Love's Forbidden Flower (4 page)

This is just too good to be true. He supports me in everything—but, seriously? “Wait a minute. What do I have to do in return?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just don't let Mom and Dad know I missed that party to bake a cake. Dad will turn me into a unic.”

“There has to be a catch.”

“No catch. I swear. You deserve something special, and I’m glad to be a part of it. You’re getting to know another side of yourself, and I want to get to know it too."

Can my heart possibly melt anymore? I want to jump into his seat and kiss him. But even if he weren’t driving, we just haven’t gotten to that point yet, though forcing the issue is tantalizing. Instead, I opt for crossing my arms and squinting sideways at him.

“Fine. If you really want there to be a catch, you can make me your special cocoa tonight while I watch cartoons.”

Ah, yes. The things Donovan loves. Cartoons and quality treats. He's always been sweeter than anything I'll ever make, and he knows I’d do that for him anyway. “That’s right. There’s a Looney Tunes marathon on tonight.”

“Yeah, I can't wait,” he says while drumming on his steering wheel.

“You want little marshmallows in your cocoa?”

“You have to ask?”

As I pick it up to inhale its beauty, Donovan muses, “Huh. I wonder how that got there?”

Actually, I do wonder. This came from a store, and, even with the attached water tube, it’s unlikely it would have survived this well all night in the freezing car. Donovan must have bought it yesterday and sneaked it into the house, then put it in the car when he scraped the ice off of the windshield this morning.

A surprise awaits him too. While home alone yesterday afternoon, I baked his favorite cookies—oatmeal with raisins, cinnamon, and coconut—my personal recipe. He goes mental over them. Stashing them in his locker before lunch will be a nice little thank you for our adventure on Saturday. He’s likely forgotten that he wrote his locker combination in his math book at the beginning of the year. Snagging it yesterday while he was out was as easy as baking a frozen apple pie.

As we pull into the school parking lot, my friend, Sally, and her brother, Jason, are getting out of his car. Sally has been my best friend since she moved here two years ago. Well, she’s my best female friend. Though she and I are definitely close, no one can hold a candle to Donovan when it comes to whom I turn to when life gets complicated.

Sally runs up to the car; anxious to talk to me about the call she got last night from a boy she had a disastrous date with on Saturday. Why did she open my door? That’s Donovan’s job. He has done that ever since he got his license and started playing chauffer. Damn it, Sally!

My ear gets talked off on the way to class about the call, and the apology Sally received. “Lily, I just don’t get it. What kind of boy comes on to you like that, gets rejected, says you are a waste of time, then calls the next night and asks you out again?”

“Probably one that hopes you’ll succumb next time. You did refuse him another date, right?”

Sally is a naturally pretty blonde with big green eyes, a trim figure, and a cursed voice that makes her sound like a cartoon character. Unfortunately, the combination leads boys to think she is dumb and easy. She’s actually one of the brightest people I’ve met, though she sure never sounds it.

“Of course I did. I should move to France. When I was there over the summer the boys were just as bad, but at least they had adorable accents.”

Sally’s travel experiences are jealousy inducing. Every summer her parents take her and Jason abroad. Their parents are both doctors in a private practice, so they can afford to take full advantage of their free time. My Dad does well in the insurance industry, and Donovan and I certainly have no complaints. But although my family has held passports for years, the farthest I have been away from Rhode Island is Disneyworld, when Donovan and I were little. He spent the entire trip running around in mouse ears and asking where Bugs Bunny and Snoopy were. We were too young to understand that not all cartoon charters live in the same enchanted village.

As we take our seats for the first class of the day Sally notices the rose sticking out of my backpack. “Hey, where did you get that?”

Why must the beautiful truth be hidden? “We had to stop at the drug store on the way to school and they had these by the register. It seemed like a great day to treat myself to something pretty.”

“Speaking of treats, how was your little surprise on Saturday? I couldn’t believe when Donovan called and asked me to help him. Jason would never do anything like that for me. Did you make anything yummy?”

Mmm…Saturday. In some ways it seems like it was an apparition. Four hours in a kitchen with Donovan should have been hellish, but he really surprised me. That may be because he let me do all of the work. At first I thought he was afraid of screwing up, but then it became apparent that he wanted me to embrace the moment without him in my way. He was valiant in tackling the mundane tasks like measuring ingredients and washing our equipment, but he stepped back and let me take the reins on everything else. Because of him, I truly learned that in a bakery is where I need to be.

“Yeah, there were quite a few things I had never done before, like actually getting a cake to roll properly and making a Yule Log. It turned out amazing and mine was the only one that did. The pastry chef there was happy to teach me a bunch of additional stuff. Poor Donovan actually sat around and waited an extra hour for me. It was incredible.”

“He’s so perfect. I wonder what he would be like to date?”

Don’t even think it, lady! He’s off-limits.

The bear has given me a new fondness for the day as I infuse a little Christmas cheer, Lily-style. While I prepare the final touches on some homemade hot chocolate, Donovan flies down the stairs as if the wispy aroma has traveled to his room and elevated him off his feet.

“Wow. Are you making cocoa again? We’re all going to get fat.”

“Not just cocoa, special Christmas cocoa.”

Observing eyes are sought before he whispers into my ear, “Special, huh? What magical herbs have you put into your potion?” He then backs off before grabbing cups for me. “Actually, don’t answer that. I may not want to know if you are also serving it to Mom and Dad.”

