I’ve managed to scrape my short black hair into some resemblance of a ponytail in order to keep it out of my face as I focus on dicing up slivers of peppermint bark. The smell wafts around me with every crack of the bark, causing a flurry of snowflakes to dance in my belly. I’ve not had one drop of alcohol since Monday night and I’m not going to lie, I love this time of year even more when I glance over to Hope at her table where she is insisting on teaching Devon how to use the stand mixer while I get our cookies underway. Yes, with no alcohol in my system I’m admitting that having Devon home for Christmas is the Christmas present I’ve always wanted. This confession suddenly has the flurry of snowflakes in my stomach forming a blizzard; it’s a dangerous confession I know, when I must remember that he will be leaving again in four days.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Scarlett this happy.’ My ears prick up to my name, but I don’t look up, afraid of catching Hope’s attention. She is talking in a low voice purposefully, so I won’t hear her, while she has Devon to herself. I keep busy but I can’t help straining my ears, earwigging into the conversation.
‘You and Jess make her happy and I know her parents do, even with all her mum’s weird expectations. She loves her family; she loves this village.’ Devon hits the nail on the head; Hope should know this. I’m very happy with my life – OK, OK, parts of it.
‘It’s a different kind of happy,’ Hope explains. I pretend that my furrowed brow is because of the precision I am using to get my slivers of chocolate. I bend down with my eyes narrowed, looking over my chopped chocolate. Is there a different kind of happy? I don’t think so. As far as I am aware happy was just happy and though, yes, drawing and creating comic books makes me ridiculously happy, so does working with my best friend.
‘Can I ask you something? Has Scarlett had many boyfriends?’ I barely catch Devon’s question. His voice goes so quiet I have to pretend I need another bar of chocolate that rests at the edge of our table, closer to Hope and Jess’s. I really don’t need any more chocolate; suffice to say the Mount Everest of peppermint bark I now have on the chopping board in front of me is enough. Devon has his back to me. I chance a glance when I hear Hope bustle around her oven, bending down to switch it on. He has one hand resting on the work top, one hand picking at some mint leaves Hope is using.
‘If you want to call them that.’ Hope doesn’t hesitate or mince her words. I can feel my face flush. With all these people around and ovens getting ready to bake, it’s certainly heating up in here. ‘Scarlett seems to fall for the wrong guys. They have their fun and then leave her heartbroken. She hasn’t dated in years,’ Hope tells Devon gently.
I’m trying to measure flour, aware that it’s going everywhere as I’m concentrating more on their conversation and looking at them through my peripherals. Devon turns slightly and I can see his cheeks ablaze too. Oh gosh, did Hope really just tell him that?
‘She’s not really someone guys fall for, so she tells me. They want someone more elegant and more womanly and she ain’t that, apparently. She doesn’t believe in fairy-tale love; she says it doesn’t last. But I think she’s wrong and just hasn’t met the right person.’ She scoops up cookie dough onto her sheet. Meanwhile, she’s pinched my partner and I’m yet to form a dough; however, I can’t bring myself to interrupt their conversation. I’m not sure I want Devon to know all this, but at the same time I can’t help wondering why he’s interested.
‘But I see the way she looks at you and Jess,’ Devon argues. ‘She knows love and her parents are childhood sweethearts.’
‘And I see the way she looks at you.’ Hope pauses and leaves that statement lingering in the aromatic air for a few moments before Jess appears, straight from work. ‘Hi, hon,’ Hope starts, before wielding a spatula at Devon. ‘I’m aware that Scarlett’s words are just a front. I’ve just never been able to get through her protective armour. Maybe you could talk to her.’
‘You want me to talk to Scar about love?’ There’s no denying the croak in Devon’s voice.
‘She talks to you,’ Hope pushes.
‘Yeah, about caped crusaders and stakeouts – we don’t talk about love.’ He clears his throat.
Hope shrugs. ‘Then why did you ask about boyfriends, Mr Wood?’ Hope winks at him and I take that as my cue to save my dear ex best friend from further questioning. And even though Devon was partly to blame for engaging in this conversation I can sense he wasn’t prepared for the direction Hope is about to take it.
I march over. ‘Hope, I need my partner back please. D, I’d love it if you could fold in the peppermint slivers,’ I say confidently, as Jess dons his own apron and starts helping Hope.
‘I thought we were making cinnamon cookies?’ Devon queries.
‘Oh, we are. We’re combining all the flavours of Christmas into one cookie.’ I squeal. ‘You’ll love it.’ I emphasise the word “love” causing both Devon and Hope to roll their eyes; Devon turns a considerable shade of pink as he does so while Hope swipes flour across my nose as punishment for listening in to their conversation. It’s better I tell them though; that way Devon knows he most definitely does not have to adhere to Hope’s wishes and try to conceive a conversation about “love” with me.
I receive a wide-eyed, awkward smile before Devon walks off to deal with the peppermint bark. I watch him for a second before turning my attention back to Hope, giving her a mock evil glare.
‘It’s rude to eavesdrop on people’s conversations you know,’ she informs me, licking her spoon.
‘You know it breaks all kinds of best friend codes to fraternise with the enemy?’ I counter.
Before Hope can respond Mrs Rolph announces that we have twenty minutes left and best get our cookies baking as she gives Devon and I a pointed glare.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Devon nods politely, which softens her very serious expression. ‘Oh, it’s so good to have you back, Devon dear. You mustn’t be a stranger,’ she says, closing in on our spot and pinching Devon’s cheeks, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile. I snicker. Devon gives me the side eye, but I can see his lips twitching with a smirk.
‘Hope, please keep an eye on these two when they use the oven.’ Her tone is back to serious as she addresses Hope.
‘Oh, come on, we weren’t that bad,’ I protest, pushing a loose strand of wayward hair behind my ear with the back of my hand.
‘What is the oven used for?’ Mrs Rolph asks Devon and me. I feel as though I’m back in school, or on an army base. I stand a little straighter and hold my head up. Devon does the same next to me.
‘The oven is for cooking and baking the most mouth-watering eats; it should not be used to melt action figures.’ Devon and I recite in monotone unison. Hope and Jess burst out laughing. I give Hope a hip-check. Her counter is all clean and Jess keeps checking the oven, whereas with all these distractions ours is covered in flour and our four different fillings and flavourings. Once we are dismissed from our lesson for the evening Devon pops our cookies in the oven under Hope’s supervision and I get to clearing away our – OK, mostly my – mess.