Santa’s Mistletoe Playbook

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

“ P lease, please, please can I punch him?”

Bea put down one box of gingerbread pieces. “Nope. Then you’ll get thrown out.”

“What about in the parking lot afterward?” Curtis snarled.

Bea turned to watch Neal and Jasmine enter through the large double doors of the school gym. “Jasmine looks like she might beat you to it.”

Curtis kissed her cheek. “I’ll go get the next box. You watch our platform. I don’t trust them.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Her sweet, silly best friend had a protective watchdog streak in him that made her toes tingle and her middle start to clench. “I’ll watch the table. You watch your back. Neal has an extensive workout, and I don’t want him to add punching my boyfriend to his routine.”

“Miss Miller, Mr. West?”

Bea immediately recognized the voice addressing her. “You’re the guy I talked to on the phone!”

“Indeed, I am. Mr. Minegold, very nice to see you in person. I’m here to sign you in. I couldn’t help but overhear the last bit of your conversation.” The older man addressing them had an elegant, Old World style of charm and silvery hair. He smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled. “I will let the judges and volunteers know that you’re worried about the team at table three.”

“Not so much about the team, just him,” Bea gave Neal a poisonous glare—and that turned out to be a mistake.

Neal put down the box he was carrying and straightened up, jaw popping open. “I… hey!” His voice cut through the building crowd, and his tanned face crinkled in annoyance.

“Neal! You’re feeling better.” Bea crossed her arms and gave him a fake smile. Curtis mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Not for long.”

“I… You don’t have a partner!”

“She does. In every sense of the word,” Curtis put a possessive arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, sir, is there an issue?” Minegold stepped in, his voice frosty.

“Yeah! I mean—she entered with a partner. Me! But I’m not her partner.”

“Ree-ally? That seems rather confusing.” Minegold drew out the word and began flipping pages on his clipboard. “Hm. You’re Curtis West?”

“Huh? I’m… You! Double-crosser!” Neal gasped, pointing at Bea.

“That’s it!” Curtis began to lunge forward, but Bea grabbed his sweatshirt and held fast. “Neal, you’d better help Jasmine. She’s going to need it. There are two excellent bakers and pastry chefs on my team. I think she’s at a disadvantage, only having one person who actually understands baking. Let me guess—did you tell her to make some candied venison cobblestones?”

By the way Neal’s eyes widened, she could tell that she’d hit a nerve, just not the one she was hoping for. He’s probably pissed he didn’t think of that…

“You need to return to your own area, sir,” Minegold said with a glance at his wrist. “In fifteen minutes, the assembly period begins, and Jasper Wainwright, Pine Ridge’s meteorologist turned roving reporter, will be around to talk to the contestants.”

“Hold it.”

“Got it.”

“Piping.”

“Holding!”

Bea ignored the sweat that was trickling down the back of her neck. The stiff white icing was working, keeping the sheets of gingerbread together, drizzling and dotting like snow in some spots, hidden in others. “Sanding sugar on the roof when you’re done holding, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll need more icing on the roof, just a little, because I think it’s drying fast.”

“Good plan.”

“You okay?” Curtis looked up at her and smiled. He was wearing a chef’s skull cap with one of his favorite fantasy video game logos on it.

Adorable. “This is easy,” she whispered.

“My God, are you trying to jinx us?” Curtis hissed back. “If I breathe too hard, I’m afraid I’ll crack something!”

“Not the gingerbread cabin! This. Working with you. This is easy. This is fun. This is why I loved building gingerbread houses. I always used to love building things in my dad’s garage. My own doll houses. Little kitchen sets. The money is nice… But I used to enter this to show off and have fun—and you make things fun again.” Bea moved to the side of the table and kissed Curtis as he held the final triangular panel of the roof in place while the icing set.

“Ohhhh, what a perfect shot, folks! Better than the kiss cam at the Lumberjacks’ games!”

Beatrice pulled back with a gasp as a toothy reporter who bore a startling resemblance to Clark Kent (but with way more hair and without the glasses) beamed at her. “Oh, hi.”

“The Gingerbread Building Extravaganza is always a sweet experience, but you two are really pouring the sugar on! Can we talk while you build?”

“Only for ten seconds,” Bea said firmly.

“How long have you been baking together?”

“For almost two and half years, but we’ve been friends for longer,” Curtis answered.

“And you’re more than just teammates, I gather?”

“This is my boyfriend and future business partner, Curtis West.”

“And this beautiful baking goddess is Beatrice Miller. Remember the name, because she’s going to be famous.” Curtis smiled at the camera and blew her kiss.

“Well, you two look like you’re having a fun time, and your cabin is amazing. I think I’ve seen this abandoned cabin out on the edge of town.”

Bea leaned over and placed the “full moon” pizzelle on the backdrop of midnight blue buttercream. “I’m a Pine Ridge girl. Maybe I’ve seen it, too.”

“It looks beautiful! I’ll leave you to it!” Jasper Wainwright bowed himself away and off to the next station.

“I think we’re a fan favorite.” Bea began working on all the embellishments for the cabin itself. “You do the landscaping, okay?”

“Okay. Hey, when this is over, whether we win or lose, I know what we should do.” Curtis carefully placed some of their confections around the porch.