“Ok, I’m not sure what to make of that comment. There’s only a little mint added so don’t go getting any funny ideas.”

“What is it with you and the fresh mint lately?” Donovan sets down four cups beside me for the cocoa.

“Fresh nothing. It’s Christmas morning, and I already have to help Mom cook. Extract exists for a reason. Oh, thanks, but I only need three cups.”

“Can’t be bothered to suck it up and drink the fake stuff with the peons, eh?”

“Please. You know better than that. Real extract is in here, not flavoring. Sugar has overstayed its welcome with me. I’ll have juice instead.”

The thick chocolate cascades into the cups before I garnish them with marshmallow and deliver them into the living room where our parents have appeared. Donovan walks up behind me with one hand behind his back. “Pineapple or orange?”

“Is this a challenge?”

“Of sorts. Pineapple or orange?”

“Orange.” I generally prefer pineapple, but orange juice seems more desirable today.

He pulls his arm out from behind his back and hands me a glass of orange juice. “Thought so.”

“Does this mean you two slow pokes are finally ready?” Dad asks as he reaches under the tree to hand Mom one of her gifts. You’d think by his enthusiasm he actually got her something different this year. Yeah, right!

Dad always gives Mom an array of gift cards and cracks, “I know you’re just going to go crazy shopping over the next few weeks no matter what you get today.” Mom buys Dad new clothes to wear to the office, while Donovan and I find him the wildest, yet most fashionable, ties imaginable. To everyone’s surprise, Dad actually wears them, saying they make him feel ‘hip.’ It's always a challenge to see how bizarre we can go without spilling over into the realm of tastelessness.

Donovan ceremoniously bestows a gift upon me, plopping it on my lap with a thud. Did he get me a telephone book? Maybe it's a Bible with all of the passages about the wrongness of my thoughts of him highlighted for easy reference.

To my joy, it's the most thorough book of advanced pastry techniques I've ever seen, with over 900 full-color pages of photos, demonstrations, and formulas for just about everything I could desire to make.

When I pry my view away from the tome, it’s easy to appreciate how gorgeous Donovan looks leaning against the mantle—his eyes having more spark than the roaring fire beside him. I force myself out of my cologne-induced stupor before heading toward the hall closet and lugging out a box half my size to present to him. He looks at me sideways with a skeptical little snicker before turning his attention to the card.

To Donovan, Because I believe in you and your dreams. Love, Lily

Beneath the wrapping resides nearly every penny of my savings account now in the form of an acoustic guitar—something Donovan has asked for every Christmas since he can remember and has never gotten. Dad feels it would take Donovan away from sports and always says, “Only hippie freaks who smoke a lot of pot and boys with long hair, tight pants and low morals play guitar.” Maybe Donovan wants one so he can dangle it over Dad’s head and taunt him.

I indulge in Donovan’s expression as he revels at the instrument, like he's seeing the world for the first time. “It’s perfect, Lil. Thank you.”

Our parents’ silent disdain makes me proud. Donovan has received from me one of many things they’ve never given him—unconditional respect for his personal desires. It's a Merry Christmas indeed.

As I'm about to drift off to sleep Donovan slips into my room and stands at the foot of my bed. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“Almost perfect.” Rolling over, the pendant around my neck is revealed.

“Almost?”

“I used to wonder, 'What’s he waiting for, Christmas?' There’s no need to wonder anymore, as I'm
still
waiting.”

“Lily.” His whisper is accompanied by his patented eye roll, which is suddenly getting old. “We can’t do this right now. It seems eyes are always on me, and neither one of us needs that kind of trouble. Besides, we know this isn’t really right. We need to stop and think about this. Once we start we’ll be changed forever.”

“We also know it's not really wrong. How can something as beautiful as us be wrong?”

He looks a little ill before forcing his big brother expression to return. “Good night, lovely lady. Merry Christmas.”

Unable to let him get away that easily, as he shuts the door my lips blurt, “Do I have any hope for New Year’s Eve?”

Donovan spins back into the room placing one finger over his lips to quiet me. His tone and expression are bleak. “Lily, promise that you'll never give up on me. No matter what happens or doesn’t happen. You’re the only one who’s ever really cared about me. Please always believe in me, no matter how much I'm struggling or what it’s over.” Taking my hand, he kisses my forehead, wishes me a goodnight, and leaves me to my dreams.

My senses awaken me to find a figure sneaking away from my bed. Catching him off guard, I grab him by the pants, pull him down, and pin him to the mattress.

“You're lucky I realized it was you before I pulled out the baseball bat I keep under the bed. What are you doing in my room?”

Donovan returns the murmur as he shakes his hand that is holding a note. “Trying to slip a message under your pillow. I changed my mind because I was afraid you wouldn’t find it, but Mom would.”

“What does it say?”

“Why don’t you unpin me and find out?” He must be enjoying this as much as I am. Mr. Football Hero could easily break free of my wussy hold if he didn’t want to be here.

“Umm…. No. What’s it say?”

“You have
got
to be kidding me.”

Restricting his ability to move I sit on his hips and snatch the note.

It reads, “
New Year’s Eve.”

“What does this mean?” My hand holds it for him to see as if he doesn’t know its message.

“Will you please get off me?”

Descending my face, I bring it so that it is directly in front of his with our noses almost touching. “Do you promise to tell me and not run off?”