by Rae Kennedy
Cade comes around the corner, dressed in a fitted black cotton shirt and gray worn-out jeans. His hair is perfectly coiffed, skin clean and glowing, and eyes bright. He looks sexier than ever.
“Hey, you,” he says, smiling at me and giving my shoulder a quick squeeze as he passes me on the way to the kitchen. He smells divine.
“Hey.”
He shuffles around in the kitchen, much happier after having unpacked his pots and pans.
“Are you hungry?”
I get up and walk cautiously to the counter. “I guess yeah.”
He busies himself mixing up some batter for French toast. I watch as he whisks.
“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” I ask.
“Do we need to?” He’s humming softly to himself as he submerges the bread.
“Um...I think so.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Are you upset about it? I’m not.”
“I...I just think...I don’t know. It’s too much. Can we just be friends?”
He puts a few pieces of the soaked bread on the hot skillet. There’s a loud hiss as each slice hits the pan. Not looking up from the stove, he says flatly, “No.”
“No?”
“No. I don’t want to be your friend, Haley.”
I reel back. The room fills with the scent of warm cinnamon.
He meets my gaze steadily. “I want to be your everything.”
I have to remind myself of how he walked out of my life a month ago. Not putting up a fight when Tuck asked him to leave, not caring when I begged him to stay. I have to strengthen my wall against him. I won’t let him do that to me again. “Cade, I can’t...”
He flips two pieces of French toast onto the plate in front of me with a sexy smile.
“Don’t worry. I can wait.”
CHAPTER 24
“Get your cute little ass in here.”
The contents of three sacks of groceries Cade just carried in are now strewn about the countertop as he unearths various cutting boards and cooking utensils.
“For what?” I say as I walk into the kitchen, knowing very well what he wants.
“You’re going to cook with me, duh.”
I scoff at him. “You are so bossy in the kitchen, you know that?”
He shrugs. “I have experience.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “You’ve never complained about it before.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel us falling into our old habits again, something I’ve dreamt about and longed for over the last month of our separation, but now that it’s happening... I just can’t let it. I don’t know why but my gut is telling me I have to protect myself. My brain is telling me he never actually loved me, or he wouldn’t have abandoned me. But my heart is fluttering like a fucking tween with braces getting noticed by her big crush.
“Please?” he asks so genuinely I almost melt.
I slink over to where he is, and he puts me on chopping duty with a huge grin. As he gets the rest of the dinner put together, he keeps close to me—our arms just brushing against one another. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I know I should stop it, not lead him on. But I like it. So I don’t.
After I finish chopping, he bumps me playfully with his hip and tells me to go set the table. I prepare for his customary ass-slap as I leave the kitchen, but he doesn’t do it. I’m more than a little disappointed, and even more annoyed with myself for being so.
The chili needs to simmer for a while so we go to the couch to watch some television. A Christmas movie I’ve seen a few times. Cade leans toward me on the couch. I should probably scoot a little farther away but I don’t know how to do it without being completely obvious. I don’t want to hurt his feelings or give him a complex—like he smells or something. Because he actually smells really, really good. Oh God, I’ve actually leaned a bit into him—you know, so I can smell him better. And then I feel his soft, warm hand lightly set on top of mine.
Shit! I pull it away quickly. Don’t lead him on, Haley. You are not getting back together. I look over at his face and, double shit! He looks completely rejected, big blue puppy-dog eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispers as he stands, rubbing the back of his neck. He goes to the kitchen and stays there until dinner is ready.
The steaming chili is hearty and thick and the cornbread smothered in butter and honey is perfectly sweet. We eat in silence.
He insists I go sit down while he does the dishes. I’m trying to think of a way to fix this. Whatever is still between us. I want desperately to either go back to just being friends or go back to being lovers. Neither is possible because we never were just friends. And I can’t trust him with my heart.
He comes to sit next to me again and I make sure to curl up on the opposite side of the couch.
“Give me your feet so you can lie down.”
My feet? My face turns red as I think about what he did with my feet on this couch.
“Come on, Hale. No funny business, I swear.” He puts his hands up in a show of good faith.
Hmm. Still not a good idea to lie down with him.
“I think I’m just going to stay over here.”
“Dammit, Haley, put your fucking smelly feet in my lap. I went crazy without you for a month. At least let me have you in this way.”
I’m stunned with no clue how to respond. So I put my (not) smelly feet on his lap and lie across the couch. He pulls a blanket down over me and true to his word, he does none of his hand magic. His hands are folded, resting gently on my shins as we watch the end of the movie we started earlier.
* * *
The next afternoon, Tuck calls me unexpectedly early.
“Hey, come out here and give me a hand.”
The phone goes silent. Okay...
I step out the front door. There is a light dusting of white over everything from the night before, just barely sparkling as the sun peeks in and out of the clouds. Tuck’s truck is parked along the sidewalk and he has his tailgate lowered. I walk down to him, the cold nipping at my ears. I pull my sweater tighter around me, wishing I had grabbed my coat.
As I reach him, Tuck is all rosy-cheeked and red-nosed in his blue beanie, pulling out a huge tree from the bed.
