Bottled Up

17 | all i want for Christmas

She shrugged. "I watched Vienna eat bubble-gum off a park bench yesterday. It won't be flour that gets her. Trust me."

Louise pulled a tray from the oven. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and heels, a frilly red apron tossed over her clothes. Not, Ben reflected, that Louise would have normally bothered with things like aprons; she'd only put one on because they were going to Hugh's nativity play that evening.

"You must be excited," he said. "To see your brother tonight."

"I am."

"What time does his flight get in again?"

She glanced at her phone. "They've just landed."

Ben crossed to the sink, filling the mixing bowl with soapy water. Louise wiped at her face, smearing flour across her cheek.

She pulled off her oven mitts. "Did Hugh seem nervous when you dropped him off?"

Ben picked up a sponge. "He'll be okay."

Louise's expression was shrewd. "So he was nervous."

That, Ben thought, was an understatement; Hugh had clung to his hand backstage and begged him not to go. To get Hugh onstage, it had taken fifteen minutes of soothing, reassuring, and — Ben was not proud to admit this — the promise of ice cream.

"Don't worry," Ben said. "I gave him some advice, in case he forgets his lines."

Louise arched an eyebrow. "Which was?"

"Just smile and improvise."

"Good." She picked up a spatula, scooping gingerbread cookies on to the cooling rack. "And... all your things are out of our room?"

Her voice was casual. Too casual. Ben ran a sponge around the bowl.

"Yup," he said. "The bedrooms have been rearranged."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"Here." Louise held out a cookie. "Try one."

Ben raised his soapy hands. Louise rolled her eyes and fed him the cookie; warm cinnamon flooded his mouth. Her fingers brushed his bottom lip, and a shiver went through him. He hadn't been this close to her in a while. Not since...

Well.

Not since that morning.

Ben's memories of that day were fuzzy, but he could remember waking up with something soft and warm in his arms. Something that smelled of lilac soap. That scent haunted him now, clinging to his clothes and his bedsheets.

"Well?" Louise asked. "What do you think?"

"Delicious," he murmured.

It could have been his imagination, but Ben swore there was pink in her cheeks. "We should get going." Louise switched off the oven. "We'll be late, otherwise."

"Hang on," Ben said.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel. Louise stiffened as he approached, and Ben ran a thumb over her cheekbone. "You had flour. On your cheek."

"Oh." She touched her face. "Thanks."

"No problem."

They were standing face-to-face. Nose-to-nose. Her eyes — the colour of flame on copper, a hot, burning green — scanned his face. What would happen, Ben wondered, if he kissed her now? Would she taste of cinnamon? Would she push him away?

He leaned closer.

Vienna wailed.

They sprang apart. Vienna was clutching her head, staring reproachfully at the tap. She must have whacked her head on it, Ben realized. Louise was there in an instant, rocking Vienna in her arms.