CHAPTER 17

JULIA

7 Days 'til Christmas Eve

Kyle's text is waiting for me the moment I sit down with my coffee.

Kyle: About those guest gifts-what's the plan? Baking cookies seems like our only option now. I'll come over. When?

My stomach twists, staring at the screen. I can't avoid him forever, especially with the wedding so close. But after yesterday at the venue, I'm dreading seeing him again.

Me: Come over at 5.

Nervous energy kicks into overdrive, rushing around the kitchen getting everything ready. Anything to distract me from the tension sitting heavy in my chest.

Kyle shows up at 4:50, punctuality apparently his new thing. I trip over the kitchen rug on my way to the door. Taking a long breath, I hold it for a moment, trying to settle my nerves. When I open the door, he's standing on the top step, bag of sugar in one hand and a rolling pin in the other, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You're early," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"Gotta make sure you don't burn the place down," he replies, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling my own kitchen, thank you very much," I say, spinning around chasing him up the hallway to the kitchen.

He raises an eyebrow at the mess. Bowls, ingredients, and baking tools are scattered across the counter like a cooking show gone rogue. "Geez, Jules. It's a disaster in here."

I frown at him. "Just grab an apron and make yourself useful," I shoot back, tossing him one from a hook by the fridge.

We get to work mixing several batches of dough - enough to make the guest bags, and a few spare. Kyle insists on cracking the eggs, even though he's clearly out of practice.

"You're supposed to crack them into the bowl, not all over the counter," I say, grabbing a towel to clean up the mess.

"Details," he replies, smirking as he mixes the batter.

We each knead a ball of dough, focussing so much that I don't realise we've stopped speaking until Kyle starts again.

"About these guest gifts," he says, sprinkling flour onto the counter and picking up his rolling pin to roll out the dough. "I know this wasn't part of the original plan."

"It's fine," I say quickly. Too quickly. "It's my fault, I forgot to put it on the list. It'll make it more festive, though. I mean, who doesn't love cookies?"

"True. And these snowflake shapes scream winter wonderland." He grabs a cutter and presses it into the freshly rolled out dough. "See? Nailed it."

"Barely," I mutter, fixing the uneven edges of his attempt and laying it carefully on the oven tray.

"Hey, focus on your own cookies," he says nudging me playfully with an elbow.

His faint grin disarms me, averting my reply. He seems genuinely relaxed for the first time today, and I hate that I'm so aware of it.

Once the trays are loaded into the oven, sugar and vanilla taint the air. Kyle leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. "So, how long until these are ready?"

"Fifteen minutes or so, but they need to cool before we can ice them," I say, checking the timer. "Might as well take a break."

He eyes the bottle of wine on the counter. "You've got all the essentials, I see."

"Do you want a glass or not?"

"Pour away, Jules," he replies, grinning as he grabs the wine opener.

A rom-com plays on TV as we lounge on the couch. Kyle keeps his glass balanced on his knee, stealing glances in my direction.

"You're staring," I deadpan.

"Am I not allowed to enjoy the view?"

I roll my eyes, but my stomach twists in a way I don't want to examine too closely.

When the cookies are cool, we head back to the kitchen. I pull out the piping bags, setting up bowls of icing in soft winter tones. Kyle copies with a second bag.

"Alright," I say, demonstrating on the first cookie. "It's simple. Outline the edges, fill in the middle, and then sprinkle the glitter on top."

"Glitter?" He looks at me like I've grown a second head.

"Penny loves glitter. Just do it."

He slowly pipes a shaky line around his cookie. "What do you think?"

"It's... something," I tease, sprinkling edible glitter over his creation.

"Hey," he says, mock offended. "That's art you're criticizing."

"Keep telling yourself that," I reply, nudging him with my elbow.

We relax into comfortable banter, punctuated by laughter and small mishaps. Accidentally, I smear icing across my face, trying to shift a stray hair. Kyle doesn't miss a beat.

"Nice technique," he says, smirking.

"Shut up," I reply, swiping a bit of icing onto his cheek in retaliation.

By the time we finish, the cookies look magical, glitter sparkling under the kitchen lights. Tying a ribbon on the final gift bag, Kyle glances at me strangely.

"Julia," he says softly. "About the other night. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," I interrupt, not wanting to go down that road. "Really."

He hesitates. "No, just let me get this out, please." He pauses for a minute, then continues. "I didn't want to make things weird, it's just... I thought maybe you felt it too."

My eyes fall to the floor, and I feel my cheeks rush with heat. "I don't know what I feel, Kyle. That's the problem."

He exhales, and I look back up at him as he runs a hand through his hair. "Fair enough. But," he catches my gaze, holding it, solemn. "I'm not sorry it happened." He pauses again, checking his watch. "Anyway, I'd better get home. It's late, and I'm sure you want your beauty sleep too."

I nod. "Thanks for tonight."

As he heads to the door, I follow, my chest tight with unspoken words.

"Thanks again," I say, seeing him out.

"Anytime," he replies, his voice quiet. "And Jules, for what it's worth, I'll be here when you figure it out. Whatever 'it' is."

I watch as he steps into the cold night, his breath visible in the air. He glances back once, then continues to his car.

The idea surfaces, of confronting what's between us - of letting myself feel the hope underneath the fear - and it's terrifying.