Page 82 of Elf-ish

When Gran has something on her mind, she says, it’s nothing cleaning a dish won’t solve. The expression was her way of explaining how handwashing dishes cleared her thoughts.

In this case, I worry about what might be on Gran’s mind.

“Let me help,” I say again. “Many hands work faster, or something like that.” I wasn’t as good as Gran with wisdom off the cuff.

“And too many cooks in the kitchen can spoil a pie. Or cookies.” She glances at the multiple plastic containers of cookies covering her dining room table.

“At least let me put these in the freezer.” Gran has an upright freezer down in the laundry room, and she will save most of her cookie collection for distribution to friends.

“I’ll do it tomorrow.” She pats my arm, punctuating her request. She wants me to let it go.

“If you’re sure?” I hesitate, taking another peek toward the kitchen where I can see the mess splayed out on the kitchen table from where I stand.

Gran raises the bottle of wine in her hand a little higher. “I’m sure. Plus, I have Gertie to help me.”

“Me? I was hoping if I went to bed, Santa might visit me early.” She wiggles her brows.

In so many ways, I wish I was like my great aunt with her carefree attitude and the ease with which she lets things roll off her tongue.

Still, I recognize the coverup, and I don’t ever want to appear as broken as I know she is.

I also don’t want to break someone else, which has my thoughts returning to Jude.

As much as Gran wants me to go home, I have a stop to make before I do.

chapter 25

[Jude]

The entire way home, I stew.

What are we doing? she’d asked. I thought we were getting to know each other better. Building on whatever this strange connection is between us.

Hell, hours earlier today, I practically asked her to marry me. When I don’t trust the institution. My experience has taught me to distrust marriage.

Does this feel like pretend? I’d asked her. Maybe we’d started out with that intention. The fake-date exchange. But something has shifted. Something I want to explore, and yet somehow, I’ve misread the situation.

An audiobook narrator is fictional. An actor goes through motions. But the softness of her pleas? My name on her lips which drove me wild? Her body’s response to my touch was not an act.

She said she wasn’t my type, but she was wrong. She is exactly what I need. Who I want.

As for me being her type, maybe she wasn’t wrong there, but how can I prove to her that I want to be? I want to be someone she’s proud of and excited about. Someone she wants to see again and again.

Even though she mentioned attending her brother’s wedding, she didn’t sound convinced my attendance was what she really wanted. This was no longer about a square deal. This was about feeling something. Something strong and overwhelming and unfamiliar, but something I wanted to embrace.

Slamming my hand on the steering wheel, I maneuver into the private parking garage of my building and make the silent climb in the elevator to my condo. Once inside my place, the loneliness is almost too much. It’s quiet compared to the chaos of Angelica’s grandmother’s kitchen. It’s empty and hollow, like my heart feels right now.

I head to the shower, needing to wash off the scent of sugar and spice, and baking cookies.

I’m just stepping out of the shower when I hear a sharp rapping on my front door. Strange, considering the building is secure, and I don’t interact with my neighbors. Typically, I’d ignore the sound. Whomever is on the other side of the door will get the hint and go away.

But something draws me to my entryway. Maybe it’s the insistence of the knock. Maybe I’m just curious.

After peering through the security hole, I yank open the door and exhale a confused breath.

“Angelica?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts.