The Christmas Cookie Wars

Chapter Four

Four

“How’s it going, hon?” Kels snagged Melody’s elbow and dragged her into the bathroom at the end of the second-grade hallway.

“It’s going great . I’ve never had so much fun in my whole life.” Sarcasm had always been her love language. Two hours had passed since Tate had outed her cookies, and her insides were still smoldering. “Jonathan totally knows I lied about the blob wheels.” Which was why she’d avoided him as much as she possibly could while standing next to him at a table. “And Charlene has me pegged for a complete failure.”

“Yeah, Tate created quite the awkward moment.” Her sister winced on her behalf. “But at least Jonathan didn’t react.”

“Not yet.” Though she was fully anticipating a lecture about lying later. She leaned close to the mirror and assessed her face. Faint red splotches still streaked her cheeks. “The worst news is that we’re three hundred dollars behind in fundraising compared to last year’s cookie swap. So it would appear I am a total failure.” What had she been thinking taking this on? Not only did she suck at baking, she clearly did not have enough star power in this community to pull everyone together. Not when she was competing with Charlene.

“Come on. The day’s not over yet.” Kels’s wide grin attempted to rally her.

“No one has come in for the last half hour.” So she might as well wave the white flag now. “I don’t think I can face Mr. Braxton.”

“Well, I can.” Her sister sighed dreamily. “I need to snag myself another one of those chocolate thumbprints before they’re gone. I can’t resist them.” Kels elbowed her. “Jonathan is very hard to resist.”

Pshaw. For some women, maybe. Melody gasped. “Wait a minute…” The thumbprints. Mr. Braxton’s undeniable popularity with the moms…and some dads. “That’s it!” She spun to face her sister. “We’ll have Mr. Braxton load the cookies on a cart—along with the donation box—and he can take the cookie swap on the road!” Charlene had said parents couldn’t leave their kids in the gym unattended, but she’d never said anything about not bringing the cookies to the people.

“That’s pretty brilliant, Mel.” Kels hugged her. “See? You are the right person for this job.”

“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not, but I refuse to give up. Come on.” She grabbed her sister’s hand, and they raced down the hall.

“You have to take your cookies into the gym,” Melody called to Mr. Braxton before they’d even reached the table. “Get the cart! We’re taking the cookie swap on the road!”

He stared at her with his typical bewildered frown.

“Let’s move, move, move.” She clapped to get him going. “We only have a half hour before people start leaving the rehearsal and we have three hundred dollars to make up.”

Understanding dawned on his face slowly, followed by a grin. “A mobile cookie swap sneak attack. That’s perfect.”

“Exactly. No one can resist you.” Wait. She hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean a lot of people can’t. Some people. Not this person.” She pointed to herself.

“Here’s the cart!” Kels rolled it out of the office at the perfect time to shut her up. What was the matter with her?

Thankfully, Mr. Braxton didn’t seem to have noticed. He was busy positioning his sixth, seventh, and eighth boxes of cookies on the cart.

Melody added the donation box without saying another darn word. Who knew what would come out of her mouth if she opened it?

Jonathan started to push the cart down the hall. “You’re coming with me, right?” he called over his shoulder.

“Of course she is!” Kels pushed her forward, setting Melody’s legs in motion.

Truthfully, Mr. Braxton didn’t need her help soliciting donations. Most people likely wouldn’t even notice her standing next to him. But she didn’t want to miss the look on Charlene’s face when Jonathan walked in with his thumbprints either. That in mind, she got the door for him.

Inside the gym, everyone stood around chatting.

“Jonathan.” Charlene hurried over, not bothering to acknowledge Melody. “What a surprise. We were just getting ready to finish up here.”

“Perfect timing, then.” He flashed a charming, somewhat self-deprecating smile. “I still had too many cookies left, and we thought you all would be hungry after working so hard to supervise the rehearsal. Anyone care to offer a donation to take some of these home?”

Charlene’s smile curdled, and Melody had to gag back a laugh as a line formed with kids begging their parents for a cookie.

