The Christmas Cookie Wars

Chapter One

One

Melody Monroe woke up facedown on the kitchen table, a snowman-shaped sugar cookie stuck to her forehead.

She blinked a few times, bringing the room into focus. Sun streamed in through the window above the copper farmhouse sink, illuminating the crystalline frost that clung to the glass.

Oh no. What time was it?

Heart lurching her out of a sleep-induced haze, she lifted her head and found her twin ten-year-old boys staring at her from across the room, their dark, curly hair still askew from their pillows. Surprisingly, they were already dressed in their typical school-day uniform—sweatshirts and athletic pants.

“Dude…what happened to you?” Tate eyed her the same way he did when she rocked out to Def Leppard in the car—with one half of his mouth grimacing in embarrassment while the other side rose in amusement. Someday soon, she feared the embarrassment would totally win out.

“Why’d you sleep on the kitchen table?” Finn asked, bulldozing past her to retrieve a Pop-Tart from the pantry, knocking into the chairs on his way.

Why indeed.

Melody peeled the cookie away from her forehead and tossed it into the nearby trash can before picking sprinkles out of her eyebrows. “You two were supposed to help me decorate the five dozen sugar cookies we signed up to bring in for the bake sale today. Remember? ”

But there’d been those two birthday parties they’d had to go to on Saturday and then they’d gone sledding with their friends on Sunday, not remembering until last night that they had book reports due today too. “I had to frost all of them myself.” A cold splash of reality doused the irritation smoldering beneath her breastbone.

Not so long ago, Finn and Tate would’ve dropped everything to decorate sugar cookies with her. They wouldn’t have cared about birthday parties or sledding with friends. Cookie day had always been a big day—a day they wouldn’t have missed for anything.

She and Thomas had started the tradition with the boys when they’d been old enough to sit in their high chairs, though back then they’d gotten more frosting on themselves than on the cookies.

The memories descended the way they always did, like an echo—mostly in sounds. She and Thomas laughing, the boys screeching with excitement while they licked the frosting off their spoons. Christmas music had hummed in the background and her husband would circle his arms around her waist while they snapped pictures of the two boys they’d struggled to conceive for five years. I love you. I love us , he’d always whisper.

This year would mark their sixth Christmas without Thomas, but she hadn’t let any of their Christmas traditions die with him. Each holiday season, she and Finn and Tate still sat around the kitchen table together, slathering buttercream frosting onto the (slightly burnt) cookies they’d rolled and cut out into festive shapes. They always had a contest—because everything was a competition with her boys—to see who could create the most lifelike Santa and the most artistic snowflake. Then, when the sugar rush kicked in, Finn and Tate would chase each other around the house threatening to decorate their faces, while she half-heartedly scolded them.

That was how things had been. Every holiday season. But this year, she felt the icy winds of change blowing in.

“Are we going to school today or what?” Finn sat across from her at the small round table chomping on the strawberry Pop-Tart.

Various sprinkle canisters and bowls of frosting and bits of the cookies she’d ruined in her haste to finish the task still littered the entire surface, but she would have to clean up this mess later.

“Of course you’re going to school.” Melody couldn’t shake the gnawing heartache as easily as she shook the cookie crumbs from her lap when she stood. “I just have to get—” Her gaze landed on the oven clock.

Eight o’clock?

Eight o’clock!

She spun and banged her knee on the table leg, gagging back a word that would put her in the hole with the swear jar yet again. So far, she’d had to pay out more than either of the boys. “Why didn’t you boys tell me we were late?” They couldn’t be late! She was already skating on thin ice with Mr. Braxton. The principal had personally called her about the boys’ tardies last week, and she’d assured him they would be on time every day through the end of the year.

Tate shrugged and calmly sat down next to his brother. “I thought you knew what time it was.”

“I didn’t know!” She flailed around the cramped kitchen, stumbling to get the rest of the cookies packed up in the box she’d set out on the counter last night before apparently passing out facedown in a pile of frosting.

“Get your backpacks ready,” she called on her way up the steep, narrow stairs. When she and Thomas had bought this old Victorian, the pitched roof and the wraparound front porch and the turrets had charmed her into believing it was a dream come true, but she’d lost count of how many times she’d tripped going up the ancient staircase.

Inside her room, she quickly shed yesterday’s sweats and pulled on a pair of somewhat wrinkled jeans and an asymmetrical tunic sweater she’d designed for her boutique. There’d be no helping her hair now, though, so she left her messy bun intact and practically skied back down the steps, gripping the railing so she didn’t crash.

Finn and Tate had gotten their backpacks on but were currently playing Frisbee with one of the cookies.

Melody intercepted the confection midair and slam-dunked it into the trash can. “Get in the car, you two.” Swiping the box of cookies off the counter, she managed to snatch her purse off the hook by the door and followed them into the garage, nearly tripping over Finn’s bike, which lay right in her path to the driver’s side.

