Santa’s Mistletoe Playbook

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

“ W e’re getting the instructions tonight, right? The themes, the requirements?” Neal’s torso was straining the seams of a tight black chef’s coat embroidered with a slender golden N.

“At midnight,” Bea answered, short of breath. All of her life, she'd been plump and cute like a roly-poly puppy. Her boyfriends had been a curious mismatch of losers, geeks, and first dates that didn’t warrant repeats. Oh, sure, she had a hot best friend—if you considered being built along the lines of a palm tree hot, anyway. But a hot boyfriend ? Never.

Still never. Neal wasn’t her boyfriend—officially.

“So, we should be together at midnight. To brainstorm. Look.” Neal shook a clear glass bottle filled with something that looked like mud and swirled with sediment in the bottom. “My special blend of mushroom coffee, dandelion syrup, and bone broth. It’ll give us energy for hours.”

Hours of late-night energy with Neal? Her heart fluttered—and she thought that only happened in books. “Sure. Sure, we can be together at midnight. I think I’ll pass on the coffee blend, though.”

“It’ll really help boost your metabolism. Have you had it tested, by the way?”

“What tested?”

“Your metabolism. Or your thyroid? Autoimmune diseases? They can cause weight gain.”

He’s not criticizing my body. He’s into healthy living. He’s concerned about your health. That’s all. “I’ve got a clean bill of health, and I feel great. Very energetic,” Bea said in a voice that she hoped was flirtatious.

“Uh-huh. I hear the prize is double what it was last year. And you were in second place?”

“Right, in the solo division. We registered for the partner division this year. You’re stuck with me—once we open our emails, we can’t switch to a solo entry.”

Neal flashed her a smile made up of dazzling white teeth (caused by natural charcoal toothpaste, as he would tell anyone who’d listen). “Sounds good, babe. Hey, you’re local, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, I’ve lived in Pine Ridge my whole life.”

“So, you probably have an idea of what the theme will be? What tricks we can use to put us in the top spot? There’s only one grand prize winner, right, from all of the divisions?”

“Mhm, that’s right. Just one big winner and they get the big money, too. I don’t know about the theme, though. I think we should just focus on showing as many advanced techniques as possible. Theme is important, but I think we really need to show off our skills. I had this idea about using gingerbread pizzelles— crap!”

“Beatrice? Something you want to tell the class before we tackle our croquembouche ?” Chef Wilton paused at the front of the kitchen, a frown on his face.

“No, chef!”

“Then we can begin.”

As Chef Wilton gave instructions about that evening’s project—the final project before break—Neal leaned over, his broad chest, tattooed forearms, and six-foot frame making her feel on the petite side for the first time in her life. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered that I promised to spend tonight with Curtis—catching up on some episodes on ChefStream .”

“Oh.” Neal’s voice was flat. Maybe faintly annoyed.

He wants me to come over there. He wants to be alone with me tonight!

“D-Do you watch Christmas Cookie Magic ?”

Neal coughed. Or maybe it was a snort. No, it had to be a cough. “I’m not really into baking shows. But that won’t take until midnight, right?”

“Probably not, but I also asked him to help me with my gingerbread pizzelle idea. Maybe we could both hang at his place?”

“Uh… We should stay fresh. You want to meet me at my dorm a little before midnight?”

He doesn't want to have a third wheel. His dorm. I’ll probably sleep over. This is it… Maybe . The heart flutters were escalating.

Maybe she needed to sit down. Trying to sound calm, Bea answered, “Sure. I’ll be there at midnight.”

“Annnd break!” Chef Wilton clapped his hands and sent everyone scurrying for mixing bowls and ingredients. Bea made her way to Curtis. Like clockwork, her much taller friend handed her one of the mixing bowls from the top shelf. “I can come over, but I gotta leave at 11:30.”

“You’re too old to have a curfew—and you sleep over at my place sometimes.”

“Neal invited me over to his dorm. You know what that means.” Bea licked her lips and winked, trying to pretend butterflies weren’t attacking her middle. “Tonight’s the night.”

Curtis turned the color of skim milk under his shaggy brown hair. “But—you’re not even his girlfriend. You said so!” he whispered, following her around the huge kitchen.

“I guess that changes tonight.”

“But… But shouldn’t your boyfriend love you? Worship the ground you walk on? Think of you all the time? Trust you with his passwords before you trust him with your body?”

