A Cozy Little Christmas

~~~A Cozy Little Christmas~~~

December 24, 2014, 5:35 pm

The holidays were always Hermione’s favorite as a child and is simply reminded how much she enjoyed it as she whisked her way around the ones who stopped to look in awe at the balsam fir standing proudly on display in a large window, a silver ribbon weaving through the branches from top to bottom, blue and silver bulbs dangling and glistening here and there, and thousands of white twinkling lights. She pauses and smiles as she allows herself a moment to get caught up in the beauty before moving along, remembering she is on a mission.

A mission to find something to bring to her parents' annual Christmas party. 

The one they host every year for their practice where all their employees come with their families to celebrate and blow off steam by sharing horror stories they encountered over the long soon to be ending year.

A party she always attends to be a good daughter and see her parents.

Which she always regrets.

She always arrives feeling excited to see her parents but always leaves feeling drained.

Things always start off fine, but it seems to always end in the same old neverending argument.

The argument is always so stupid because it's always about a stupid subject.

Her life.

Not the ones they are currently living and excelling at.

But hers.

They are so worried about her life and the direction it’s going that they fail to see the most important detail about her life.

That she is one hundred percent completely content with her life at the moment.

And most of all…

She is happy.

Or maybe that is what bothered her parents the most.

They can’t believe that she is happy at her new age of 24, a number she reached just three months ago.

Then again, she never really did anything they expected her to do.

They expected her to go to university with her major in pre-dental so she could follow in their footsteps and take over their practice when they were ready to retire.

She chose to follow her own dream of designing wedding gowns which led her down the marvelous path of attending fashion school where she fell even deeper in love with the world of fashion and met so many amazing people along the way as well. It has even taken her to different parts of the world and who can complain about that? Certainly not her. She loved visiting different countries and learning something new. In Italy, she had been before with her parents where they would often do tourist stuff, but when she got the chance to study in Italy, she found a different side of the country. France was kind of boring, but she still learned a lot. She even got a chance to dig her heels into the dirt of the United States.

Her path also guided her to a job she loves for a local shop. It’s not what she wants to do for the rest of her life, but it allows her to use her knowledge and put her skill to the test until she is able to achieve her ultimate goal of owning her own wedding gown boutique. She knows it will happen when the time is right.

Another thing that doesn’t seem to sink into her parents’ minds, especially her mother’s, is that she is currently not interested in dating anyone. 

For some reason, it was hard for her mother to believe that she was happy on her own in her own little flat here in London. A place she made into a home and is rather proud of it.

It’s just her and good old Crookshanks, her beloved bright orange cat whom she loved from the moment she laid eyes on him. He is a really great roommate just as long as she doesn’t ever forget to fill his food bowl again like she did on a crazy Monday when everything was going wrong for her from the moment she woke up. He gave her a stink eye for a week. Or maybe it was just her guilt bubbling away in her stomach.

Hermione blinks as she is pulled from her mind and brought back down to London. She takes a look around to see she had walked into a massive Christmas market. Unable to help herself, Hermione walks deeper into the market to see what it has to offer. The musical notes of Silent Night float above everyone’s ears battling the excited hum of a million conversations going on at once. There are so many people, Hermione feels as if she stepped into a busy beehive, as it should be since it is Christmas Eve.

She is immediately drawn to a booth selling garland, spotting one with a string of orange cats and knew she had to have it for her tree next year. She paid the vendor and went on her way, keeping an eye out for something suitable to add to the table to please her mother. Or try to anyway.

Suddenly, the spicy mixture of cloves, ginger, and cinnamon hits Hermione’s nose, making her mouth water. She stops in her tracks, sniffs the air several times trying to determine where the delicious aroma is coming from and spots a shop to her left. Copper Tree Bakery , she reads to herself, approaching the window on the right side of the big wooden double doors to take a peek at the rows of fresh baked breads waiting for someone to buy. The sight is enough to pull her inside, the bell on the door jingling as it closes behind her.