“Sorry, Mom.” He aimed his repentant smile at her, batting his thick dark eyelashes for good measure, and wisely moved the bike before a word could escape her lips, the little angel.

“Buckle up,” Melody advised before easing the car out of their garage. A new layer of snow blanketed the driveway, so she’d better take it slow.

Don’t look at the clock…

But it was too late. They were officially thirteen minutes behind schedule. The bell had already rung and the rest of the kids would be sitting in class when Finn and Tate ambled in. Again.

“Are we gonna have to go to Mr. Braxton’s office?” Tate uttered a heavy sigh. “We were already in there four times last week.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Melody paused at the stop sign and waited for their neighbor, Mr. Munson, to cross the street. Even with her blood pressure spiking, she buzzed down the window and called, “Good morning!” because the poor man had lost his wife two months ago.

“Nice to see ya, Melody.” He waved. “And you too, boys. Drive safe. It’s real slick out this morning.”

“Will do. Have a good day.” She buzzed the window back up and blasted the heat.

“I still don’t see why we had to go to the principal’s office for trying to set the ants from Mrs. Altman’s ant farm free,” Finn mumbled. “They shouldn’t be stuck in one dirt tunnel. They should be able to live their lives outside of captivity.”

That was the thing about her boys. They didn’t mean to get into trouble. It was like she’d told Mr. Braxton on more than one occasion: They were spirited. And curious. And busy. But they were also respectful kids and they listened to authority. For the most part anyway.

“The ants belong to your science teacher, though, so you can’t set them free without permission.” She shot a stern glance into the rearview mirror. “And can we make a pact? How about we refrain from any more visits to the principal’s office for the rest of the year?” After today, that was. That would be the best Christmas gift she’d ever gotten.

Lately, she’d spent entirely too much time with Mr. Braxton. Seriously. She hadn’t received this many lectures since she’d been ten years old. She and the principal were roughly the same age—so she’d heard—but every time she sat in that overstuffed chair across from his desk, she regressed.

“It’s not our fault Mr. Braxton is so strict,” Tate complained. “He’s no fun at all. I don’t think he even knows how to smile.”

He tended to be long-winded too. During a lot of their “talks” she smiled and nodded but then found herself analyzing his taste in books from the crowded shelf behind him. He appeared to like mysteries and suspense novels, so maybe they could give him the benefit of the doubt. “There could be more to Mr. Braxton than we can see.”

“I doubt it,” Tate mumbled.

“Well, let’s keep an open mind.” She’d do her best, even while she endured another one of the principal’s sermons on the importance of punctuality today. “And I’d like you to do your best to stay out of trouble. You wouldn’t want to be on Santa’s naughty list this year, would you?” Speaking of…“You two still haven’t written your letters to the North Pole yet.” She watched for their reaction in the rearview mirror and, sure enough, the boys exchanged a pitying look.

Melody braced herself. She’d known this was coming, after all. Tate and Finn had spent most of last December asking questions about Santa, which she’d expertly deflected. In an effort to keep them believing, she’d also gone to great lengths to make their elf Barney extra convincing. She’d even snuck into their rooms after they’d fallen asleep to take selfies with Barney and them on her phone.

But this year they’d mainly ignored poor Barney. A weight pressed against her heart, crushing her hope. Were they really giving up on Santa? They were only in fifth grade. They had their whole lives to learn that magic wasn’t real.

“If Santa knows everything, we shouldn’t have to write him a letter to tell him what we want,” Tate said wisely. “Besides, I was doing some calculations about how long it would really take to drive a flying sleigh around the entire earth and, even if he went the speed of light, he’d still never be able to stop at everyone’s house. The whole thing goes against physics.”

Physics schmysics. “Santa is magic.” The words wobbled out. “He doesn’t need physics.” That was the truth. Christmas should be full of magic, even if it only truly existed in the traditions they’d always shared. Every year, late Christmas Eve night, Thomas had gone outside to make reindeer prints and Santa’s boot prints in the snow. He ate the goodies the boys left out—cookies for the big man himself and carrots for the reindeer, leaving the remnants, and he’d even written them each a note in wacky handwriting.

“Right. Santa is magic,” Finn recited loyally. “He only needs us to believe. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll write a letter when I get home from school. All I really want this year are those lit Beatbox headphones.”

“Oh, is that all?” The headphones that happened to cost three hundred dollars? Boy, she missed the days of Hot Wheels and yo-yos and candy canes in their stockings.

“Yeah, all I want are the headphones too,” Tate said. “Silver for me.”

They might as well be made of real silver. “We’ll have to see.” She’d need to come up with some magic of her own to be able to afford those headphones plus a few other small gifts they could open.

