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“I can’t tell you that, little one, because it is the truth. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. Now... it’s too late,” he said with a low moan at the end.
“Why do you say that?” Clarissa took a few steps closer. The concern in her eyes was as palpable as the tension between them.
“Because, this year, I have no reason to bake a batch. I have found the love of my life. Since she chose to move on without me, I have no reason to keep living century after empty century. I won’t find love again.”
“No! You can’t say that. I won’t let you. NO! NO!” Clarissa fell to her knees beside him, gently touching his chin, which was even stickier than before. “Come, get up. I’ll bake those damn gingerbread cookies, but I’ll need your guidance. Get up, Rick!”
“It won’t work. Unless I bake them myself—”
“Then I’ll be your helper. I’ll hold your hands. Get up, Rick. I won’t let you die. You can’t die… not now!”
“Why not? It doesn’t matter to you in the end. You’re leaving in two days, remember. So, please, go away, Clarissa. Leave me in peace. I’m tired, and the time has come to stop fighting.”
“I lied. I do love you.”
“Even knowing about this?” He held up his hands that were dripping honey.
“Even then.”
Rick smiled sadly at her. “As much as I’d like to believe you, it’s too late.” He looked at the clock against the wall. “It’s fifteen minutes to midnight. I won’t be able to bake—”
“No! We are going to bake those damn cookies. GET UP!” Struggling and cursing, Clarissa finally managed to get Rick to his feet. “Ingredients. Tell me the ingredients,” she urged as she started gathering the obvious ones—flour, sugar, ginger, and eggs.
“I… my throat is too dry… I c-can’t speak,” he mumbled softly. “Drawer.” He pointed to the top drawer. “Recipe.”
Clarissa had never worked as fast as she did to get all the ingredients together and measured. “Measuring and throwing everything in the bowl isn’t baking,” she said as he tried to speak. “Come, I’ll be your crutch, but you have to finish the baking.”
The determination in her eyes to see him succeed drove Rick to his feet. Swaying, he clutched at the counter.
“God, my h-head is spinning,” he mumbled. With trembling hands, he mixed the ingredients until a still flowery dough formed. “I c-can’t get it to m-mix properly.”
“It’ll do.” With her hands covering his, Clarissa helped him roll out the dough and press the cookie cutter shapes out.
“It’s c-crumbling, little o-one. They w-won’t bake properly.” The expression on his face said clearly he was about to throw in the towel.
“Well, did she stipulate as part of the curse that they had to be perfectly baked?”
Rick frowned as he searched his fuzzy mind. “N-no, they just had to be out of the o-oven by m-midnight.”
“Then they will be, even if they are scorched black and falling apart.” With gentle hands, she guided his fingers to transfer the crumbling cookie dough shapes onto the tray and shuffled alongside him with one arm around his waist to put them into the oven.
“W-we forgot to w-warm the oven.”
“No worries, just crank up the heat, Daddy, as high as it’ll go.”
Rick’s legs threatened to give way, so she ran to fetch a chair.
“Just a little while longer, my love. It’s almost there,” Clarissa said as she stood behind him, hugging him from behind. That her hair and cheek became covered with the film of honey, sugar, and flour that coated his skin didn’t bother her at all. Like a hawk, she kept vigil on the clock and the cookies.
“Shit, they’re going to catch fire if we don’t take them out now,” she said as within minutes, they turned like charcoal in the scorching oven. “Come, let’s get them out.”
With seconds to spare, they managed to throw the charcoaled gingerbread cookies onto the cooling tray.
“There, Witch Meranda! King Ricardo III baked your damn gingerbread cookies!” she shouted, and with arms spread wide, she twirled around once before pumping a fist in the air. “We did it, Rick! We— Oh my God! You’re… you’re…”
With shocked eyes, Clarissa watched the film of stickiness and flour dissolve into his skin as he slowly returned to being a flesh and blood man. The smile she bestowed on him was beatific.
“You’re back,” she whispered.
