Meet Me in December: A Sweet Holiday Romance by Racquel Henry

Author:Racquel Henry [Henry, Racquel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Holiday Romance
Publisher: Racquel Henry Books, Henry Co.
Published: 2023-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

Felicity

In the baking aisle of the Wedgefield Supermarket, I stand still, staring at shelves with sacks of flour. My mind keeps replaying the moment yesterday with Giancarlo outside of the Wedgefield Community Center. He can make anything feel romantic, even a simple hug. It takes me back to when we were sixteen and he’d text me after his shift at The Golden Lobster that he was bringing me pasta. Everyone else in the world would have just said, so what? Doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s a pretty basic thing for someone to bring you food. But to me, it meant everything.

And then there was the moment before that with Andrew. Giancarlo was acting so strange, not like himself at all. I thought I was making it up until he stormed out of the center. I’d been watching the way his eyes held something mystifying. It was half angry, half authoritative. The whole time, only one question revolved in my mind: Is he jealous?

I pick up one of the bags of flour and toss it in the cart. As I make my way around the store to gather the rest of my baking supplies, I can’t think of anything else. It feels like the unfinished draft of us somehow got out of that locked drawer. To finish or not to finish, that is the revived question.

Back at Grams’s house, I spread out all the ingredients I bought on the kitchen island and put the recipe I printed out next to the items. I reach for one of Grams’s aprons and slip it over my head, then prep everything the way they would on one of those TV baking shows. Hopefully, this plan doesn’t backfire. I send a text to Giancarlo.

Felicity: Need a break?

Giancarlo: You read my mind. What are you thinking?

Felicity: Come downstairs. 😊

Giancarlo: Your wish is always my command. 😊

In less than a minute, he’s entering the kitchen. It’s hard not to stare at his dark, messy hair and the charcoal-gray sweats he’s wearing. You could put him in a tin-foil suit and he’d still pull it off. He’d still make my heart accelerate.

His eyes drop to the counter, and he narrows them, then smiles when he shifts his attention back to me. “What’s all this?”

I love that smile. “Okay, so hear me out.”

“Okay…”

“Hopefully, you don’t think I’m overstepping, but I just thought maybe we could make the Italian cookies your mom used to make. You always said you didn’t know much about your Italian roots, and I thought maybe we could learn about it together. I looked up a recipe and—” It registers that I’m rambling, and when I stop to finally look at him, I can’t quite read his expression.

I pick up the printout of the recipe so I don’t have to look at him and say, “I’m overstepping. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Felicity,” Giancarlo says. “Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?”

My heart doesn’t even hesitate. It takes off sprinting in my chest without giving me a say.

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