Page 56 of A Love Like Christmas Time
His furniture might be simple and worn, but it looks warm combined with sage walls and makes the apartment appear lived in. Papers are scattered on his coffee table and around it. There are books on every surface and about every kind of topic. On his couch is a book about the Second World War, his kitchen counter has one about the chemistry of baking, and I can see one on his bedside table that I’d guess is a fantasy story.
There’s another one on his couch.
“Postpartum depression?” I ask in a whisper, and pick it up. The spine is softened and has small creases, some of the pages dog-eared. When I lift my gaze, Caleb is right in front of me.
“I want to-” He clears his throat, eyes transfixed on the book. “I just… needed to learn more.”
My heart aches for him. I reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Is it helping?”
“Kind of,” he admits, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helped me understand.”
He shakes his head and takes the book out of my hands, gently places it on one of his shelves and walks to the kitchen.
“You have a cute apartment,” I say awkwardly as I slowly follow him, eyes darting around, trying to catch every detail. “I like it.”
“It’s not as big as your house, but it works for me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. His eyebrows furrow, confused.
“You shouldn’t measure yourself against anyone else,” I say softly and walk closer to him. “My compliment also wasn’t measured by my own home. You’ve got a cute apartment. Your answer is supposed to be ‘thank you,’ and then you’re flattered enough to offer me a hot beverage.” His gaze darts between my eyes, his lip tugged between his teeth. He lets it go and breathes out a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing.
“Thank you. Would you like some hot chocolate?”
He shakes his head at me, but the corners of his mouth are twitching.
“Oh, thank you for asking. Yes please. And thank you.”
I trudge after him to the kitchen, separated from his living room by a hip-high kitchen island. His flat is completely open. I can see his bed right here from the kitchen counter, looking right over his living room, which consists of a beige couch and coffee table opposite a TV mounted to the wall.
“You love your counters, huh?” I chuckle and knock against the wooden surface. He’s already going through his cupboards, getting everything out we need to bake.
That’s when my eyes catch the giant cookie cutters. Tentatively, I pick the heart-shaped one up and turn it in my hands.
“Caleb?” I say slowly. “What exactly are we making here? Cookies or edible signage?”
He barely glances up. “You said gingerbread hearts and stars big enough to write ‘best boyfriend’ on.”
“But-” My eyes widen. “One of these can feed three adults with healthy hunger.” My gaze jumps to him. “We’ll be baking until next Christmas.”
“Hey, you were searching for a new hobby,” he teases me and sets a bag of flour down right in front of me. Flour dust poofs up from it, scratching my throat when I accidentally breathe some of it in. “Here you go.”
“Baking is not anewhobby, though,” I mumble and pat the flour off my red sweatshirt. Then, I take some flour out of the bag and fling it his way.
“Hey!” He laughs when the dust settles on his black shirt.
My hand is in the bag again, reaching for more, wanting to throw it at him like a snowball. With the speed of lightning, he realizes what I’m trying to do and grabs my wrist, trying to pull it out of the bag. It reminds me of pulling Jenna out of a bag of food she jumped into, scarfing down whatever she could.
“No, you don’t,” he presses out as I’m trying to wrestle my wrist free, giggles bursting out of me. Finally, he rounds the counter, throwing his arms around me and pulling me away from the flour.
“That’s unfair,” I pout, trying to wriggle out of his hold. Well, half-heartedly. Turns out I love having his arms around me.
We stop, heavy breaths in the air, his embrace not softening, even as I relax in his hold. His breath blows over the top of my head, his chest moving with each breath.
I turn around, my eyes flicking up at him. His gaze searches mine, then jumps to my lip, pulled between my teeth, cheeks hot.
Then suddenly, my phone rings.
