Stuck in Christmas (Holiday Magic #1)

Chapter 10

Ten

Eli moved through the kitchen with a whirlwind of energy, pulling ingredients from shelves with an almost militant focus. The mingling scents of vanilla and cocoa danced in the air, teasing my senses with the promise of sweet treats soon to emerge from the oven.

I felt terrible bothering the master at work, but I had promised Bonnie. Plus, I wondered if helping out would get me one step closer to breaking out of my own personal Groundhog Day .

“Eli, Renee is going to help you with the cookies,” Bonnie announced as we eased deeper into the kitchen.

Eli looked up from a mixing bowl, smirking. “You mean supervise. I can do this by myself, Bonnie.” His confidence radiated in the kitchen—his realm, where he was undeniably the master chef.

If I thought he was hot as a part-time lumberjack, watching him as the master of his domain was something else altogether. Every move was made with precision. No ingredients were wasted. And he didn’t refer to a recipe once. It combined to make my skin tingle, although that could be from not breathing. I might be making myself dizzy watching him.

I stepped toward the central island. “Bonnie is afraid you’ll turn this into a Marine chef competition to see what you can make up with mystery ingredients.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

“It’s an honor to be the Armed Forces Chef of the Year three years in a row.”

He paused for a moment to consider me, then smirked. “Fine. It is an honor. But it also means you’ll be put to work if you stay. Wash your hands first.”

“Yes, Chef.” I saluted him, then went to the handwashing sink to wash and dry my hands like I was about to perform surgery. I spied a Christmas apron hanging on a hook by the door. My Baking Skills Sleigh . I slipped it over my head and tied it around my waist. “Okay. I’m ready—where do we start?”

Eli smirked at my apron and then nodded toward the flour container. “I need you to get me three cups of sifted flour.”

His Head Chef mode was hot. It didn’t take much to envision him commanding the bustling kitchen of his Michelin-starred restaurant in the heart of New Orleans. I closed my eyes and imagined the air thick with mouth-watering aroma. Maybe it was the savory spices mingling with the sweetness of caramelized onions, or perhaps it was just him.

I slowly opened my eyes to watch him move throughout Bonnie’s kitchen with the grace of a dancer. I imagined Eli expertly orchestrating his team as they crafted exquisite dishes that reflected both the city's rich culinary heritage and his innovative flair. With a confident yet approachable demeanor, he guided his culinary brigade, sharing wisdom from years of honing his craft in this kitchen and others courtesy of the Marine Corps.

It was easy to see why he garnered accolades. He turned the act of cooking into a mesmerizing performance, each plate a masterpiece that beckoned to be savored.

“Renee?” Eli’s worried tone broke me out of my reverie.

I swayed a bit as the enticing scent of sugar and Eli wafted back toward me. “Got it. Flour.”

Bonnie’s kitchen was much warmer than the biting cold of a Christmas tree farm. And the cozy scene reminded me of something. Something familiar. It was like an itch at the back of my brain.

Then it hit me. “A baking montage.” I snapped my fingers.

Eli’s brow furrowed as he looked up from his batch of cookies. “Not quite ready for baking. You need to sift that flour first—then measure it out. Makes for fluffier cookies,” he explained.

I snapped another salute. “Yes, Chef.” I declared with mock seriousness.

A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Here, we just stick with ‘Eli,’” he replied, his voice softening.

“Saluting you again, Chef Eli.” I forgot I had the cup of flour in my hand, and a puff of the white stuff floated through the air and didn’t seem to land anywhere. The air was redolent with flour and resembled the snow flurries from the night before .

Instead of getting mad, Eli shook his head at my mess, then pointed to my face. “You’ve got a little flour.”

“Where? Here?” I rubbed my cheek and felt flour streak my skin.

“No, higher.” He grinned.

I rubbed flour along my temple. “How about here?”

“For Pete’s sake, you’re making it worse.” Eli grabbed a towel from a hook on the end of the counter and approached me. “Stand still.” His fingers gently wiped away the flour, and in that fleeting moment, our eyes locked. It felt like the world around us faded, the kitchen growing quieter, the baking forgotten as the air thickened with an unspoken connection.

He was going to kiss me. I knew it in my soul. I wondered if this would turn into one of those kisses that broke the spell and sent me back to the real world. And then I wondered why the thought of that disappointment bothered me so much. Wasn’t that what I wanted? To get out of this repeating day and get back home?

In the end, we were interrupted again, this time by Joe, who stepped into the kitchen, clearing his throat with a rakish grin. “Ahem, Miss Renee—my Bonnie wanted you to have these.” He handed me a lockbox and a key with an exaggerated flourish.

A small thrill moved through me. I suspected this was the world-famous depository of the secret cookie recipes, but I wanted to be sure. “What’s this?”

