frowned. “With a brush?”
“With a lot of little brushes.” She brought a plate of cooled cookies over to the counter then headed for the refrigerator, where she had icing cooling. She filled four soup bowls with icing.
“Now we put some food coloring in the bowls and make different colors of icing.”
Grabbing two bottles of the coloring, Rory helped her create red, blue, green, yellow and pink icing.
She carefully caught his gaze. “You’re good at this.”
He laughed, relieved that she finally seemed comfortable with him in the room. “It’s not we’re like mixing rocket fuel.”
She laughed a little, too. Finley snatched a cookie and one of the thin paintbrushes lying beside the icing bowls.
Now that the cookies had baked, they’d fluffed out a bit and didn’t exactly look like their intended design. So Rory said, “That’s a bell.”
Finley sighed as if put upon. “I know.”
Hoping to cover for the insult, he said, “So what color are you going to paint it?”
“The song they sang in the park today said bells are silver. But there is no silver icing.”
“Silver bells are silver,” Shannon agreed. “But cookie bells can be any color you want.”
“Then I’ll make mine pink.”
“A pink bell sounds lovely.”
Though Rory had pitched in and helped cut the cookies and even create the colored icing, he had no interest in painting cookies. He glanced around. “Would you mind if I made a pot of coffee?”
Shannon peeked over at him again. This time more confidently. “Or you could make cocoa.”
Rory’s shoulders relaxed a bit more. If they kept this up, by the time he was ready to take Finley home, he and Shannon might actually be comfortable in each other’s company again.
He found the milk and cocoa. While Shannon and Finley happily painted cookies, he made their cocoa and served it to them. They barely paused. Seeing that it would take hours if he didn’t help, Rory lifted a brush and began to paint, too.
They worked until nine. When they were through, and the cookies drying on the kitchen table, Rory told Finley to get her coat while he helped Shannon clean the dishes and brushes. In spite of the goodwill that had seemed to grow between them as they made cookies, once Finley left the room Shannon again became quiet.
Rory still didn’t quite know what to say. With every minute of silence that passed, a little more distance crept between them. He knew part of that was his fault. He’d only decided he was ready to date. The decisions thrown at him the night before were usually the kinds of things people discovered after months of dating. When they were comfortable and confident in their feelings.
But he understood why Shannon had told him. They were growing close and she didn’t want to.
With the dishwasher humming, she dried her hands on the dishtowel and then tossed it on the counter. “I wonder if she’s struggling with her boots.”
He laughed. “She always struggles with those damn things. But she loves them. So we deal with it.”
Heading out of the kitchen, Shannon tried to laugh, but the sound that came out of her throat was a cross between a hum and a sigh. The whole evening had been strained. Rory tried to pretend things weren’t different between them, but they were. This time yesterday, he would have flirted with her. He also would have found something to do in her living room rather than watch her and Finley make cookies. He’d clearly been bored. Yet, he stayed in the room. As if he didn’t trust her not to break down.
Expecting to see Finley on the foyer floor struggling with her boots, she paused when she saw the empty space. “Wonder where she is?”
Rory’s steps quickened as he ran to the closet. But as he passed the living room entryway, he stopped. “Look.”
She peered into the living room and there, on the sofa, sleeping like an angel was Finley. Warmth enveloped her like a soft sigh of contentment. “She’s so cute.”
“Yeah,” Rory agreed, slowly walking toward her. Gazing down at his daughter he said, “You’ve done so much for her, helping her to get into the spirit of Christmas.”
She swallowed. “It was my pleasure.”
“I wonder what other things she might like?”
“Might like?”
“About Christmas.” He glanced over. “We’ve decorated, made cookies. You’ve even gotten her to like carols. But that’s just the tip of the holiday iceberg. There are lots of things she’s never experienced. Now that she’s open, I’d like to introduce her to everything…make her like everything so that this time next year she’ll be excited for Christmas, not sad.”
Shannon bit her lower lip. She knew exactly what it was like not to look forward to the holiday. She knew what it felt like to wish every day could be normal because the special days only pointed out that you had no one to share them with. “Maybe we could get her to sit on Santa’s lap.”
Rory laughed as if he didn’t think she’d been serious. He caught her gaze again. “That’s like asking a guy who’s just learned to hike if he wants to try Everest.”
“I suppose.” But a weird, defensive feeling assaulted her. Up to this point Rory had taken every suggestion she’d given him. Now that he knew she couldn’t have kids, it was as if he didn’t trust her. That might have even been why he’d stayed in the kitchen with them during cookie making.
Sadness shimmied through her. She turned and headed for the closet. “I’ll get her coat and boots.”
“Thanks.”
When she returned to the living room, Rory sat on the edge of the sofa cushion beside Finley. Shannon handed him Finley’s boots. She didn’t even stir as he slid them on. But he had to lift her to get her into her coat and hat. Still, though she stirred, she really didn’t waken. She put her head on Rory’s shoulder when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the foyer.
Shannon raced to open the door for them. With Finley sound asleep, it was the first time they’d said a private goodbye at the door.
“Thanks for coming over tonight. Even with the extra time to teach Finley, your help cut my cookie-making time in half.” She tried to give him a confident happy smile, but it wobbled. It had meant the world to her to have Finley to teach. To have people to share her cookie-making joy with. Just to have people around who cared about her. Deep down, she knew that was why he’d come, why he’d brought Finley. He now knew she was sad. So he’d tried to cheer her.
But that’s all it was. The kindness of one human being to another. Not a gesture of love as it might have been the day before—when he didn’t know she couldn’t have kids.
The injustice of it punched through her, made her want to rail at the universe. But she didn’t. She was the one who had made the choice to tell