She loves the wooden aesthetic of the beautiful interior, finding it small but surprisingly empty. The dark wood gives the small space a warm and inviting atmosphere. The warmth soothes her cold cheeks as she moves away from the door, grabbing a hand basket as she goes. The smell of freshly baked breads wrapping around her like a warm hug as she reaches one of the many glass display cases housing muffins, scones and danishes. The next case holds three rows of cakes in various flavors. The third has loaves of different bread. On the opposite wall is another row of cases holding more fresh baked goods. Behind the glass case in the front is a wall of wooden shelves with more loaves of bread. Every detail she picks up shows her how much dedication goes into the small business.

A deep rich voice of a man flows out from the back.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Please, take your time,” she calls over her shoulder, enjoying the peaceful nature of the shop, hearing nothing but the heels of her shoes on the hardwood floor as she walks until she finds the case of gingerbread, the tops coated in a generous layer of icing, the scent reminding her of her favorite candle she likes to burn as she sits and sketches out her ideas in her sketchbook. 

Hermione is mentally counting how much she will need for the party when the voice from earlier greets her from behind.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t out here when you came in, I was pulling some bread from the oven. Can I help find anything in particular?”

Hermione smiles as she turns around and finds herself being pulled into the bluest eyes she has ever seen. It feels exciting and dangerous at the same time, but she also feels completely in awe as she gets lost in a tunnel of sparkling blue water. She knows he has asked her a question, but she is having a hard time connecting her brain to her mouth because the tunnel feels endless and she is okay with that. Her vision clears allowing her to see him for the first time.  

He is towering over her petite height, crowning his head is fiery red hair. The same red hair thinly trails along the lines of his jaw, up around the sides of his mouth to the thin mustache dusting his top lip. A heavy dusting of freckles covering his cheeks and longish nose brings her back to his eyes, the very eyes she was lost in only seconds ago.

Crash!

The sound of metal meeting the floor causes her to jump and look down to see the hand basket she had been holding is now on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she says, reaching down to snatch the basket up, feeling her cheeks burn violently as embarrassment chases away the feeling of awe due to her foolish behavior. 

“No worries,” he chuckles, making her swallow as she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  “What can I help you find?” He slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, a stance she finds rather attractive on him.

“I’m looking for something to take to a party,” Hermione says, feeling herself calm down enough to focus on the task at hand.  

He nods. “For how many people?” he asks.

Hermione once again tries to mentally count the heads at her parent’s party. The number varies from year to year. “I want to say maybe 20 to 30 people,” she says, wincing as she realises this may be a little harder than she likes. “Can you suggest anything?”

“A great cheese board is always a hit at any party.”

Hermione’s chest tingles with excitement at his suggestion, wondering why she didn’t think of it herself. Simple and easy! Her favorite kind of outcome. “A cheese board would be wonderful. Do you have any in stock?” she asks hopefully, biting on her bottom lip.

He gives her the warmest lopsided smile, and a thousand little butterflies come to life in her stomach. “Luckily for you, I had someone cancel their order at the last minute. It’s yours if you want it,” he offers.

Hermione nods, and the stress she has been carrying around in her shoulders for days melt away. “That sounds wonderful! Yes, I will take it,” she says, and he turns on his heel disappearing into the back, making the world around her seem hollow and lonely. She frowns to herself wondering how a brief moment with a stranger could make her world feel completely whole from the moment she laid eyes on him and completely empty the second he walked away from her. 

What does that even mean?  

Her frown deepens as she decides that she doesn’t like this overwhelming foreign sensation. Hermione busies herself by placing a couple of the gingerbread loaves into her basket. She manages to reach a case holding several loaves of sourdough bread, some of them have festive designs scoured in the crust.

A violent sound of metal clashing with the floor erupts from the back capturing Hermione’s attention, and the the loud groan of agony lights a fire under her heels and she is hurrying to the front of the shop, only stopping to place her basket on the counter before rushing around it as if she owns the place, pushing through the doors and into the kitchen. Hermione finds the redhead sitting on the floor with several baking pans on either side of him. He is clutching his right elbow and breathing roughly through clenched teeth.

Hermione inches closer. “Are you okay?” she asks him, bending down and picking up the pans to move them out of the way so she can get to him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” She places the pans on the closest counter and turns her attention back to him.

