Tic-Tac-Mistletoe - N.R. Walker Page 0,37
oven. Then I took the pinwheel log of dough out of the fridge and let him do the honours of cutting them into cookie-thin slices.
“Oh my God, they’re so pretty! Look at the swirls we made,” he said, so excited and happy. “You’re so clever to know how to do this! I would have totally made little snakes. You know how you roll Play-Doh into snakes? And then I would have coiled them around each other. It would have been a disaster.”
I laughed at that. I don’t think I’d laughed this much all year.
When all the pinwheels were cut and laid out on a tray, they went into the oven. “We need to put the frosting on the sugar cookies now,” I said. “This is the fun part.”
Hamish looked around the messy kitchen. “How about I wash up first. I don’t know where anything goes, so I’ll wash, you put stuff away, and we’ll be done in no time.”
“Deal.”
It was so freaking easy. He was easy. Easy to talk to, easy to work with, easy to get along with . . . and I knew, I just knew he’d be so easy to fall in love with.
Like slipping on an icy sidewalk. Just walking along minding my own business, then all of a sudden my feet are gone from under me . . .
So freaking easy.
When the kitchen was done and all the cookies were out of the oven, we made red and green icing, sat down at my dining table together, and iced and decorated the little Christmas trees, stars, and candy cane cookies.
He was terrible at it, and when he’d iced one red star, I nodded to the star on the tree I’d made in kindergarten. “It’s almost as good as mine.”
He gasped again and quoted Moira Rose. “‘What you said was impulsive, capricious, and melodramatic, but it was also wrong.’”
I laughed again. “Your ability to quote TV shows is impressive.”
“But you get the references, so no judging, mister.” He sighed happily, continuing to decorate his cookie. “I’ve had a lot of time to do nothing but watch TV.”
That I understood. “Same.”
Mariah Carey finished a while ago, Michael Bublé had a turn, and then Bing Crosby started to sing. “Oh, this was my dad’s favourite.”
“Want me to change it?” he asked quietly, all smiles gone now.
I shook my head and gave him a gentle nudge. “No. It’s perfect.”
“Like my cookie decorating.”
I snorted and waved my hand like Alexis Rose. “Well, maybe not. ‘But I love your enthusiasm.’”
Hamish burst out laughing. “And he hits me a return Schitt’s Creek quote. I love it.” We finished icing our cookies to Bing and then listened to Ariana’s Christmas songs. It was probably one of the best days of my life. No exaggerating, no ridiculous pretence. Instead of being alone and miserable this Christmas, I was the very opposite. What was doomed to be a hard and sad few days was turning out to be wonderful.
Sure, I still missed my dad. But maybe the right people walk into your life at the right time. Or in Hamish’s case, drove his car into an embankment. And I couldn’t help but think maybe my dad had some part to play in sending Hamish my way this Christmas. Dad always knew how to make me happy . . .
“You okay?” Hamish asked.
My smile was genuine, my heart full. “Yep. Sure am.”
When the cookies were all done, it was mid-afternoon, the sun was already disappearing, the wind was howling and snow was falling. We took a plate with a few of our cookies and a mug of hot cocoa each and sat on the couch by the fire. Hamish stopped the music and opted for another cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie on the TV.
“Well, this is utterly perfect,” Hamish said. He had his legs curled up underneath him, his drink in both hands. “You know, I really like the snow . . . if I’m nice and warm inside and I don’t have to go out in it. Or drive in it, or shovel it, or anything to do with it, really. But sitting by a fire, drinking hot chocolates, and eating the best cookies ever, really is amazing.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, the no-driving thing might be an issue.”
He groaned. “I’ll need to buy a car. Or a ute . . . utility truck thingy like yours. I’ll look after New Year’s. I think Liv has this week off work so if I need to go anywhere, she