Page 10 of Pining for You

“Ah, right.” I reach up and remove my hat. “Forgot I’m wearing literal evidence.”

“Well, that and… this,” Eve says, pausing. She leans forward, reaching for my bangs. They’re always sticking out the sides of my cap, but now that my whole head is exposed, a ripple of self-consciousness runs through me about the state of my blond dye job on full display.

“Flour,” she says, and she’s so gentle it almost hurts. “Dead giveaway…”

“Oh,” I say, my mouth suddenly as dry as old fruitcake. “Yeah.”

She steps back and really looks at me. “I like the two-tone. Suits you.”

“Oh,” I say, then clear my throat and… that’s it. Nothing else comes to mind. Just “oh.” I replace my hat and resume our path.

“So, is that, like, your future if gift concierge doesn’t work out? Baking?” Eve asks, saving me.

“Nah. I mean, I do like baking enough for now, but someday, I’m going to make movies.”

She tilts her head. “Like, you want to be a director?”

“Writer-slash-director. Producer, too,” I say, then add quickly, “I know, it’s, like, probably delusional.” I’m used to having to defend my dreams, which don’t sound anywhere near as grown-up and realistic as a lot of my classmates’ plans.

“No, that’s tight,” she says, her mouth tugging up in one corner, and it feels like the winter sun is shining just on me. “I’ll keep an eye out for your film debut.”

I’m hyperaware of the dopey grin on my face, so it’s a relief when a group of kids rush past, dragging a tree that’s three times the size of all of them put together. We slow to let them by as the path bottlenecks, and in their wake comes a young couple holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes and laughing flirtatiously—obvious a festive date. I may not have had one, but I know it when I see it.

“Maybe you should make a movie here,” Eve remarks as this parade passes. “I’m surprised Hallmark hasn’t already come knocking.”

“Oh, they have,” I say. “The farm was used as a set a few years ago.”

“That tracks.” She lets out a faint laugh. “And you didn’t direct it yourself?”

“Sadly it was before my time,” I explain. “But you can still find it… My friends and I watch it every season.”

“God bless streaming,” she replies.

“You know,” I say. “If this were a Christmas movie, in the next scene we’d realize we’re about to be pitted against each other in the same baking competition.”

“Obviously,” she agrees, and without missing a beat, picks up the storyline. “And you signed up because first prize is the exact amount of money you need to save the farm.”

“Which is necessary because some ice-cube-for-a-heart out-of-towner with no respect for tradition has a plot to swoop in, buy the land, and turn it into a shopping mall.”

I make a sweeping gesture, as if demolishing the town with my bare hands.

“The whole community is relying on you—their only hope for salvation,” Eve tacks on, and my heart—which I’ve always firmly believed is the shape of a Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cake—doubles in size, like bread dough rising overnight.

“So much pressure,” I say, and wipe fake sweat from my forehead.

Eve laughs a little more easily this time, and I want to capture the sound in a jar and shake it like sprinkles over my next hot cocoa. I’ve written dialogue like this before, but who knew I’d be capable of bantering in real life?

At a crossing, we’re almost bulldozed by two little girls in reindeer antlers, shrieking and sprinting like puppies with a case of the zoomies.

“Wow, you really gotta watch yourself around here, huh?” Eve asks, and Hugo follows the two girls with his gaze, shaking his head as if he finds them totally undignified.

“A lot of sugar in that cider,” I say, smiling. “So… Hallmark movies. Is that your preferred genre?” I ask as we turn down another path—this one slightly less populated.

“Me? Not exactly. But my Tía Antonia is obsessed and basically never turns them off after Thanksgiving,” she says. “It’s like a Christmas gift to her that I don’t cancel her subscription altogether.”

“Now that is generosity of spirit.”

She pauses to pull her scarf higher, her breath visible as a gentle wind brushes through the branches behind her, her dark curls flutter around her reddening cheeks, and I want so badly to warm her up somehow.