Eli stepped away from me and busied himself at the sink. “The secret recipes of Miss Bonnie. She must trust you to give you the entire box and the key.”

Joe nodded knowingly. “She’s only ever let Eli see certain recipes—like the Christmas cookies.”

My eyes widened in astonishment. “Wow. That is an honor. Thank you. I’ll guard it with my life.”

“Bonnie will be glad to hear that.” Joe smiled. “She tells me your dad was in the Corps.”

“Your dad was a Marine?” Eli leaned on the central counter, getting flour all over his arms.

I pushed away the thought of how we could clean that off of him later and turned my attention to Joe. “His name was Fred. Did you know a Fred Douglas?”

“Now that you mention it," Joe mused. "I seem to remember training a Fred Douglas. Tall, dark hair, intense blue eyes. And all he could talk about was a woman named Emily.”

My heart fluttered at the mention of my mother’s name. “That’s my mom.”

“He was so in love with her,” Joe continued, his voice warm with reminiscence. “Did you know they met at a USO party?”

I nodded slowly, the pieces of a long-lost story coming together. “I knew they met at a party, but I didn’t know whose party it was.”

“Every year, the USO would sponsor a holiday party, and your mom came with her friends from college,” Joe explained. “As I recall, they locked eyes across the crowded dance floor and started walking toward each other. It wasn’t until they met in the middle of the floor that they realized they were standing under the mistletoe.”

My heart swelled. “That’s so romantic. ”

“This time of year always is,” Eli added wistfully, glancing at me.

“I think they were destined to find each other,” Joe said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

Joe beamed. “Your mom wasn’t even supposed to be there that night. She’d planned a road trip with her friends, but they had car trouble. They couldn’t reach their destination—so they went to the USO dance instead.”

Eli leaned in, his eyes sparkling. “Kismet. Fate. Think about where you’d be if their car hadn’t broken down.”

“I wouldn’t be. Anywhere. At all.” I laughed. “You have a pretty good memory for my parents’ story.”

Joe raised an eyebrow, an affectionate smile playing on his lips. “Because it reminds me of how I met my Bonnie. A chance encounter at Christmas turned into the love of a lifetime. I’ve been doing everything possible to keep her in love with me ever since.”

Eli’s gaze lingered on me and made me flush. This kitchen was getting hot. Maybe there were fans?

“I’ve seen the way Bonnie looks at you. You probably don’t have to work that hard,” Eli said.

“Probably not, but I do anyway—because I love her, and I want to show her how much every day,” Joe replied, sincerity ringing through his words.

“So, you never fight?” I asked.

“Lord, no. What’s there to fight about? Who takes out the trash? Who does the laundry? We ironed out those things—before we got married,” Joe laughed at his pun.

Eli grinned. “You decided, ‘I do the dishes’ before you said the official ‘I Do’?”

“As a matter of fact—yes.” Joe shook his head at the memory. “We were so swept up in the romance of being in love and getting married, but my grandfather sat us down and told us the secret to a long and happy marriage.”

“Happy Wife, Happy Life?” I quipped.

“Always apologize? Never go to bed angry?” Eli joined in, smirking.

“Marriage is a 50-50 proposition?” I added.

Joe sliced his hands through the air. “My grandfather said true love is nothing like you hear in the movies or romance novels. And it’s not 50-50.”

“It’s not?” We both asked, then laughed.

“No, it’s not. It’s 100-100. You have to give 100 percent every day. But there will be days when you don’t feel like giving 100 percent. And that’s why love is more like a pendulum. Some days, it swings toward you—you take more than you give. Then there are days when it swings toward her—you give more than you take. But the pendulum is always in motion, always moving, and it all evens out. When you start worrying about who’s getting how much is when the pendulum stops moving, and that, my friends, is when you have a problem,” Joe said, eyeing both of us as he continued. “So, my Bonnie and I decided to get some of that pesky chore stuff out of the way early on. She hated going to the grocery store. I hated cleaning toilets. That’s why I do all the shopping around here.”

“Lucky you.” Eli began measuring out more ingredients, the laughter and warmth of the kitchen enveloping them like a cozy blanket.

“He is. That’s one of the ways he shows her how much she loves her, by doing something she doesn’t like doing,” I answered.

“She's a smart cookie,” Joe said to Eli.

Eli chuckled, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile. “And speaking of cookies, we need to get back to?—”

“Oh, I know what you need to get back to,” Joe interjected, the playful lilt of his voice filled with underlying encouragement. “Now, Miss Renee, when you’re done with these cookies, maybe you could help me in the town square with the Gingerbread competition.”

“Sure.” I felt Eli’s eyes boring into the side of my face. My heart raced as I thought about being alone in the kitchen with him again.

