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“Not generally. They have butter in them.”
“Hmm, well, then we’ll use margarine.”
She seemed so determined to find a Christmas treat he could eat, he was sorry to disillusion her. “Margarine has dairy.”
“It does?” She wrinkled her nose. “No problem. This is solvable. This kind of thing is what my mom lives for.” Paula retrieved her phone and started pacing.
Bastian listened, bemused, as Paula drilled her mother. “It has to have, um, no butter, no milk, no…” she peered down at the phone Bastian slid in front of her, his diet app open. “No milk protein, no cream, no whey…no a lot of other things. He’s not vegan. He’s sort of…megan. Meat but no dairy? Margarine, are you sure, because he said…palm oil? Okay, where do you get that? Oh. Oh, well. All right, thanks anyway. How’s it going over there? Did the kids like their presents? You arekiddingme. Tell Cassie she can always….”
Bastian took his phone back, closed the app containing his dietary restrictions, and left Paula to chat with her mother. He considered going back to his place, but there was the very real chance Paula wouldn’t let him back in. So he went into the living room, slatted open one of the blinds, and stared out through the frost on the windows, surveying the sunny city.
Normally he spent Christmas Day hopping from place to place. He had no central base, unless it was New Highland itself. Being here with Paula, feeling her connection to her family hundreds of miles away, gave him an acute sense of longing.
He became aware that the sounds of her voice had ceased. When he strolled back into the kitchen, she was twirling her phone on the tabletop absent-mindedly. She seemed meditative. Missing her family, he guessed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“That you weren't able to spend Christmas with your family. You’re all pretty close, aren’t you?”
“It’s fine, I’m good.” She smiled up at him. “Being here in New Highland has its compensations.”
A rush of emotion had his heart pounding. “For me it has more than that,” he said fervently. He crouched down next to her and stroked her cheek. “It has you.”
Her eyes softened and she lifted her mouth for a brief kiss. Then she pulled away and frowned. “Bad news. The best substitute for butter is palm oil, and nobody ever just has palm oil lying around. So that means finding an open store on Christmas Day. I don’t think that’s happening.”
“Would you like me to find you some palm oil?” he offered automatically.
“No. No, please do not use your rich person wiles to ruin somebody’s Christmas so I can bake cookies that will probably turn out lousy anyway.”
He chuckled. The tightness in his heart was easing. Paula seemed willing to spend the day with him, come hell or high water, and everything else was secondary.
“I know!” Her face lit up. “How about let’s break out that espresso machine of yours!”
“Espresso?”
“With cardamom, it’s my favorite. Or really, any kind of addition.”
Minutes later, they were staring at the steaming cups on his counter. “It needs to be festive. Don’t you haveanycardamom? Cinnamon? Amaretto?” He looked at her incredulously. “Right, I don't either. How about…uh, I don’t know…orange juice?”
“Would whiskey do?” he suggested.
“Whiskey. Oh…now you know, with a little cream, that could work. I’ve got some back at my place…oh, right. Never mind, no cream.”
“Have your cream, sweetheart.”
“What? No, I’m not having cream. I want to be able to kiss you.” She demonstrated by going up on her tiptoes and pulling him down to her. “I’m getting quite fond of kissing you, Bastian Spencer. Just keep your tongue out of it. I’m not made of stone.”
After that, it took everything he had not to throw her over his shoulder and haul her into his bedroom. When they pulled apart, her rich voice was shaky. “Whisky espresso. Let’s do it.”
They did whiskey espresso.
They watchedBatman Returnsand argued about whether it was a dark comedy or a romance.
They cuddled together on her sofa until hunger forced them to stir.
“We could go over to Trey’s. They have food,” he said unenthusiastically.
