Page 11 of Pining for You

“Actually, it’s kind of the only time of year I really watch scripted stuff at all. I’m more into documentaries.”

“Like white-guy-kills-his-wife, or stupid-millennials-get-scammed kind of thing?” I ask.

She laughs. “I mean, I’ve seen one or two of those. But I really like stuff that’s more… cultural, or social. Or like, related to psychology. Especially when I watch with my cousin, Carlos. He’s really into that kind of thing too.”

Good lord, she’s beautiful and deep, I think, and decide maybe I’ll keep my obsession with Christmas magic and movies to myself a little longer.

“But you know, I do try to lighten things up this time of year. When I get the remote, we watch a lot of baking competition shows. Kind of documentary-adjacent? And still solidly holiday.”

“Oh, for sure.” I start counting off my favorites on my fingers. “Holiday Baking Championship, holiday episodes of Chopped, The Great British Bake Off…”

“Check, check, check,” she says, and Hugo looks on now. “Hugo is actually an exceptional chef. His eggnog pancakes are the stuff of legends.”

“Eggnog pancakes!” I exclaim. “Tell the competition to just stay home.”

“For real.” Eve smiles at Hugo, who is looking up at her now, and damn. The heartwarming movie moments just keep coming.

“Maybe we should audition for one of those shows,” I say, suddenly very aware that I just we’d this stranger.

“You have a signature dish?” she asks, unfazed.

“Apple strudel,” I answer without hesitation. “It’s basically famous around here.”

“Ah, hence the button,” she says, nodding to my hat again. “I would’ve figured you as more of a cookie girl.” She nudges me and her mouth twists into a teasing curve.

I blush so hard that I must match the red patches of my hat.

“What about you? Any personal specialties from this Brooklyn bakery?” I ask quickly, before I can overthink it.

“Me? Nah, I’m not a baker. I’m in customer relations,” Eve says.

“Sounds very official.”

“Yes. I very officially greet people and bag up their bread and cookies,” she says. “But I like it. It’s always an experiment in humanity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, sometimes I try to guess what someone is going to order before they walk up, and I always wonder what it says about them. We have this one guy, super ancient old dude. And he comes in every day at exactly 6:03 p.m., and orders a jelly doughnut ‘for here,’ even though there’s not a single chair or table in the place. But he eats that jelly doughnut standing up, getting powdered sugar all over the place, every single day. Rain or shine. And I just wonder, what does he eat the rest of the day? And when was his first jelly doughnut, ya know? The one that made him need one every day after…”

She’s gazing out in the distance now, like she can see the old man right in front of us. It seems a little like how I feel when I daydream a scene. The way she’s describing it, so vividly, makes it feel like I can see him too, and although the smell of sap and cold earth hangs in the air all around us, I swear I catch a whiff of powdered sugar, raspberry jelly…

“Anyway, probably sounds strange, but it’s kind of… well, it’s just such a human thing.”

“Hold up,” I say, stopping short to look at Eve. “Maybe you should be the one making movies. You’re a romantic.”

She lets out an amused laugh, then corrects me. “I’m a humanist.”

I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I keep going.

“You see beauty in people,” I argue.

“I’m curious about people. They’re fascinating,” she says with a new laugh, this one with the hint of a challenge in it, and I wonder how many different kinds she has. I want to make a playlist of them and listen on repeat.

She seemed so tough at first, but now I see something softer, and feelings I understand well—a desire to connect, and an appreciation for small moments with big meaning. That’s why I’ve always loved rom-coms; they’re about two ordinary people doing ordinary things, but when Fate intervenes, boom—the extraordinary.

“I guess that’s part of why I want make movies, too,” I respond. “To know people. To zoom in on those little moments that are so meaningful—the ones that get brushed past in daily life. That’s where the…” I pause, because I’m about to say magic, and instead finish with, “That’s where the really good stuff is. Stories everywhere, if you look, you know?”

“I do,” she says with a smirk. I can’t decide if it’s a little bit teasing, or a little bit charmed. “I could give you a lot more material from the bakery, but it seems like you have plenty of inspiration right around here.”