worth anything then and being plastered on international magazines around the world,’ I note, relieved.
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that. I think they’d be worth plenty,’ Devon says making me laugh. The snowflakes and light raindrops hitting window ledges are the only sounds I hear in the peaceful night, when I realise my own laughter is ruining it as we reach my front door. Devon’s gone quiet, hands in his pockets, just watching me. Was he being serious? There’s no way Devon would be thinking about my arse; that’s not part of the best friend code. OK, so I might have taken a cheeky glance at his earlier, but it wasn’t exactly my fault – he had gotten on all fours in front of me. It had been right there. Suddenly my cheeks flush red hot. I had my butt in Devon’s face when I crawled out of our stupid den. Had that been why he had looked so flustered, stuttering over his words upon exit? Surely not.
‘I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m sorry that I pulled you away from the cookie tasting and that our den was a bust. I’m not sure what I was thinking,’ I say, my words coming out fast as I jangle my keys into the lock.
‘Not at all. I miss our adventures. I had a good ti
me, though I’d suggest we find a new den. I’ve grown a couple inches since we were twelve,’ Devon says, his eyes now focused on mine, a slight hint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. The night sky’s golden stars reflect in his warm brown eyes and for a moment I feel completely content, like I’m home. Keys hitting the concrete with a musical note snap me from my trance.
‘Erm, ha-ha, I hadn’t noticed,’ I joke regarding Devon’s growth spurt as I bend down to retrieve my slippery keys. I force myself to concentrate on the difficult task at hand: opening my front door. It’s not like I haven’t done it a million times before. However, with Devon at such close proximity it would be a first, so I guess my shaky hands aren’t that unreasonable. ‘Night, D,’ I force enthusiastically. I really need to get my feelings in check. Hadn’t Lois Lane and Peggy Carter taught me anything? Falling in love with a superhero was a dangerous game. I step into my house as Devon salutes me and wanders down my path to the gate; he’s a gentleman and waits for me to close my door – knowing I’m safe inside before he walks away.
I push the door to and lean my head against it. Without Devon by my side, my body shivers. My feet feel like blocks of ice in my boots. Finally a night of running around the park without a coat on catches up with me and – hold on a minute, the goose bumps are back in full force. Did I just say love? Did I just say I was falling in love with a superhero?
15
‘You’re a star,’ Hope says as I place her coffee on her desk. The two paper cups had been keeping my hands warm beneath my gloves.
‘What did I do?’ I ask as I place my hot peppermint coffee on my own desk – I switched to hot from iced lattes this morning as the chill from last night’s escapades has yet to leave my bones.