He shakes his head, causing a few strands of his hair to fall into his blue eyes. “No, I’m fine,” he says, scanning the ground around him before rising to his knees.

Hermione moves until she is standing next to him. “Here let me help you up,” she says, offering both of her hands.

He takes her hands and together with great ease, they pull him to his feet. “Thanks,” he says, smiling gratefully at her, squeezing her hands allowing her to feel the roughness of his palms and strength through his calloused fingers. They tell her that he uses his hands a lot and she wonders what else he does with them.

Their hands part ways, but Hermione is already missing the feel of his hands by the time they are at his sides. “No problem,” she says as something on his arm catches her eyes and she looks closer to see a hole in his sleeve just inches from his shoulder. “Oh no, it looks like you tore your shirt.”

He looks down at his sleeve, checking the hole. “I thought I heard something rip on the way down,” he sighs. “It’s such a shame that I’m gonna have to throw it away. This shirt is one of my favorites.”

Hermione raises her hands to examine the hole a little further, but pauses before touching him. “Do you mind if I check it?” she asks him.

He nods.

Her mind snaps into work mode as she wraps her hands around the bulk of his upper arm, testing the fabric by pulling it apart to look at the threading. “This is a simple fix. I can have this stitched up in no time,” she tells him, pulling her bag off her shoulder and reaches inside for her kit.

Hermione is pulling it from her bag and notices him watching her strangely. “What?” she asks, her hand freezing in midair.

“Why do you have a sewing kit in your bag?”

“For moments like this,” she says, unzipping the kit and opening it to find what she needs. She pulls a needle from its captivity and looks at his shirt, trying to determine how much thread to use for his orange shirt and how much she needs.

She catches movement out the corner of her eye as he moves to lean against the counter right next to her, and she catches a breeze of his fresh scent of warm cedarwood mixing nicely with a dash of mint. She takes a quiet deep breath so she can enjoy it one more time. How can someone smell so good? Hermione feels the weight of his eyes on her.

“Something tells me you do this often.”

Hermione grins proudly. “What makes you say that?” she asks, grabbing her black spool of thread and begins to prepare the needle, being careful to focus on her task so she doesn’t stab herself with the needle. When she’s ready to move forward, Hermione turns to him.

“Before I begin,” Hermione says gently, “I need you to stay completely still so I don’t poke you with the needle.”

He smirks at her and she swears she can feel it deep in her soul. “I thought men were supposed to do the poking, not the girl,” he says, causing her mouth to drop open in shock at his statement.

Hermione slaps him on his arm and he laughs out loud, and she finds that she likes the sound of his laugh as it echoes in the kitchen, deep and warm just like his voice. There is something so comforting about this man, but Hermione can’t put a name on it. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she scolds him, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze.

“Sorry,” he chuckles.

Hermione gives him a disapproving look. “You sure don’t sound like you’re sorry,” she tells him, placing her hands on her hips.

“Because I’m not,” he says truthfully and is just grinning at her and soon she is laughing too. “What’s your name?”

“Hermione Granger,” she says, picking up the needle and thread, double checking to make sure the knot is tight enough. “What’s yours”?

“Ronald Weasley at your service.”

“Do you go by Ronald or Ron?” Hermione says, raising her hands to the tear in his sleeve, carefully inserting the tip of the needle into the fabric.

“You can call me Ron,” he says, watching her pull the thread through before moving the needle to the other side. “My friends and family call me Ron.”

“I see,” Hermione hums, refusing to take her eyes off his sleeve because she already knows what will happen if she looks into his eyes again. “Does that make me your friend?”

“I hope so. I could always use another friend,” Ron says softly, making those butterfly wings flutter once again. “Good friends are hard to find.”

“They are,” she agrees as she reaches the halfway point in the tear. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Nothing really,” he answers honestly. “I’ll probably finish up here in a few hours and then go watch a movie before bed.”

“No plans with your family?”

“My family is a bit scattered this year,” he says, looking away from her. “My sister is on a trip with her fiance. My oldest brother and his wife are expecting their third baby after the new year so they decided to stay home. My parents and other two brothers are visiting my brother Charlie in Romania. He works in the coal mines, so he doesn’t get to come often so they decided to go to him this year. They asked me to come with them, but I couldn’t because I had to stay to run the bakery.”

