“I feel really underdressed, now.” Hannah looks down at her jeans and hoodie.
“No. This is going to be great,” I say. “Let’s grab our cookies and go knock.”
“Your cookies,” Katie says, climbing out of the backseat.
I hand her the tray of peanut butter blossom cookies we made together. “You did a good job with your chocolate cookies. They tasted great.”
“They were supposed to be fudgy and chewy not crunchy.”
“Crispy,” I correct her. “And it’s because butter can be a little fickle. If you overbeat it, the cookies will run and the cookies become crispier.”
I hand Hannah her tray of lemon cookies that are so delicious I begged her to share the recipe with me. “Your marketing skills are already shining,” she tells me.
I grin, taking the batch of hot cocoa cookies I made after Nolan declared them his favorite. I’m hoping they love them, too.
We make our way to the front door which is covered with a lit garland. Katie rings the doorbell. It only takes a moment for Evelyn to answer, wearing a Santa hat.
“Hey! Come on in!”
Lights, trees, and garlands make every space festive. I can’t imagine how much time they spent setting it all up. It looks amazing.
“I’m never leaving,” Hannah says, eyeing the tree adorned with ribbons and ornaments that are Grinch-themed, so thick you can barely see the branches.
Mila rounds the corner, a glass of eggnog in hand. “Sorry. My dad called.” She flashes a smile that seems increasingly more genuine than the first few we exchanged. Her gaze takes in the trays of cookies in our hands. “Cookies and romance. We’re brilliant. We thought we’d set the cookies up in the kitchen and sit down here in the living room.” She leads up farther into the apartment.
Brielle arrives shortly after, and the six of us spend the next several hours laughing, gorging on cookies, sharing our favorite parts of the book, and asking each other’s thoughts and opinions on parts where symbolism took on different definitions for each of us. Even Katie read the entirety of it, and admittedly enjoyed it.
“Next month, I’m choosing the book,” Mila says. “And I’ll warn you, I love the hero with questionable morals.”
Evelyn glances at her, smirking. “And you’re a big fan of enemies to lovers…”
Mila rolls her eyes. “Grey is a boy scout. He doesn’t have a single questionable moral in his entire body.”
“Grey?” I ask, a little surprised but also not at all. Grey has the dark and broody vibe that most women are attracted to.
Evelyn’s smirk grows into a smile.
“Only in her warped imagination,” Mila says, shaking her head.
“Grey is so hot I’m pretty sure he’s in everyone’s imagination,” Hannah says, earning a hearty round of laughter.
“Speaking of hot, I have a date with my boyfriend and a Christmas movie,” I say, grinning at Katie because I know she’s going to scrunch her nose with disgust before she does it.
We split the remaining cookies and make plans to meet for tomorrow’s game, the future a giant and intimidating unknown that seems to preoccupy more of my thoughts with every day as we approach the final game, unsure whether Camden will be able to make it to the playoffs and what that could mean for the draft.
When we get home, Nolan’s truck is already in the driveway. Book club went later than I had expected, but I don’t regret a second of it. Finding friends—good friends—feeds another part of my heart and soul. Though, it doesn’t slow me from saying goodnight to Hannah or Katie who hugs us goodbye and leaves for Carsen’s.
Nolan’s sitting up in bed dressed in sweats and a white tee that’s pulled tight across his shoulders and chest. His long legs are stretched across the blankets as he watches tape on his iPad, likely of the team they’re playing against tomorrow. His blue-green eyes are on me, highlighted by the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. I haven’t had a real tree in years, and the smell of pine mixed with Nolan is quickly becoming my new favorite Christmas tradition.
“How was book club?” His voice alone makes my body temperature rise.
I get on the bed and crawl toward him, still dressed. He grins, lifting one arm for me to curl in beside him, and I do. “It was so much fun.”
He presses a kiss to the crown of my head. “Nice socks,” he says, motioning to the snowman-printed socks I’m wearing that he’d given me.
I wiggle my toes. “Have you guys heard anything more about Peters and when he plans to return?”
Nolan’s fingers skate the length of my upper arm. “Not yet. I’m not even sure he’s had the surgery or if he was forced out or decided to since they were muzzling him.” He gives a lazy shrug, indifferent to what forced him to leave. “But he’ll be back. He’s making too much money and has too much fame to retire now.”