Page 32 of Pining for You

I turn off the camera and stash it in my backpack, but I feel naked without it. I take a breath and try to channel Kevin McCallister.

This is it. Don’t get scared now…

I’m not about to welcome robbers into my parents’ booby-trapped mansion, but it doesn’t feel far off.

Izaac leads us another half block, to the bakery’s storefront, and I’m torn between wanting more time and wanting to rip off the Band-Aid and do the thing already. My stomach pitches and rolls. I return to my mantra: 240 grams of flour, 65 grams of sugar, 5 grams of baking soda…

By the time we reach the door, I could have baked at least two dozen imaginary strudels and I’m mostly just hoping that if I actually come face-to-face with Eve, I’ll be able to do more than spit an ingredient list at her.

But I never have to find out. Because there, on the front window of the bakery, is a sign.

Diya stands beside me and reads the posting aloud to us:

“ ‘Holiday preorder pickups only until 3 p.m., then open to the general public. Thanks for your patience!’ ”

“What? No!” Cash says.

My feelings are all over the place. Shattered? Relieved? Angry again?

But guilt is the one that takes center stage—guilt that we’ve come all the way out to Brooklyn for me, and now it’s all for nothing. I do some mental math. Can I afford to offer to buy everyone lunch, or at least a few of those fancy doughnuts for the ride back? It seems like the least I can do.

“What if we called and placed a holiday order?” Cash asks.

“They probably stopped taking orders a while ago,” I sigh. “A bakery usually needs at least a day’s notice to make stuff. Besides, they’d hate us. I mean, Joany would literally throw a flaming sheet pan out the window if someone did that to us.”

“That’s a visual…,” Diya says, looking into the distance.

“Well then, could we knock on the door and just ask for Eve?” Cash tries again.

“Ohmygodno!” I spit out, and it comes as more of a shout than I mean it to, so I tack on a quick “Sorry.”

“Bennie’s right. Too thirsty, babe, come on,” Izaac says.

“Plus, you don’t want to get her in trouble at work,” Diya adds, trying to look inside despite this.

Meanwhile I’m trying to stay out of sight of the window, hiding at the edge of the building. I still see people bustling inside, preparing holiday packages with gold boxes and red ribbons, but the window is too fogged to make out anyone’s features.

“Okay, anyway, good effort,” I say. “Merit badges all around. Let’s get home. There’s still time to watch a couple of bad movies.”

I don’t even consider reaching for my camera. If I am trying to document moments of Christmas magic, this is a heinous blow that not even my overdeveloped sense of optimism can help me reframe. It’s best we revert to the original plan.

“Do not even clown, Bosley,” Izaac says. “This setback is so minor. You don’t think I’ve considered a contingency plan?”

I should have known. Izaac doesn’t do anything unless he feels certain he can succeed, which usually means having backup plans.

“Silly B,” Cash says. “We’re not giving up on you, or on love.”

I look at Diya.

“Vibe check from a logical source, please?”

She pauses. It’s a fifty-fifty split right now on how she’ll respond.

“If every sapling that got trampled by some woodland creature curled up and died, there’d be no forests for the trees,” she says.

A beat passes as we all consider this. Cash winces, like trying to decipher her meaning might actually cause damage to his thinking machine.

“Okay fine, a rom-com is two people meeting, followed by eighty minutes of obstacles. We’re just in that second part now,” she translates.