“Are you the owner?”

“I am,” Ron says smiling, showing Hermione he is proud of his accomplishment as he should be.

“That is pretty neat, ” she says, returning his smile with her own. “I’ve never seen this place before today. When did you open it?”

“March of this year.”

“Wow,” Hermione says, nearing the end of the repair with a few more stitches to go. “I’m glad you were open because your cheese board is saving me from attempting to make something myself. The kitchen and I don’t exactly get along.”

Ron’s eyebrows inch up his forehead. “Do we need to take this elsewhere to keep my kitchen safe?” he teases with a note of worry, lacing his tone.

Hermione snorts at his question. “No, just as long as I’m not trying to cook or bake anything, your kitchen is fine,” she reassures him.

Ron studies her as if he is trying to look into her soul. “Don’t tell me you fear the presence of a great kitchen. I was starting to like you.” he sighs dramatically into the warm air of the kitchen.

“Not everyone is gifted with the talents that are required to be in the kitchens. I am one of those people!”

Ron reaches up, making her pause her stitching, wrapping one of her loose curls around his pointer finger. “Anyone can bake,” he says in a low voice, challenging her statement. “I bet you have a talent for baking that you don’t even know about.”

Hermione crosses her arms. “I don’t have a talent for baking,” she tells him with certainty.

“Have you tried?”

“Yes! It’s hard for some people!”

“Baking is one of the easiest things in the world.”

“Says the owner of a bakery.”

“Touche,” Ron says, pulling his finger from the strand of hair, watching it fall into place by her ear. “Name something you would like to learn how to bake.”

Hermione purses her lips as she thinks for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind learning how to make cookies,” she says, and points her finger at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I will deny it!”

“Who am I gonna tell?”

Hermione shrugs her shoulders as she picks up the needle to continue the repair. “I don’t know. Your girlfriend or whoever it is you go home to at night,” she says, wondering why her words are pungent on her tongue and burning dread pools in her stomach at the thought of him with someone else. She immediately feels ashamed for feeling this way about this detail about his life because she has no right to place a claim on him.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Hermione doesn’t know why this pleases her so much, but can’t help enjoy how the dread in her stomach fades away. “That’s nice to know,” she says, resuming her sewing as she is aware that she will have to leave to be on time for her parent’s party. The one thing they do not stand for is lateness.

“Is it?

The softness in his voice makes her look up and once again she is taken back by how blue they are and she forces herself to look away as she reaches the end of the repair, pulling on the thread causing the tear to become invisible. “Alright, you are all done,” she says, cutting the thread and starts placing everything back into her kit.

Ron twists his arm to look at her work and is impressed at what he sees. “You are very good at that,” he says, rubbing the spot and not feeling a single loose thread. “Thanks!”

Hermione grins at him. “No problem,” she says, placing her kit in her bag and pulling out her phone to check it and her eyes widen as she reads the time.

“Is something wrong?”

Hermione shakes her head. “No, but I’m afraid that I have to get going or my parents will not be happy with me,” she says, stuffing her phone in her bag and pulling the thick strap over her shoulder.

“Of course. Let me grab that cheese board for you,” he says, pushing away from the counter as she turns around and walks out of the kitchen and into the shop where her forgotten basket is still waiting for her.

Ron comes through the door carrying a box, setting it down in front of her and opens it so she can see inside and Hermione is not disappointed.

Hermione beams at Ron. “Thank you so much for helping me out at the last minute,” she says, taking in the beautiful assortment of cheeses, crackers, meats,and fruits. “That Brie looks amazing too. I will probably have to fight my father for it.” 

After the transaction is over, a heavy silence falls over them as brown eyes lock with blue eyes, beginning a conversation on their own. Hermione finds herself struggling to turn around and walk out the door. “I have to leave,” she says softly, knowing that she has to, but she doesn’t want to. There is something telling her that she has found something more than a silly old cheese board, a new path she wants to explore to see where it ends up and she can see Ron standing with her as she goes.

