I opened my door, hand gripping the strap of my bag tightly. He still hadn’t said a word to me directly.
“Josh.”
He opened his door and stepped out. “Welcome home, Brielle.”
Gina looked at me and then up toward Josh, who said his hellos inside quickly before making his way up the steps away from everyone.
Mrs. Hutton released me from a hug to look between us all. “Did something happen on the ride?”
“He’s been like that lately,” Gina said with an unconcerned shrug.
“Huh,” she sighed. “Hopefully, he isn’t unhappy. I thought that since he came back from his trip, he was enjoying his position at the school.”
“He is,” I interjected, trying to soothe her worries.
Both women turned to look at me.
“He is,” I repeated. “Josh told me how much he enjoys his new job. The work is simple, but he’s been making friends with people on the staff.”
“Wow,” Mrs. Hutton looked back towards the stairs again where he went. “Then I wonder what is going on with him.”
“How did you know that?” asked Gina.
“Know what?”
“That he’s been enjoying school and that fundraiser thing?” Gina clarified.
“Oh, well, we’ve just been talking more at home when you were at work, and I asked,” I said. That wasn’t a lie, though for some reason, my heart started to rocket in my chest a little faster, as if I needed to come up with one—and quick.
“You two should go up as well. unpack and get yourself settled,” suggested Mrs. Hutton.
Gina nodded, making it up to steps before she turned back to her mom. “Do you need help with anything for the party tomorrow?”
She smiled. “I would love some help with baking actually if you two girls would like to join me.”
The warmth of the Huttons’ kitchen wrapped around me like a favorite blanket, comforting and almost painfully familiar. The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and browned butter filled the air, thick and sweet, clinging to my sweater sleeves as I tied one of Mrs. Hutton’s faded floral aprons around my waist. It smelled faintly of vanilla and peppermint, like it had absorbed a decade of holiday cookie making.
The granite countertop was a flurry of flour and sugar. Gingerbread dough had been cut into rows of stiff little men and stars, waiting for their turn in the oven.
My fingers moved without thinking, rolling and pressing cookie cutters into the soft dough, but my mind kept slipping back upstairs.
Josh’s footsteps had become a phantom sound I couldn’t stop hearing, even when they weren’t there. Just like his laugh. Just like the memory of his lips on mine.
“So, you’re sticking to the plan of all the usual cookies this year?” Gina asked, trying to make casual conversation since it didn’t seem like I was going to start any, though that wasn’t anything new here.
“You bet,” agreed her mom. “Everyone always asks for the iced sugar cookies. You know that. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”
Gina, who was sifting flour into a bowl, flashed her usual easy grin as she reached toward the basket holding each small, laminated note card.
I smiled at the familiar sight, glancing at Mrs. Hutton again, in her own little world, much like Gina when she got in the zone. She hummed as she worked.
A sharp bang came from upstairs; someone—clearly Josh—had dropped something loud and heavy.
Mrs. Hutton looked up toward the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. “That boy,” she muttered, though her tone was affectionate.
I didn’t look. Couldn’t. I focused on slicing the legs off a slightly-too-thin gingerbread man, the edge of the cookie cutter wobbling in my grip.
“So, Brielle, any big plans?” Mrs. Hutton asked, her voice warm and inviting. “I can imagine that so much has happenedfor you this year since graduating. Gina has been so busy lately. I bet you’re looking forward to a little time off as well.”
