Friends Don't

Chapter Twenty-eight

Then next morning I was up by six. Remember how I said that it should be illegal to wake up early on vacation? Yeah, well, when you have a sex dream about the person sleeping next to you, you tend to forget that and get out of bed as quickly as possible.

When I slipped out of bed he was still sleeping peacefully. His chest rising and falling in slow breaths, his face was relaxed, and the sheets were down just enough to see part of his bare biceps and chest.

It took me a second to realize how long I was standing there staring at him before I looked away and mentally did a dance in thankfulness that he didn't wake up and catch me.

As I grabbed some clothes and slipped into the bathroom to change I reminded myself that it was just the dream talking; that or maybe it was the kiss we shared not long ago in a stupid game of truth or dare that was just now wanting to rear its ugly head into my life, or how he hovered just inches from my lips just hours ago. Maybe it was a combination of all those things bringing up these weird feelings that obviously weren't real, but just wanted to make this stay here together awkward.

I pulled my hair up into a messy bun and stepped back out into the room. He was still sleeping, but had moved from laying on his side to on his back, and the sheets had somehow managed to move further down lying just at the waistband of his boxers.

Shaking my head, I left the room, closing the door quietly to not wake him, and headed down the stairs. The house was quiet, so quiet you wouldn't think anyone else was here, but then I heard a banging noise coming from the kitchen.

When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed Heather standing at the counter with a bowl on the counter in front of her. "What are you doing?" I asked and her head shot up noticing me for the first time.

She looked back down and when I followed her gaze, I noticed the recipe card setting on the counter. "Trying to make cookies." She grabbed the card and flipped it over to the blank backside. It looked as though she thought the other side would have all the answers on how to make the cookies. Then she flipped it back to the recipe side and set it back on the counter with a sigh. "Usually Leanne makes the cookies for Christmas, but I guess having a baby fogged her brain. She completely forgot and didn't even remember until they got here and grandma asked where her delicious cookies are."

I grabbed the recipe and looked at the top; Gingerbread Cookie Recipe, it read. "I can help," I told her. "I mean, if you want," I added when she just looked at me with a blank stare.

A smile spread across her lightly freckled cheeks. "That would be great." She reached for a cookie cutter and held it up. "As long as you don't mind trying to make them into little gingerbread men. Grandma loves that. She thinks it's festive, and seems to think they taste better in gingerbread man form."

I could believe she loved them, and I could believe she thought it was festive, but I could not believe that she thought they tasted better. In no way, shape, or form did they taste any different when they were nothing but a round cookie.

"Personally, I think she just likes to see people suffer by having to cut out all the cookies," Heather said, and that I could believe.

I washed my hands and got down to helping Heather make the cookies. While she grabbed the ingredients, I stood at the counter looking over the recipe card. I started to think my original guess on why she was eyeing the card so hard was wrong. Maybe she was studying it so intently to, actually make out what it says. It looked like it was written many years ago and had gone through its fair share of wear and tear, but after putting our heads together we managed to make out what was wrote, or so we at least think so.

We followed the recipe to a T, putting the ingredients in when noted; her adding each to the bowl as I read them off.

We used an electric mixer, something I assumed might not have been invented yet when this recipe card was written.