“Here, you take this end,” he says, directing me to the tip of the evergreen, “and I’ll get the trunk.”
He follows me up the steps but he’s probably carrying ninety percent of the weight of the tree by the time we reach the door.
Tuck gets the tree set up in the living room after moving the chair so it’s awkwardly smashed in the corner. The tree is tall—almost touches the ceiling—and it has a couple of barren patches, but it is a beautiful deep hunter’s green and smells like magic. I haven’t had a real, live Christmas tree since I was in elementary school.
We probably spend an hour just untangling lights and giggling. Tuck makes us some spiked eggnog and I drink like half a liter even though I don’t particularly care for eggnog.
We happily sift through Tuck’s Christmas ornaments, all haphazardly thrown in a big cardboard box. Some I recognize from when we were growing up, but most are newer. To say the mix is eclectic is putting it lightly.
“Oh! Let me go get Cade’s ornaments.” Tuck retreats down the hallway and comes back with a considerably smaller box. We open it up and there are a half-dozen or so ornaments in it, all nicely wrapped in tissue paper.
I unwrap them as Tuck places them on the tree. There are a few metallic orbs, a glass reindeer, and a beautiful white ceramic angel. The last one I open is handmade in a little round metal frame with frilly red and green ribbon woven around it. In the frame is a picture of a little boy with wild blond hair and a big toothy grin. Even though he has a more rounded face, he has the same light blue eyes—bright and alive. I turn it over and on the back. Scribbled in black marker is: Cade, age 7. I find myself stroking the picture along his nose and chin, then I notice Tuck is watching me. I quickly hand him the ornament an
d he places it right in the front.
The front door opens, letting a crisp gust into the house.
“Hey, you guys finish without me?” Cade calls as he strides in, throwing off his coat and shoes.
“Just about,” Tuck says.
Cade looks at the tree, his face wide open. “Well, the star is not on the top, so can’t be done yet.”
“That’s all that’s left.”
I remember decorating the tree every year when I was little. My dad would always lift me up high so I could place the star on top of the tree. In the pictures, the star is always askew, tilted and looking like it might fall off at any second, but my parents never fixed it. They left it however I placed it and I felt so proud.
“Haley, you want to put the star on?” Cade asks me. It’s like he is literally in my head.
“Uh, sure.”
He hands me the glittery golden star. I definitely can’t reach the top of the seven-foot tree. I look around for a chair or something I can stand on.
“Hop on.” Cade hunches over, offering me a piggy-back. He doesn’t wait for me to respond—he just hikes me up on his back and stands.
I can barely reach the top branch and I have to steady myself on his shoulders. I’m pressed up against his back, all strong and muscle-y, and he grips my thighs. Put the damn star on already! I place it quickly and he sets me down.
We all step back and look at the big, beautiful, mismatched tree. I’m much more particular about the star being level and plumb than I was at age six. It is decidedly leaning to the left, and it makes my eye twitch a little bit, but Cade turns to me, smiling with pure happiness.
“It’s perfect,” he says.
* * *
Cade is on his best behavior over the next week. He doesn’t come into the bathroom while I am showering and I don’t see those tight little boxer briefs again. I’m grateful not to have the temptation but also a bit disappointed. I miss our old innocent flirting and easy back-and-forth. We smile as we pass each other in the hall. We say good morning and good night. But he has been working the night shift so we don’t cook dinner together and he has been going almost directly to bed when he gets home.
I find myself looking at seven-year-old Cade on the Christmas tree more often than I would admit to anyone.
But the separation is good. I hurt a little less when I think about him. When I do see him, it feels less awkward, if maybe more formal. My wall has been fortified and I know I will be okay...eventually.
Then something happens, like we shuffle past one another as he leaves the bathroom and I enter. He gives me his drop-dead gorgeous smile and his arm brushes against me as we pass. I get a hint of his clean, musky scent and I am knocked on my ass again.
* * *
On Christmas Eve, I shower so I can be ready when Tuck wants to leave bum-fuck early tomorrow for Grandma Netty’s house. It’s already getting pretty late so I get ready for bed and head out to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Cade is in the kitchen, studying a piece of paper.
“Whatchya doin’?”
He looks up as if I startled him, then smiles. “Making cookies. You want to help?”
“Why are you making cookies?”
“For Santa, duh.”
“You make cookies for Santa?”
“Every year.”
“What kind are we making?”
“Sugar cookies. That’s what my grandma and I always made.”
“All right. What’s that there?” I ask, nodding at the paper in his hand.
“My recipes. Never had Grandma’s. I tweak it every year, trying to get them just right.”
I look at the paper as he takes down the mixing bowls and gets out the ingredients. Indeed there are at least six different sugar cookie recipes, all with little notes scribbled around them: too flat, needs more baking soda, too dense, less flour, too crispy, lower baking temp? I read over all of his little notes and it makes me smile.
“Have you ever tried adding some milk? That’s what my Grandma Nenee does. Just a couple of tablespoons, I think.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “I haven’t. Let’s give it a shot.”
I am impressed at how well Cade creams the butter and sugar together by hand and he compliments me on my egg-cracking skills. No shell when this lady is involved.