Holding back a sigh, she slowed the car on a particularly icy patch of asphalt on Main Street. “It looks like the city finally got the decorations up.” The familiar sight of the Welcome to Christmas in Cookeville banner settled her. “I can’t wait for Cookie Daze.” Her tone turned so wistful and sappy, she wouldn’t be surprised if the boys started gagging in the back seat.

She couldn’t help it. No matter what else changed, their town would always be the Cookie Capital of the Rocky Mountains. The claim to fame had started back in the early 1900s when Edmund Heinrich, a German baker, opened a cookie factory for the miners. Word spread and people started to travel from all across the country to taste his cookies.

In the early seventies, the town had even been listed in the Guinness Book of World Records when more than half the residents got together to make the biggest chocolate chip cookie ever recorded. That was how the Cookie Daze festival had been born, along with a host of other holiday-themed events that she and the boys attended every year. Even though the factory was long gone, the elementary school’s cookie committee had closely guarded the traditions, partnering with local businesses to raise money for extra programs and supplies at the school.

“Cookie Daze is awesome.” Tate undid his seat belt before she’d even finished parking in the school lot.

“Yeah, Cookie Daze’ll be a ton of fun!” Finn scrambled to get out of the car first, and the twins raced to the sidewalk.

Well, at least they still had something to look forward to. She’d take it. Melody climbed out of the car, collected the cookies from the back seat, and followed Finn and Tate into the school, trying to keep a low profile in case they happened to see—

“Good morning.” Mr. Braxton appeared in the hallway outside the office, stern frown already in place. Today, he appeared even more buttoned-up than usual in a crisp gray shirt covered by a charcoal sweater vest and black slacks that had not even one tiny wrinkle. The dark-rimmed glasses were new. Maybe he’d recently started needing readers too.

The principal made a show of looking at his watch. “Running late again?”

“Sorry. But it wasn’t our fault this time.” Tate shrugged off the blame. “My mom passed out at the kitchen table last night.”

“Tate!” A high-pitched laugh squeaked out. “I didn’t pass out ,” she clarified. “I fell asleep . I mean, I don’t even drink much. Maybe an occasional glass of wine but certainly not enough to pass out.” Her weird laugh was not helping her case here. “I learned my lesson after one party in college…Anyway, while I was decorating the cookies for the bake sale”—she held up the box so he could see she’d been hard at work doing her parental duty—“I must’ve gotten sleepy. We were a little short on time this weekend, what with birthday parties and sledding, so…” She let an awkward silence fill in the blanks.

“She was real tired,” Finn told the principal gravely. “She didn’t even wake up until we came downstairs this morning and she had a giant cookie stuck to her forehe—”

“Why don’t you two get to class?” Melody nudged Finn and Tate away before they further incriminated her. “We don’t want to be any later than you already are. Have a good day,” she called as they shot down the hall.

When she looked back at Mr. Braxton, the frown had deepened, creasing his mouth with obvious concern. “Why don’t we step into my office for a minute, Ms. Monroe?”

“Melody.” She’d told him to call her Melody on multiple occasions. That was what Mr. Drake had called her. He’d been the principal for fifteen years, until Mr. Braxton had taken over after his retirement. Man, she missed him. He’d been cheerful and friendly and understanding. Mr. Drake hadn’t lectured her.

“After you.” The principal gestured for her to complete the walk of shame through the entire office.

Melody tried to smooth her hair as she waved at Nancy—Mr. Braxton’s faithful assistant—and stepped through his door. The office looked exactly how a principal’s office should look—especially one who wore sweater vests and bow ties. Neat and orderly. No paper mess on the desk like hers at the boutique. No old coffee cups or take-out containers in sight. She sat in one of the chairs that faced his polished desk. What was that scent? Cinnamon? Cloves?

Mr. Braxton sat across from her and methodically removed his glasses, folding them up and then slipping them into the pocket of his shirt underneath his sweater vest. “Are you doing okay, Ms. Monroe?” Those dark eyes assessed her with the same laser focus that probably coerced kids into confessing to their crimes.

There she went, tumbling backward through the years to find her unsure ten-year-old self again. “I’m good.” She reinforced the declaration with a winning smile. “Better than good, actually. I’m great!”

“You have something in your eyebrow.” He pointed to the left side of his face, guiding her to the spot.

“Oh.” She used her pointer finger to scrub the crusted blob of frosting away. “Oopsie. Guess I missed that part when I showered.” Actually, how long had it been since she’d showered? Three or four days? She’d have to add that to her to-do list.

Mr. Braxton continued to assess her. “This is already the boys’ fourth tardy this month, and I’m concerned.” He used the gentle but firm tone she’d heard him use on Finn and Tate more than once. “As you’re aware, punctuality can really affect classroom learning…”

His voice droned on, but her gaze drifted to the color-coded bookcase behind him. Wait. Was that a Nicholas Sparks novel? Yes! The Notebook. She never would’ve pegged him as a romantic.