Bea smirked. “I agree, but we need to stop by the pharmacy first. I think we used your last one this morning.”

“Not that! Well, I mean that, too. No, we should go on a date. I’ll take you to the River House. We could see a movie, too?”

“Just dinner is fine. And you for dessert.”

To Curtis, the twenty-minute judging window was the worst. They had to stay by their table until the panel of three judges was done inspecting. They couldn’t even go and get a peep at Jasmine and Neal’s creation. The panel consisted of Chef Ferguson from the River House, Claire Fenclan from the coffee shop and bakery in town, and Ingrid Anatole, a gingerbread enthusiast and local home baker.

“Why are you so calm?” he whispered.

“Because I can’t change anything now.”

“I want to eat the entire pot au creme. Am I allowed?” Ingrid asked her fellow judges.

“I want the recipe,” Chef Ferguson said, frosted blonde hair and ice blue eyes making it clear that the answer had better be yes.

“Yes!” Beatrice clapped her hands. “I’m so glad you like them! Did you try the toadstools yet?”

“They’re my favorite,” Claire Fenclan cried. “And I love this. I only moved to Pine Ridge last year, but this cabin… it has the right vibe. A little spooky, a lot beautiful. Mysterious. Majestic.”

“The creativity is what gets me,” Ingrid leaned forward to peer at the pizzelle moon. “You’ve gone above and beyond to use gingerbread in a lot of unique ways.”

When the panel moved on, Beatrice sagged against him. “I think they liked us.”

“I think you’re right.”

When the judges were done with their rounds, they were allowed time to deliberate, and the crowds of people previously held back by festive “caution tape” were set free to admire and ask questions. Curtis had so much fun watching Bea interact with people. She was not only a natural cook, she was a natural connector. Her food was love.

And she loves me. How lucky am I?

“Contestants! Everyone! The judges have reached their decision!” Mr. Minegold waved the crowd to silence from a little platform in front of the bleachers. “We will begin with the junior division first!”

Beatrice groaned and bit her lip. “This is killing me.”

“Eat a toadstool?” Curtis suggested, and that made her snort with laughter. “Want the moon instead?” he whispered, hand stretched out as if to pull it from the display. “I’d give you the moon, Bea. I’d give you the world if I could.”

“Stop. You’re going to make me cry,” Bea murmured, looking up at him with glimmering eyes.

“I have dish towels for that.”

While they were whispering, the judges had moved from the juniors to the solo competitors, and were now moving to the teams of two. “In third place, Manny and Rhea Finklestein with their piece entitled Romantic Getaway !”

Curtis and Bea applauded as the crowd went wild. “I know him. I bought my car from his dealership,” Bea whispered, trying not to panic. We didn’t win third. That’s okay. Maybe we won second. Or first.

“Second place goes to Bill and Carrie Brown for their piece, Santa’s Cabin !”

“I remember her, too. She always gave out cookies on Halloween instead of mini candy bars,” Bea muttered from the corner of her mouth, fingers twisting. Neal and Jasmine won. They beat us after all. My first ideas were so good, so cute. She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of their gingerbread cabin with its cozy Christmas motif. She noticed Neal was already raising his fist in the air, pumping it in triumph. Jasmine was plastered to his side, her hand possessively on his chest as she hopped up and down beside him.

“And the first prize for the partner category is also the winner of the grand prize this year. The judges felt the creativity of their cabin not only represented great gingerbread skills but also captured the essence of Pine Ridge. Congratulations to Beatrice Miller and Curtis West for their piece, Finding Home !”

No, they didn’t say that.

Couldn’t have.

Hysterical wishful thinking because Neal is a giant turd with a six-pack.

But Finding Home… Pretty sure he said that. And that’s what we named our little cookie cabin because that’s what it feels like with Curtis. Working with him. Loving him. Something that was always waiting for me to open my eyes and find it.

“We did it, Bea! You did it!”

Wait, why is Curtis dragging me up next to the other winners, then?

Why am I getting a red envelope with a shiny gold sticker on it? And the Clark Kent dude is back—why’s his microphone in my face again?

“We won?” Bea whispered, looking up at Curtis.

“Yes!” He hugged her until her toes lifted off the floor, frantic happy laughter bouncing all around them.

“Argh!” An enraged shout from the center of the gym floor finally burst her hazy bubble of disbelief.

Neal was hurling spare bits of gingerbread on the floor. Jasmine slapped him.

“Someone remove the sore losers, please?” Mr. Minegold said smoothly. “Miss Miller, would you like to say a few words before we get a group photo of the winners?”

What in the world could she say? This event was so much more momentous than just winning a competition. She was sharing it with Curtis. Her person. Her best friend. Her lover.

“Um. Yes! Yes, I have something to say. Gingerbread is the food of love. If it wasn’t for gingerbread, I don’t think I’d have gotten the best Christmas present ever—even better than this big fat check,” Bea chuckled. “I’m talking about Curtis West—the world’s best boyfriend.”

“Ah, holiday love! A kiss for the camera?” Jasper Wainwright asked.

Curtis answered for both of them, seizing her and sweeping her backward into a full dip, the kind she thought only happened in old black-and-white movies.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he whispered as people cheered.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied.