Matchsticks and Candy Canes

by C. E. Wilson

  “Think you can handle dicing up some butter?” he asked.

  “Sure!” She looked excited to help. “You need me to cut it up?”

  Carter nodded hard before he walked to the large walk-in refrigerator and pulled out two sticks of butter. “It needs to be diced before I add it to the dry ingredients. And you have to keep it cold. Usually I accidentally warm it up, but I think you’ll be okay.” He winked as he passed it over and reached for the smallest paring knife he could find. “Huh,” he mused, noticing it was half as tall as Brynne was. “This could be a problem. I’ll do it.”

  “No, I want to try!” Brynne said, practically lunging for the knife. “I want to help.”

  Carter held it away from her. “Are you sure? I could also...” His eyebrows pinched together.

  “What?”

  “I could teach you how to knead once I’m finished,” he offered. The tips of his ears turned pink and Brynne shot him an odd look, unable to comprehend why kneading was a blush-worthy endeavor.

  “Okay,” she agreed apprehensively. “Can I have a try at the knife first?”

  Carter deliberated before gingerly setting it into her hands. Brynne immediately slumped from the weight, still shrugging off Carter’s hand. She wanted to show him that she wasn’t some useless ornament. She could do things to help him, and she would prove that to him, but achieving that was easier said than done.

  Cutting one slice made her arms sore. The second slice of cold, hard butter made her break into a sweat. Still, she kept at it, working harder and harder until a gentle hand was prying the knife out from hers.

  “That’s enough butter,” Carter mumbled, sounding uncomfortable. Brynne looked down at her hands and found they were pinkened and shiny from contact with the butter. She had cut almost half of a large stick and surveyed it proudly.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” she said tiredly, mopping her brow on her sleeve.

  “Right.” Carter’s brow furrowed for a moment, immediately regretting the idea of trying to let Brynne dice the butter. Without saying anything more, he sliced the remainder of her butter plus the second stick, diced it up and put it into the bowl.

  “So you needed more?” Brynne asked. She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “Just a bit. You did most of the work.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a knife my own size back at home—”

  “It’s fine,” Carter said. “It was my own fault for not thinking this through,” he said with a frown. “I should have given more thought about how hard baking human-sized portions would be for you. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be—”

  “Now,” Carter said, hoping to move past the awkwardness. He gathered up a small portion of the batter and balled it up in his hands before passing it to Brynne. “We’re going to knead the dough. For the scones to be flakey, we have to work quickly so not to melt the butter with the temperature of our hands. So set what you have on the board,” he instructed. He reached over her head to grab a small handful of flour and scattered it around in front of her before creating a much larger pile of flour for himself.

  “Kneading is what makes the difference between a good scone and a dense scone,” he continued, losing himself in his work. He pounded the dough onto the cold surface a few times with his fist before he started to knead. “Got me? Now you try.” He passed Brynne an encouraging look as he continued and she knelt down over her dough ball. “Don’t be scared of it,” he said. He lifted his head and observed for a moment before he stopped working.

  “Am I doing it right?” Brynne asked, barely shifting the dough around for fear of melting the butter.

  Carter wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Sort of? Uh, here. I’ll show you,” he said, stepping up closer to Brynne. “Turn your back to me, please.”

  Brynne’s eyes widened and did as he asked. Carter swallowed hard and lifted his arms around hers until his thumbs rested on her hands. He stood on his tip toes so his chin wouldn’t touch the top of her head. Her breathing hitched audibly as his hands engulfed hers.

  She swallowed hard, surprised to find her throat was dry.

  “I’ll guide you,” he continued, brushing his thumbs across her knuckles. “Try again.”

  “Like this?” She followed the slow practice movements of his hands for a moment then attacked the dough with his help. His low words of encouragement rumbled as he spoke, guiding her along and his thumbs pressed down on the backs of her hands gently, but not relenting until her fists pushed deeper into the dough. The pressure lessened, moving to another part of the dough, then pressed again. It became a pleasant rhythm between them, working as one, and somewhere down the line the dough became second in priority. Brynne stopped kneading, moving her hands within his. Spurred by an innate, fluttering curiosity, she turned her head upwards towards the sound of his voice. Carter shifted in turn to look down at her.

  “You’re a good teacher,” she said.

  His eyes nearly crossed to meet hers. Up close, he could see every detail of her beautiful face. Her high cheekbones, the elegant points of her ears, the little lines around the corner of her mouth when she smiled. He licked his lips. “Thanks. I try.”

  “I mean it,” Brynne said. “The whole day. It’s been like a dream.”

  “You deserve more than a day at the bakery,” Carter said. He inched his face forward. His body acted on instinct, pulling closer until their noses almost touched. His eyes closed. “I’m glad I’m getting to know you.”

  “So, what’s the verdict?” Brynne asked, closing her eyes. “Am I okay? Am I a disappointment?”

  Carter laughed with his eyes closed. “Not exactly.” He leaned in the last inch and touched his lips to hers. His neck groaned from the position and his one hand lifted from hers to cup her cheek and jaw with a finger and thumb. He pulled away, keeping his eyes closed.

  “Sorry,” he muttered quietly.

  Brynne nodded in a daze. She had never kissed a boy before and was caught between delight and terror, but delight soon won out and whispered that if a boy kissed her, she was supposed to kiss him back, wasn’t she? She turned fully and reached for the loose collar of his sweater, gripping it desperately as she crashed her eager lips into his.

  A muffled grunt escaped his mouth when her mouth slammed into his. The kiss was sloppy and was urgent in a way he had never felt before. She had kissed him back. By choice. All thoughts of the elf standing outside Sweet Mix flooded his mind as her lips meshed, fighting to make their presence known. That girl – that elf – had practically leapt into his arms to kiss him.

  And then, as quickly as the kiss had come, her touch was gone.

  “Please don’t apologize for that,” she said as she released his sweater.

  Carter slowly opened his eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m not sorry, then,” he said as he leaned in again.

  The fierce urgency was replaced by tenderness and it was several minutes before they drew apart again.

  “And I’m not sorry now,” he whispered into her mouth before planting a light peck on her lips.

  Musical giggles escaped her.

  “This time, though, I am sorry about something,” he said, pulling away with a smirk that was almost dangerous.

  “What are you talking about,” she said, cocking her head at him.

  “I think the butter might have warmed up,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s okay. It’ll still be good.” He leaned forward one last time, kissed her temple and began to look for the Christmas cookie cutters. “Try not to go too far,” he called over his shoulder. He needed a moment to think. To assess the situation. He had kissed her. The elf. She had kissed him back. Then they had kissed again. Was this right? What this wrong? What was this, exactly?

  His racing mind suddenly screeched to a halt as he picked up a Christmas tree cookie cutter. It delivered a clear message: Go with it, you dummy. He grinned and shook his head.

  Brynne had sat to rest her trembling knees,
and quietly watched him root through the drawer. Truthfully, her head was still spinning from the kiss. That kiss! She drew her hands to her cheeks, finding them as toasty as she suspected. He turned towards her and she gave him a warm smile as he came over and they painstakingly cut out the Christmas tree shaped scones and moved them onto the baking sheet.

  Brynne helped as much as possible, and her smile was infectious. The room was filled with warmth and laughter as they prepared the second set of hot chocolate scones. Brynne stood back, feeling the waves of heat rush over her as Carter opened the ovens and expertly slid the trays in.

  “There. Now we wait about half an hour,” Carter announced, wiping his hands in passing on a spare hand towel.

  “That’s faster than I expected—Oh, Carter.” Brynne brought a hand to her mouth to hide her toothy grin. “You’ve got a smidge of batter on your face.” He reached up to touch his cheek, rubbing at the wrong spot, smearing more of the chocolate batter on his cheeks. She giggled and beckoned him closer. “Come here.”