“Ms. Monroe?” The principal tilted his head into her line of vision. “I hope we’re on the same page.”

Maybe they could be if they were discussing a Nicholas Sparks novel. She couldn’t wait to tell her sister he had a romance novel on his shelf! Kels wouldn’t believe it. “I agree with everything you said.” Punctuality was very important. It simply wasn’t her reality right now. She kept smiling. “There’s so much going on in December, as you know.” And now, on top of the typical busyness, she was being forced to face the fact that her boys were growing up, letting go of what had always made this season so magical and meaningful. He likely wouldn’t understand that. Rumor had it Mr. Braxton had a daughter who lived in Denver with her mom, but no one seemed to know much about her.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine, Mr. Braxton!” Her enthusiasm overcompensated. “We won’t be late anymore. I promise.” At least not for the rest of the year. Surely she could get the twins here on time for the rest of the semester. “The cookies turned out to be a lot more work than I’d anticipated, that’s all.” Because she’d thought three of them would be decorating. Together.

“Well, it’s unfortunate you put all of that work in.” Mr. Braxton opened his laptop. “Didn’t you get the email I sent out on Friday?”

Email? When was the last time she’d checked her personal email? “Uh, no.” It had probably been a week. Not that she’d admit it to him.

“There won’t be a bake sale this year.” He turned his computer to show her the latest school newsletter, which she hadn’t read for at least the last month. “The school’s cookie committee disbanded, and all cookie-related fundraising events for the rest of the year have been canceled.”

Melody scanned the announcement, her stomach twisting and tightening. No Cookie Contest? No Cookie and Cocktail Crawl? No Cookie Daze? “I don’t understand. It’s not the holidays in Cookeville without Cookie Daze.” Despite her best efforts to contain it, panic squeaked through. They couldn’t cancel everything!

Mr. Braxton recentered his computer, his eyes focused on the screen. “We can’t make it happen this year. Charlene Templeton disbanded the entire committee over a disagreement about her leadership style.”

“Right before the holidays?” Melody lurched to her feet. “But those events make the school a ton of money. They fund the entire STEM club!” The one thing her boys loved about school. Not to mention, those events were part of their cherished traditions. They’d been going ever since Finn and Tate had been born.

“Believe me, I know how bad this is for the school.” Mr. Braxton stood too. “I hate to see this happen on my watch. But I’ve asked around to see if we can find someone else to take over, and no one’s willing. Probably because of all the drama. No one wants to cross Charlene.”

Of course not. Charlene Templeton was one of those moms who ruled the school. She sat on every committee, planned every event, volunteered for every party. Her son, Blake, had been in the boys’ class for years, and his mom had never given Melody the time of day. But who cared about Charlene? Christmas was on the line! “I’ll take it on.” She’d gladly cross the woman if it meant she got to attend Cookie Daze with Finn and Tate this year. Besides, how hard could running the cookie committee be?

“ You? ”

Melody couldn’t decide if his veiled expression hinted at wariness or amusement. The man was so hard to read. “Sure. Why not?” He could probably list about a hundred reasons why she wasn’t qualified to lead the school’s most important fundraising efforts, but she didn’t give him a chance. “I run a very successful boutique in town.” Maybe she wasn’t always on time or on top of every detail, but she could step up and bring people together for a good cause when she needed to.

Jonathan eyed the cookies in the box that still sat on his desk. “But you don’t really bake.” He paused, looked away. “Wait. That didn’t come out right. What I meant was—”

“I can bake.” A defensive heat clouded her face. “These might not be my best effort…” And they might’ve been made from refrigerated store-bought dough. “…but I know how to follow a recipe.” And how much baking would she really have to do anyway? “Besides, isn’t the cookie committee more about building community than anything else?” Practically the whole town turned out for Cookie Daze.

“I guess.” Skepticism narrowed his eyes. He clearly didn’t think she was capable! “Do you really want to take this on, though? It’s a lot of work and you said yourself December is a busy month for you, both at work and at home. I mean, there are a ton of meetings, and the events are very time-consuming.”

Was he seriously mansplaining how busy her December was? Now Melody narrowed her eyes at him. “Kelsey can step up at the boutique more.” Her younger sister could run that place by herself if she had to. “I know I can do this. Even if you don’t think I can.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His mouth pinched in frustration. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply you’re not capable.”

Then what was he trying to say? Melody continued to glare at him while he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“We’d be happy to have you lead the committee,” he finally muttered. “If you really want to.”

She didn’t even try to analyze the mysterious look on his face. “I’m in.” She was doing this.

Whether Jonathan Braxton liked it or not.