“Oh yeah. They’re calling every twenty minutes for an update.”
“What can we help you with?” I ask.
“Food and water is all I need. I still have about half a tank of gas. Now if the kids can just sleep, we’ll wait until someone honks and then we can get on our way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’d take an autograph,” the oldest boy, Forrest, says.
“I’ll do you one better than that,” Coop says. “If your mom gives Liesel her number, I’ll get you guys season tickets.Andan autograph.”
Forrest’s mouth drops and he starts crying. “This is the best Christmas present ever!”
When Coop catches my eye, we both smile.
We stay with Heather and her family for another thirty minutes, or so, with Coop talking to the boys and me talking to Heather. Shannon falls asleep almost immediately after being burped, so Heather has me put her in her carseat and buckle her back up. Then Heather smiles.
“You two are angels. You know that? Literal angels.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’m glad we could help.”
“You did more than help,” Heather says, choked up. “You saved us tonight.”
I give her a watery smile. “It looks like your boys are almost asleep, so we’ll head out. But you have my number. Text me if you need anything.”
“I will,” she promises. “Bless you. Bless you both.”
On our way back to the Prius, I feel like I’m floating. I can tell Coop does, too. He’s grinning and waving at everyone he passes, his goofy Santa hat bobbing on his head over his thick winter hat. We pass out the few remaining supplies we have, but not before Coop saves two gingersnaps.
“You haven’t lived till you’ve tried these,” he says when we get back into the Prius. I sit in the driver’s seat, and he’s back in the passenger seat. He hands me one cookie and eats the other.
I take a bite, and I’m hit with molasses and ginger. It’s soft and chewy, and I bet it would be amazing warm.
“We like to put pumpkin ice cream in the middle of two cookies and make an ice cream sandwich.”
“Mmm,” I say, chewing and swallowing. “I want that next time.”
“Next Christmas,” he says.
“It’s a date.”
That sends his lips into an epic, impish grin. “Speaking of dates,” he says, getting closer to me. “We’ve probably had the equivalent of, I don’t know, six tonight. Plus the charity, so really seven. Oh, and that’s not counting the escape room. We’re basically eight dates in. Is that enough for a kiss?”
He’s staring into my eyes, leaning toward me, and my own eyes drop to his mouth. I’ve never paid so much attention to a guy’s mouth as Coop’s. And I’ll take this secret to my grave, but while I never kissed his magazine cover as a fifteen year-old, I definitely kissed the life-sized cutout of him.
I thought my feelings for him were intense then, but they’re nothing compared to what I feel for the real thing. The complex man who holds space for his mom to manage her illness while loving her with his whole heart. The man who performs casual acts of kindness when it doesn’t benefit him in any worldly way. The guy who makes me laugh and lets me grieve but also pushes me to see that more is possible.
I stare at his lips, consumed with a need to know what they feel like. How they taste. “I think you’ve earned it,” I whisper.
Coop’s lips pull into a wide grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Our faces are close enough to taste the cookie on his breath, and suddenly, I know without question that gingersnaps will be my favorite cookie for the rest of my life.
My eyelids flutter closed, and our noses brush. I hear his breath pick up, and my heart beats faster than a drum. His lips pause in front of mine, and the anticipation is worse than havingto wait for your parents to wake up on Christmas morning. Then I feel the lightest touch—a skim—and I put my hands to his cheeks and pull him closer.
But he doesn’t yield. Instead, his lips are like a whisper against mine, touching but without kissing.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