  Carter leaned down at her instruction. As Brynne grew closer, he couldn’t help closing his eyes. “I’m a mess today, aren’t I?” he muttered when her voice hushed across the sensitive skin on his face. Something gently dabbed against his cheek.

  “Yeah. We’re both kinda having that problem.”

  “Did you get it? Or am I still a mess?”

  “There’s not much,” Brynne said quietly, cleaning up his cheek.

  She rubbed slowly and carefully at the stain, trying to stretch the moment as long as possible.

  Finally, she lowered the cloth.

  “You’re good,” she said. She watched as his eyelashes fluttered and revealed his soft, hazel eyes. “So is there anything else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the shop,” she gestured grandly. “Any more chores?”

  Carter shrugged. “Oh! There’s not much else to do. Scones are in the oven and we already made the peppermint glaze for the one set and marshmallow glaze for the other. There’s nothing to do now but wait.” He nodded down the hall towards the front room. “We can sit by the heater if you’d like. Talking won’t be too boring, right?”

  Her smile almost seemed to glitter. “I don’t mind talking.”

  He offered her his arm and she stepped carefully onto it, holding on to his sweater as he strode towards the front room. He plugged in the space heater and settled down near it, putting Brynne on her feet near him. Like a contented cat, she pulled herself up close and leaned against his thigh. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “That’s probably a good way to get a conversation started,” Carter said with a laugh.

  “Are you an angel in disguise?” she asked.

  “Am I what?” Carter couldn’t hide the shock which crept into his voice. His hand lifted and then lowered again. He pressed his back to the wall behind the cash register and closed his eyes. “What did you call me?”

  “An angel,” Brynne repeated, oblivious to his confusion.

  “I thought that’s what you said.” Carter hummed a bit before he dared to lift his hand again. Gingerly, he set it over Brynne’s back and ran his thumb up and down her spine. He kept his touch as light as possible. “Not an angel, just a run of the mill ordinary guy. You’re more like an angel than I am.”

  “I doubt it,” she said in a low voice. “You know what they call us.”

  Carter frowned. “I don’t need to know what others say. How about you tell me something,” he said, keeping his voice low as the bakery started to fill with the warm scent of peppermint and chocolate. “Tell me about your family. Tell me about where you live.”

  “Not very interesting,” she mumbled.

  “Try me.”

  “In all seriousness, my family life probably sounds rather sad to someone like you. We’ve got me, my little brother Henri, and my little sister Abigail on one side of the house. In the summer, there are farming and gardening jobs for us and we do okay. In the winter, though, my dad does odd jobs if he can find any and I man the cart. We don’t even make enough to pay for food some weeks, and my dad gets depressed. And drinks. There are no jobs for us this time of year.”

  Carter frowned. “Is it that bad that selling matchsticks and old chestnuts off the back of a cart in the dead of winter is the best you can do?”

  Brynne shrugged. “Medical school isn’t exactly an option.”

  “You should work here,” Carter offered. He shifted his hand so he could absently trace circles and figure eights into her back. He stared straight ahead as the heater crackled and he nudged it with his boot so it was directed at Brynne. It made him sweat a little but even through the sweater, her skin felt chilled.

  “Yeah right.”

  “You’re so pretty. If people would actually look at you, I bet you’d drive everyone into the shop. You are an elf, after all.” He sucked in a gasp, wondering if this would somehow offend her. He started as if he had something offensive, but to his surprise, Brynne sent him a tired smile.

  “You really think so?” She sounded amused by the idea. It was much nicer than being called a witch.

  Carter nodded sincerely. “Yes, I do. You’re so cute. I bet you could bring in the customers.”

  “I doubt it, Carter.”

  “It may not happen at first, but I bet it could happen eventually. The holidays are stressful, and people aren’t as bad as you think.”

  “That’s easy for a human to say.”