When Cade preps the counter to roll out the dough, flour goes everywhere. I’ve never seen him let the kitchen get so messy but he loves it. He lets me roll out the dough, inspecting and letting me know when it’s at the perfect thickness. I have flour on my hands, elbows, pants, and hair. I am going to need another shower.
As we are cutting the dough out with various cookie cutters—a bell, a tree, a snowman—I catch Cade watching me from the corner of my eye.
“What?”
He chuckles at me. “You have some flour"—he licks his thumb and brings it to my face—“right there.” He wipes his thumb from the side of my nose across my cheek down to my jaw. He leaves it there for just a moment. My pulse is beating in my throat and I realize we are staring into each other’s eyes. I break the contact and start placing cookies on the sheet.
We can’t wait for them to cool completely before we each take a bite. They are heavenly, buttery and soft.
“So, how’d we do?”
Cade closes his eyes as he finishes his bite. “Pretty damn good. Not quite exactly like Grandma’s.” He looks at me with his handsome smile and happy eyes. “But it’s the closest I’ve come yet.”
* * *
It’s already dark as we drive back home from Grandma Netty’s. Everything outside is black and blue, blurring past in the periphery all around the bright glowing moon. I find myself nodding off against the window.
The truck rolls to a stop, the tires grinding in the pebbly gutter as the overhead light pings on. I shuffle up to the door, new snowflakes falling on my cheeks. When we get inside, I shrug off my coat and wet boots. Tuck sets down our gifts from Nenee: hand-crocheted dishcloths, matching blue sweatshirts with snowmen cross-stitched on the fronts, and cards each with a crisp ten-dollar bill inside.
“Okay, I’m going out. Merry Christmas.”
“You’re going out? Where? It’s Christmas.”
“I have other friends, sis.” He smiles at me, his dimples deep and adorable. He kisses me on the forehead then heads out the front door, a few flurries making their way onto the tile floor.
No lights are on—only the array of tree lights shining from behind the pine needles and reflecting off the shiny gold ornaments light the living room. Cade is sitting cross-legged on the floor, in front of the tree with a huge mug in his hands. We had asked if he wanted to come with us today but he had declined. Seeing him now, sitting there alone, I wish we had insisted.
“Hey.” I sit on the floor next to him.
“Hi, you. Hot chocolate?” He offers his mug to me, a hopeful smile on his lips. The way the lights throw a gentle glow on his face makes me want to reach out and touch him.
“Sure.” I take the warm cup from his hands and sip the rich chocolaty drink, watching the almost-melted mini marshmallows swirl around. A satisfied hum comes from my chest as it flows down my throat and warms me from inside my belly. I take another drink as I breathe in the sweet steam. When I open my eyes, Cade’s face is closer to mine.
“You going to drink all of my hot chocolate or what?”
“This isn’t for me?”
“Fuck no. I was just being nice.”
I hand it back to him. “Oh. Sorry.”
He chuckles at me, big-ass mug in one hand as he reaches under the tree with the other. “Here. I have a present for you.”
The small box is heavier than I expected. The wrapping paper is a little wrinkly and there is about three times as much tape as required holding it together. With some effort, I unwrap it only to find another fortress of tape across the box. I have to use my teeth to rip it open and Cade laughs under his breath.
Inside the box, packed i
n clear squishy plastic I pull out a perfectly used Nikon F SLR camera. It is just like my dad’s. I turn it over in my hands, remembering the weight of it and the feel of the textured black case. It’s an original and it is beautiful. And pricey.
“Wow.” I stare at it a little more. “Cade, I...I can’t accept this.”
“What? Of course, you can. I want you to have it.”
“No, it’s too expensive. Too...it’s just too much.
He looks offended. “Hale, if it’s about money, don’t –”
“No. It’s...this isn’t a gift just friends give.”
Then he goes off. “Well, good! Because I don’t want to be just friends.”
I practically shove the camera into his arms as I stand up. “Please, Cade, just take it back.”
He shoots up to his feet, fuming. He looks like he wants to scream, but he closes his eyes before he speaks, his jaw ticcing under his skin.
“Why must you reject everything I try to give you?”
I can’t respond because I am afraid my voice will crack and tears will spill when I do.
His eyebrows furrow. “Why can’t you give me another chance?”
I take a deep breath. “You. Just. Left me! I don’t matter enough to you. I can’t trust you.” I’m barely holding it together.
“What can I do to prove to you I won’t leave again? Hale, please, tell me.”
I think about it for a minute. He looks heartbroken and I desperately want to give him an answer—to figure out how this can be made right, this...thing between us. I want it too, but I can’t think of anything. I’ve built my wall tall and strong. He’s made it to the top, but there’s no way he’s getting over.
“There isn’t anything you can do.”
Any hope on his face dies. I might as well have just slapped him. We stare at each other silently for a moment.
“There has to be someth—"
“No, Cade. You were right. You can’t do the boyfriend thing.”
His face crumbles. Just for a second. Then his jaw sets and his eyes narrow.
“Fuck it.” He heads for the front door.
“See,” I say over my shoulder, feet frozen, holding back the tears welling in my eyelids, “just proved me right.”