“I know,” he says, and his words are as soft as hers.

Hermione forces herself to pick up the box and grab the paper bag. “It was really nice to meet you and I hope you have a Merry Christmas,” she says, slowly stepping back from the counter.

“You too.”

Hermione takes a deep breath as she turns away from him, heading for the door and she is almost there.

“Hermione.”

Hermione pauses and turns around to look at him one last time before she leaves the shop. “Yes?” she breathes.

“You know if you want to learn how to make cookies, I can teach you if you like,” Ron offers, searing her once more with those blue eyes of his.

Hermione smiles at him. “I might just take you up on that,” she says, loving the idea of seeing him one more time and walks out the door into the cold December air, and for the first time since meeting the redhead, she feels the sharp sting of oxygen return to her lungs wondering how she didn’t notice that she couldn’t breath in the presence of the man as she makes her way to her car.

***

December 24, 2014, 7:25 pm

Later that evening, Hermione huddles in the corner of the crowded living room of her childhood home, watching the party carry on. She is doing her best to avoid her mother since she gave her a long winded lecture about being fifteen minutes late the moment she stepped in the house. Luckily for her, the doorbell rang announcing the start of the party that lit a fire under her mother’s feet to finish her tasks before rushing to answer the door. 

Hermione sips on her eggnog, making sure she poured herself to make sure it is alcohol free because she doesn’t feel like waking up on Christmas morning with a hangover. The smooth saxophone playing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas is easy on the ears as laughter rings out from the crowd. She follows the sound to see her mother surrounded by several women, a few she didn’t recognize. Hermione notices everyone in the room has someone to talk to, making her feel like an outsider.

Ron’s handsome face and his amazing blue eyes flood her mind once again, and she rolls her eyes trying to chase the man out of her head. Never in herself has she ever felt this strongly about someone she just met. It’s a miracle that she made it to her parent’s home alive because he is all she could think about during the drive here. She had to clutch the steering wheel to keep herself from turning around just so she could talk to him again. It’s the reason why she was so late getting here.

“Hermione, there you are!”

Hermione jumps at the sound of her father’s voice and turns to see him walking up to her. “Hey, are you having a good time?” she asks.

Hunter Granger smiles proudly at her. “Your cheeseboard has been a massive success,” he says, placing his hands on her upper arms, squeezing them. “Where did you get it from? People have been asking me, but I don’t know what to tell them.”

“I got it from a small bakery.”

Once again, her mind runs to the owner of this small bakery, and it makes her want to add a couple of shots of rum to her eggnog to keep her mind at ease.

Hunter looks surprised at her answer. “You really need to give the name of this bakery so I can recommend it to our patients,” he says, kissing her cheek and disappearing into the crowd of his guests. Hermione catches movement out of the corner of her eyes and turns to see her parent’s receptionist approaching.

“Mrs. Winston!” Hermione says, meeting the older woman half way, who pulls Hermione into a warm hug. Hermione always enjoys these hugs because they remind her of her late grandmother. 

“Hermione, how many times have I asked you to call me Clara,” she chuckles, pulling back and sliding a few loose strands of Hermione’s hair out of her face just as she always used to when she was a little girl. “You have no idea how good it is to see you, my dear. How are you?”

Hermione takes a second to think about her answer. “I am doing really well,” she says honestly. “How about you?”

“Same, my dear, same. I’m in the process of redoing my kitchen. I feel that it needs a new, fresh look than those dingy old cabinets,” Clara answers. “How’s the job treating you?”

Hermione smiles, thinking about her place of employment. “It’s nice and challenging at times which is why I love it so much. Last week, I was able to make these sleeves to match with a wedding gown.”

“Are they paying you what you're worth?”

Hermione chuckles at the question. “I mean I can’t complain about what they pay me, but it’s enough to get me by,” she says. “How is Mr. Winston?”

Clara’s amber eyes light up. “Dennis is Dennis. He’s around here somewhere. You know that husband of mine, he always has to be the life of the party. I think I saw him heading for the kitchen a few moments ago. He will be happy to see you.”

“Ho Ho Ho!”