  He stiffened slightly, still tracing his fingertips on Brynne’s back until something occurred to him.

  “Saying you’re pretty should be easy for anyone to say.”

  “Pretty for an elf.”

  “Pretty for anyone.” Carter frowned. “You do know you’re pretty, don’t you?”

  Brynne froze up. “Please stop teasing me like this. You’re very kind, but you can’t possibly believe that.”

  A warm, disbelieving chuckle erupted from Carter before he could stop it. “Yes, of course I believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? You must know. Even amongst your own kind—” he stopped immediately when she stiffened up. “I mean, amongst everyone,” he quickly clarified. His face grew red from his verbal slip.

  Own kind.

  Which implied that they were two different kinds.

  “I think the scones are almost done,” he muttered, gently moving Brynne aside so he could stand up. “I’ll bring out some once I get them iced. You, uh... you stay there.” He fled before she had a chance to respond, or he had a chance to slip up once again.

  He couldn’t say what he wanted around her without it coming out all wrong.

  Brynne took his breath away.

  And apparently his ability to be coherent.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brynne sat alone in the front of the bakery, listening to the sounds of Carter bustling away in the kitchen. It was both comforting and discouraging, hearing him. He sounded like he was working quickly and easily, of course he was; he was a human, and the world was made comfortably for them and them alone. Brynne held up her hands against the landscape of Sweet Mix. Too small to truly belong, even with the kindest of boys.

  But he had kissed her. She prayed dearly that that had to mean something.

  When Carter returned with a large plate, he was smiling broadly, which chased away her doubts for the moment. There were three candy cane scones and three hot chocolate scones.

  “I don’t think I can eat all of those,” Brynne said shyly as he took a seat on the floor and crossed his legs. He set down the plate between the two of them and she appraised the baked goods with a curious eye. Half of the scones were the color of sugar cookies with white frosting and red stripes. The others were dark brown with snow colored frosting. She licked her lips. “Though they do look good.”

  “Don’t they?”

  “You didn’t have to bring so many.” Each scone was as big as her torso.

&
nbsp; “Would you make fun of me if I said I’m hungry again?” Carter said.

  “If I keep hanging out with you, I’m going to gain five pounds,” she snickered.

  “You’d still be adorable,” Carter said shyly.

  “I barely weigh five pounds right now.”

  “You’d be fine.”

  He worked on ripping the candy cane scone into four pieces and then took one and divided it in half. He took some extra frosting from another piece and dabbed it on with his pinky before he held it out towards her.

  “They’re kinda sticky,” he said. “Open your mouth and try it first before you start touching all the frosting. This one is a sugar scone with peppermint frosting and red trim. Let me know what you think.”

  Brynne scooted forward on her knees and opened her mouth. Carter’s hand descended, and his fingertips brushed her lips as he fed her. Brynne covered her mouth to catch the falling crumbs as she chewed thickly.

  “It tastes like winter,” she said. “Like a happy winter morning would taste.”

  Carter beamed down at her. “Here’s the other one.”

  The process was the same. Brynne found herself elated that his fingers brushed her lips again.

  Every sensation and touch was exciting with him.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, mouth still full. “This one’s my favorite. Is this some type of special chocolate?”

  “Why?” Carter asked with a smirk. “Taste something different?”

  “It tastes like chocolate, only better?”

  “You noticed, huh?” Carter looked pleased as Brynne smacked her lips together. “It’s a trick my uncle taught me. Any time you use chocolate in a recipe, you add a pinch of coffee grounds. It makes the batter taste funny, but it always makes chocolate taste better... chocolatier.” He snickered for a moment. “You have a good mouth.”

  “Thanks.” Her eyes drifted up to his mouth as he demolished an entire candy cane scone. “Yours isn’t so bad either,” she dared.

  Carter almost choked on his next scone – hot chocolate. Marshmallow glaze dribbled down his chin and he quickly wiped it away, his ears blazing red. “Did you say I have a nice mouth?”