Would he try to kiss me again? Or would we be interrupted again?

“I’ll go with her. To show her the way,” Eli’s voice cracked on the last part of the sentence.

“Show her the way to the town square right out front of this building? Sure, son. If that’s what you want to go with.” Joe began to whistle a Christmas carol as he sauntered out of the kitchen, and the door swung shut behind him.

“Meddling old man,” Eli muttered.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

I bit back a smile as I turned my attention back to the flour, but Eli's gaze bore into me, a mix of curiosity and warmth that made my pulse quicken. “Do you believe in all that? Kismet? Fate? Destiny?” I asked, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I tried to avert his piercing look.

Eli pondered for a moment, the silence stretching like a taut string. “If I didn’t know Joe and Bonnie, maybe not. But I’ve been blessed to see how strong love can be when you find your soulmate.” His words hung in the air, rich with conviction. “And he’s right—they never fight. He does get on her about walking around after her hip surgery, but that’s not fighting; that’s concern for her well-being.”

I slowly sifted the flour, feeling an inexplicable flutter of nerves as I avoided eye contact with him. “You seem to know an awful lot about this. Is there someone whose well-being you’re concerned about?”

“Um. No,” Eli said.

I looked up to find him staring at me again. “I find that hard to believe. You’re the chef-owner of a hot restaurant in New Orleans; not one woman has tried to capture your heart?”

“Oh, they’ve tried.” A shadow grazed Eli’s face, his smile faltering just a touch. “They are enamored with the glitz of dating a restaurateur, but they don’t like the hard work, long hours, and dedication it takes to run a successful restaurant.”

I thought about what he’d said since we met. The conversations he doesn’t remember, and the one from today. “Sounds like you miss the grind.”

“Actually—I’ve enjoyed the slower pace of town while helping out Ms. Bonnie.” He gestured around the cozy kitchen, the warmth of home evident in the flickering lights and rustic decor. “It’s nice not having to be at the restaurant fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. And because I hired good people, they can run the day-to-day operations while I’ve been here. I’ve had a lot of time to rethink my priorities.”

“Such as,” I prompted.

“Life,” he trailed off.

“Liberty and the pursuit of happiness?” I held my breath.

“Pursuit of happiness… and love.” Eli stepped around the counter into my space. The closer he stood to me, the stronger the magnetic pull I felt. It was like we couldn’t stay apart.

“Love,” I whispered, and my heart raced.

“Love,” he repeated, his voice low and sincere.

Eli brushed a lock of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine. There was something electric in the air, a connection that felt both exhilarating and frightening. I leaned toward him, my heart thundering and soaring simultaneously.

I forgot about my day set on repeat. I forgot about cookies and Christmas and holiday jewelry.

The only thing that existed was us at that moment.

Eli’s soft lips brushed across mine as my eyes fluttered shut. His flour-dusted arms and hands circled my waist as he pressed for me to open to him, which I gladly obeyed. His tongue hesitantly swirled into my mouth, teasing. I tilted her head to deepen the kiss, moaning at the pure decadence of it. His kiss became more frenzied, and he pulled me closer until there wasn’t any space between us. My body thrummed with need, and I could feel the pulse of my heartbeat - everywhere.

It felt surreal—making out with the hottie Marine in a kitchen surrounded by dozens of holiday cookies and dough ready to be shaped into more. For a brief moment, I worried that this would cause problems with the county health inspector, but then I remembered I was stuck in a holiday movie, and no one worried about health inspections in sugary-sweet holiday movies.

And they certainly didn’t get tingly in their nether regions .

I frowned.

In their… Velvet room .

No, that’s not the word.

Cozy Cove .

Mystery box .

What the fudgesticks?

I stepped back, my frown deepening. “Eli. I have to ask you something.”

He still maintained a tight grip around my waist and seemed reluctant to let me go, but I imagined the gentleman former Marine wouldn’t allow himself to manhandle a woman in his kitchen. “Anything, Renee.”

“Are you able to cuss?”

Eli laughed. “Um. Yeah. I can cuss. I was a freaking Marine, for crying out loud.” He frowned. “I was a farking Marine. Flicking Marine. What the heck?”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Listen. I must tell you something that will seem a little out there. ”

A serious change in demeanor flitted across Eli’s face. “I’m all ears.”

I began to pace the kitchen. “I think we’re stuck in a—” In a dizzying moment of panic, my foot slipped on a patch of loose flour on the floor. Eli reached out to grab me as I stumbled backward, but he couldn’t stop me from falling right into…

A snowbank outside of Bonnie’s Diner.

“Ffffffffuuuuuuuuuudge,” I swore and rolled over into the wet pile of snow.