Hermione and Clara both turn to see a man walking into the living room wearing a deep red robe with spiffs of white fuzz around the wrists and a thick leather belt around his middle. Deep red pants meet his leather boots with gold buckles on the side and on his bed of white hair that matches his thick white curly beard is a red hat with a white ball at the end of the cone. 

The sound of pattering feet fill the air as the children of all ages surround him wearing excited smiles on their faces.

The chatter of conversation dies off as the room turns their attention to the scene in front of them. Some of them take out their phones for a quick picture to have a memento for later in time.

“Oh my goodness!” He chuckles at his small audience, taking the time to look into every face. “What a warm welcome. I hope each and every one of you have been good this year, because in this magical bag of mine will be a special gift that is only meant for you.” In his right hand is a large red velvet bag and lifts it only to drop it. He fans himself before he looks at the children. “It’s a little heavy. Who wants to go first?” Hands shoot into the air filled with hope of being the first to receive a gift from Santa Claus.

He opens the bag and reaches inside, pulling out a rectangular box and turns it over to read the name on the tag. “Where is Freya?” he asks, looking up and searching the group of kids for the owner of the name.

A girl with blond curly hair hurries up to the man. “That’s me!” she squeals and he places the box into her awaiting hands. She thanks him and runs over to her parents to show them what she got.

Hermione can’t help but smile as she watches the endearing scene in front of her as another child receives a gift from Santa. The little boy squeals in delight as he tears the green wrapping paper and holds up a blue remote controlled truck and plops down on the floor as he begins opening the box so he can play with his new toy.

“I was wondering what he was putting in the trunk before we left the house.”

Hermione turns to look at Clara and what she sees stuns her. 

Clara’s eyes are not locked on the children, but on Santa as if he was the only one in the room. Her amber irises are glowing with adoration for the man and her smile grows only wider. Hermione glances towards Mr. Winston to see his eyes locked with his wife, having their own conversation in the middle of a room filled with people. Hermione feels as if she is intruding on the moment, but can’t help admiring what she sees because it’s a strong show of love. 

Clara blinks and places a hand over her heart. “Sometimes I can’t believe he is my husband,” she sighs, Hermione swears she can hear the love overflowing in her voice. “We’ll be married for thirty five years next October.”

“That’s amazing,” Hermione says, feeling a bit honored that Clara is sharing some of her story with her.

“Have I ever told you about the day that I met Dennis?” Clara asks.

“No,” Hermione answers.

Clara chuckles, shaking her head. “I’ll never forget that day either because it was one of the worst days of my life. Everything was going wrong for me that day. I was late for work and I spilled my morning tea everywhere. I even got it on my brand new blouse that I bought the day before. Even the weather was horrible. It was pouring all day. So I decided to visit my mom before I went home for the evening and on my way to my mother’s house, I rear ended someone.”

“Oh no!”

Clara stops to take a tip from her glass of champagne. “I can’t even explain how mad I was at my luck. I get out of my car hoping and praying that this driver isn’t furious for crashing into him. The first thing Dennis did was ask if I was okay,” she says, smiling as she remembers the moment her life changed for the better.

Hermione loves a good romantic tale and her curious nature is starving to hear more. “What happened next?” She asks.

Clara takes Hermione’s hand, leading her over to the free chairs by the roaring fire and sits down. “That’s much better,” she says, placing her hands in front of the flames, finding the warmth welcoming. “I tend to get chills in my old age. Now, where was I?”

“Dennis had asked you if you were okay.”

“Ah yes,” Clara says, settling back into her chair. “Dennis takes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders and offers me his front seat so I could stay warm while he looks at the cars.”

“Was the damage bad?”

Clara shakes her head. “It was only a minor dent, thank goodness. While we waited for the police to arrive, he was telling me all kinds of jokes trying to make me feel better,” she tells Hermione. “When it was over, he took me to get ice cream and we talked for hours until the owners kicked us out and that is where our love story began.”

Hermione takes Clara’s hand into hers. “Thank you for telling me,” she says, squeezing her hand.

Clara turns to Hermione, curiosity swirling in her amber irises. “What about you?” she asks softly. “Do you have anyone special in your life?”

Hermione feels the itch in her mind as thoughts begin blossoming to life, but she forces her mind to stay silent and still. “No, not at the moment,” she answers honestly, scanning the room spotting her mum and dad standing in the middle of the room, talking amongst themselves.

“What about Graham? Your mother says you guys really hit it off.”

Hermione shivers in her chair as revulsion flows down her spine at the sound of that name. “That was the worst mistake I made,” she says flatly, wishing she could forget the whole thing, making a promise to herself to never date someone like that again.

“What makes you say that??”

Hermione buries her face in her hands, groaning silently against her fingers. “I only went to make her happy,” she explains, nodding her head at her mum. “It only lasted two dates. All he talks about is golf, something I know nothing about nor do I want to.” she rants, the words spilling from her lips like a waterfall. “He was a nice guy, but he was so boring.”

“What was the deal breaker for you?” Clara asks.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she remembers the conversation as if it had happened yesterday. “He hates cats!” she answers.

Clara gasps, holding a hand to her chest. “Cats have an amazing judgment of character! Hating cats is a serious crime if you ask me,” she says, shaking her head. “Good for you letting that one go.”

Hermione covers her mouth so her loud laughter doesn’t disrupt the party. “You should have heard the hour-long rant when he saw my picture of Crookshanks on my phone. It was awful,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “It took everything in me not to walk out of that cafe.”

Clara leans over in her chair, motioning Hermione to do the same. “I understand what you mean, but it’s the ones you can’t walk away from that you have to look out for,” she whispers in her ear.

A rush of cold air plunges into Hermione’s bones freezing her in place as goosebumps explode along the flesh of her arms as the dam in her mind breaks open. Images of Ron’s handsome face chase away every empty thought. Those blue eyes which have the power to look into her soul. His lopsided smile makes her bite down on her lip to keep herself from smiling. His warm inviting scent teases her as if he’s right in front of her.  The need to see him again is so overwhelming that she crosses her legs to stop herself from leaving her seat and rushing out the front door. Hermione closes her eyes trying to calm every nerve in her body.

“Hermione, are you alright, my dear?”

Hermione uses the question to anchor herself and opens her eyes to see Clara watching her very closely. “I’m fine,” she lies, feeling very hot.

“Are you sure? You seem a bit flushed. Do I need to get you something to drink?”

Hermione fans her overheating face, feeling beads of sweat form along her hairline. “No, I’m okay,” she says as a question forms on her tongue. “When did you know Dennis was the one?”

“I knew he was the one the moment I met him.”

Hermione looks into fire taking a few seconds to process her words before turning back to the older woman. “How did you know?” she asks in a low voice fearing someone will hear her question. The need is still very much alive sinking into her veins, making it hard to focus on the person in front of her.

Clara pulls her hand off of Hermione’s knee to move a silver strand of hair out of her face, and Hermione thinks she sees tears in her eyes glistening in the light of the flames. “In my darkest hour, he was the light that got me through and I’ll be forever grateful,” she explains softly. “But take what I’m saying with a grain of salt because it happens at different times for everyone.”

“Clara, are you boring Hermione with one of your long-winded stories?”

Clara looks up at the new voice to see her husband standing behind the chair, wearing his everyday clothes. “I was telling her my favorite one. Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna play Santa this year?” she asks him.

Dennis chuckles at his wife. “Because I know how you are with keeping secrets,” he says teasingly.

Clara rolls her eyes, swatting him on the leg. “You liar,” she says. “I’m great with secrets. It’s you who has a hard time keeping things to yourself.”

“I guess you must have rubbed off on me over the years.”

Hermione smiles watching the couple fall into their own little world, she gets out of her chair leaving them as they are. She weaves her way through the crowded living area curious to see what is left to eat or drink. As Hermione reaches the table, an all too familiar aroma of ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg washes over her, flowing in her veins slamming into the throbbing itch to see the man who has filled every thought, every nerve since the moment he walked into her world. It is strong enough to make her feel as if she is trapped inside a bubble.

Feeling exposed to every eye in the room, Hermione tries to escape to the hall leading to the kitchen before anyone truly notices her presence. She is thankful that the kitchen is empty as she begins pacing back and forth between the island and the counter that houses the sink. Hermione breathes in and out, but the bubble tightens around her.

Hermione stops pacing and looks out the window into the back garden as she tries to calm herself enough to be able to think properly and feels the resolve in her crumble like melting snow, realizing one thing. She is done fighting the monster telling her no, when her heart is telling her to go.

Hermione grabs her bag off the counter and freezes at the sight of the front door. If she goes out that way, her mother will catch her and ask questions wanting to know where she is going before their first guest leaves for the evening. She turns on her heel and hurries out the back door before anyone comes into the kitchen, making sure to go around the left side of the house so no one sees her through the windows of the family room to walk to her car.

***

Thirty minutes later, Hermione retraces her steps from earlier trying to remember how she ended up at the store front of the bakery. It’s eerily quiet as it appears that everyone attending the Christmas Market has returned to their homes to enjoy the rest of their holiday with their families. She stops looking around for the vendor where she got the garland believing the bakery to be near it as she found it a few moments after her purchase. She picks up light notes of cinnamon and goes in that direction.

And she spots it.

The golden letters glowing from all of the hanging lights, but the warm glow inside the bakery is gone and Hermione feels her stomach drop into her feet at the sight of the close sign hanging in the door window.

She’s too late.

Hell, she doesn’t even know what time it is.

Why did she listen to her heart and not her brain? Her brain never seems to fail her.

Hermione swallows, feeling something wrap around her body, unlocking the brakes under her feet, pulling her towards the door. She wonders if its fate telling her that everything she’s ever wanted is behind this closed barrier. Her heart begins to pound as she lifts her hands and knocks on the smooth cherry oak wood. The sound is so loud it makes her ears ring or maybe it's the stark silence causing her fear to soar to the sky.

Seconds turn into minutes as nothing happens, Hermione’s shoulders sag in defeat as she turns around and walks away, not catching the sounds of the locks being undone. Everything around her feels numb as she reaches the corner.

“Hermione.”

Hermione freezes at the sound of her name being called, and her heart enters her throat as turns around, seeing Ron standing a few feet behind her. But now, she doesn’t know what to say to him.

“Is everything okay? Did you forget something?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

Hermione shakes her head. “Everything’s fine,” she assures him, opening her mouth to say more but the words die on her tongue before they have a chance to live in the air between them. Her heart grows quiet as her brain begins to work.

What is wrong with her? What is she doing here? She had been so caught up in the moment of seeing him again that she never really thought it through and now he’s here waiting for her to say anything. What the hell was she thinking? She should just turn around and go straight back to her car. She closes her eyes to block him from her view as she fights the massive internal urge to run and never look back. Hermione feels dizzy as she finds it hard to breathe, feeling pressure building in her chest.

She can only describe the pressure as fear. Mind numbing fear escaping its confinement to spread throughout her body, freezing her into place as her thoughts begin to race. What if he thinks she is some crazy customer who ruined his night by showing up at his door on a whim? What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he lied about not having a girlfriend earlier? How would she handle it if he tells her he isn’t interested in her? What if this is just all in her head? Her thoughts change direction as she remembers other people in her life.

Her parents!

Did she really leave her parent’s house for a guy she spent a mere ten minutes with?

How is she going to get out of this one? Her mother will be demanding an explanation on why she left so early. Hermione is always expected to help with the clean up once the party is over. She knows if she looks at her phone she will have several missed calls from both her parents.

What if she is just so desperate to get her mother off her back and he is the first victim to cross her path? How could she put that on him? Her problems with her mother are her problems alone.

“Hermione?”

Hearing her name on his lips loosens the grip of fear on her mind. It’s not enough to put the fear completely to rest, but it clears her mind enough to remember his offer earlier in the day. “I… I…,” Hermione begins, struggling against the fear rebuilding in her throat as her palms grow sweaty. 

However, she feels something punch through her fear, telling her to find her big girl panties and grow up instead of acting like a school girl trying to ask her crush to the school dance. “I was wondering if you were still interested in making cookies,” she says shyly.