A strange ripple ran up her spine. The desperation in Curtis’ voice made her do a double take. “Don’t go all puritanical on me, man.”

“I’m not. I’m… I’m really not. I just want you to be with someone who loves you as—as much as a heart can hold. Yeah. Um. So. I need to get butter.”

Curtis stumbled off.

The rest of the class was frantic as teams worked together to prepare choux pastry balls, filling, and coatings of red and green or blue and white melting chocolate and ganache before assembling them into the beautiful displays known as croquembouche . Neal worked in a silent fury, his eyes always on her.

He can’t take his eyes off of me.

That might explain why he keeps making so many mistakes…

“Thank God that’s over,” Neal groaned when they placed the last little cream puff on their finished product.

“I know! Three weeks until we have to even think about classes,” Bea held up her hand for a high-five before wondering if Neal would think that was lame.

He didn’t leave her hanging, his stressed features morphing into a smile. “But you’ll be baking up a storm, right? Gingerbread?”

“Of course we will! It can take hours, you know? And they only give you a week to get ready. Most people have to work… We’ll be spending a lot of time together this week.” Her fingers brushed his arm. His muscular arm, the kind bodybuilders show off.

God, Neal would look amazing all oiled up.

All slippery.

He’s making me all slippery.

“I have a few shifts to cover at the gym this week before I head home for break. We’re splitting the money fifty-fifty, right?” Neal’s voice dropped and he pressed closer to her, hand sliding across the stainless steel workstation to let his much larger hand capture hers.

“Mmhm. Fifty-fifty. Like partners should,” she whispered, body on fire when he picked up her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“I don't know what I’d do without you, babe. You have the softest, tiniest hands. You can really make all those fine details.”

“Yeah. Soft and tiny. Where it counts.”

You need to stop! Halmeoni and Harabeoji would come clear over from Busan if they heard you telling your boyfriend that you’re soft and tiny where it counts. And Pop Pop and Grandma are probably turning over in their graves.

Neal kissed her knuckles again and playfully flicked one of her dark brown curls out of her eyes. “Let’s wrap up, cutie. See you at my place around Midnight?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I don’t know why you wanted to watch this show if you won’t even sit down! The pizzelle maker isn’t even plugged in!” Curtis had a tiny studio apartment in one of the old red brick buildings right on campus. It was one of the only buildings that wasn’t used as an office space or a frat house. There was barely room to pace, but Bea was pacing, and he was following. It would be funny if he weren’t dying inside.

Say something. Say you love her. Say you want her.

Why didn’t I tell her before?

I didn’t know before! It snuck up on me!

It had. Last Christmas, he would have loudly declared Bea as one of his best friends. This year, he wanted to tell the world that she was not only his best friend but his lover.

But he was stuck in the friend zone. And if he said something now, Bea might think he was just jealous or being a cockblock. Was that even a thing with girls?

“Huh? Oh! I don’t think I have the right mixture yet. It’s too thick.”

“Well… What about a waffle maker?”

“Hmm?”

“Waffle! Gingerbread waffles as like… textured walls? Like on a castle, maybe? Or what about as a trellis, and we pipe vines up them?”

Bea turned, her vacant eyes suddenly focusing again. Focused and shining. “Oh, my gosh. I love that! I wonder if we can do that?”

“And what about texture mats? I got… I got you a set of six for Christmas. I know it’s early, but you could use them this week. Maybe.”

“Curtis! Oh my gosh. I could eat you up, you big candy cane.” Bea launched herself into his arms and hugged him.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, body reacting at once, even though he didn’t want to be “that guy.” That guy who was picturing Bea’s huggable body cushioned under him, pulling him into her until they were just one united wave of throbbing and sliding, giggling and kissing.

“Love you, Bea.”

The words fell out before he could stop them.

“Aw. I love you, too! I ordered you something I think you’ll think is cool, but it’s not here yet.”

“I only need you.”

“You sound like my mom, dweeb. She tells my dad that every year, and he practically dies on the spot. Then he goes to Macy’s for the day and comes back with the trunk full.”

“Well, I mean it. If I had—I mean, since I have you in my life, I don’t need another present.”

“Stop! You’re going to make me cry!” Bea hugged him again, and his mind drifted back to a soft, wet fantasy. “You’re secretly a romantic, Curt. Why the hell are you still single?”

Curtis bent his long, lanky frame to bury his chin in the glossy black curls that smelled like ginger, clove, and cinnamon. “I think I just have bad timing,” he whispered.