Melody stood in the background while moms flirted with the principal, stuffing cash into the donation box like they would into a naughty firefighter’s pants.

Twenty bucks here, ten there, along with some fives and ones and comments like “These look so scrumptious !” and “You’ll have to give us the recipe!”

“Sorry. I’m not at liberty to share it.” Jonathan continued to serve up a side of charm along with the cookies.

“You really can’t?” one woman asked. Melody didn’t recognize her. “I’d be happy to take you out to dinner as a thank-you.”

Melody gasped but turned it into a cough before she drew attention. Exactly how many times had he been asked out today?

“Sorry.” Now that expression she recognized—polite indifference. “My grandma made me promise to keep her baking secrets in the family. Besides, it’s bad form to go on a date with a parent.” He said the last part with a perfect blend of regret and sincerity.

“Oh, all right,” the mom whined. “If you change your mind, you have my email.”

Melody rolled her eyes. Email. The woman probably loved email. She and Jonathan were perfect for each other.

By the time the line dwindled, she was sure they’d made up the difference in donations. “Hey, Charlene, there’s a few cookies left,” she called over to where the woman was hastily boxing up a microphone. “Wouldn’t want you to be left out.”

“Maybe I’ll take some if you go get your cookies too.” Melody could read Charlene’s smirk all the way across the room. “Why ever didn’t you bring them in?”

A couple moms standing around her snickered, and Melody felt herself shrink a few inches.

“Sorry, everyone. It looks like I’m officially out of cookies.” Mr. Braxton wheeled the cart to the door, and she ran ahead to open it for him before any tears fell. Clearly Charlene had told them all about the blob wheels.

“That was a solid plan, Ms. Monroe,” he said when they’d cleared the doors.

Her voice was too fragile to correct him on her name, so she only mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Hey, Mom!” Finn bounded to her, out of breath and holding a football. She stole it before Mr. Braxton busted them for playing in the hall.

“Why don’t you two start taking down the tables in the classrooms?” The faster they cleaned up, the faster she could get out of here. She’d endured enough humiliation for one day. “Find Nonna to help you. And make sure you put the miniature Christmas trees back exactly the way they were in the library.”

“Okay!” Her sneaky younger twin stole the ball back out of her hands, and they both took off down the hall with Tate threatening to tackle Finn.

“How’d it go in there?” Kelsey was waiting for them at the table outside the office.

“It was a total success.” The principal started to pull cash out of the box, counting it under his breath.

“My sister is brilliant, isn’t she?” Kels slung an arm around her.

“That’s two thousand and thirteen bucks.” Mr. Braxton held the fistful of money over his head. “We beat last year’s total.”

That took some of the sting out of Charlene’s earlier dig.

“All right. I gotta run.” Kels gathered up her purse from the table. “We’re going Christmas tree hunting.”

“Aren’t you bringing any cookies home?”

“My box of cookies is already in the car.” Kels grinned. “I snagged a few more of Jonathan’s thumbprints and hid them before they were gone.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Bye, hon. I’ll see you at the boutique later.” Her sister gave her a half hug and then bolted out the door, leaving her standing alone with Mr. Braxton.

“You did it.”

The disbelief beaming from his gaze gave Melody her edge back. “What can I say? I shine when people underestimate me.” Like he had. “Mission accomplished. We can all go home now.” As soon as they cleaned up. She snatched the container of blob wheels to move it so he could clear the tablecloth, but Mr. Braxton stepped up toe to toe with her.

“Can I try one?” He nodded toward the cookies in her hand.

“You don’t have to do that.” Melody automatically stepped back. She hated it when people felt sorry for her. She’d dealt with far too much pity after losing her husband so young. Besides, she didn’t want him to try them, to know how truly awful they tasted.

“I know I don’t have to.” He took a step closer to her like they were part of some choreographed dance. “I’d really like to try one of your cookies, Ms. Monroe.”

“ Melody ,” she grumbled. What was his endgame here? Did he want to humiliate her too? Whatever. She had to get rid of the cookies anyway. “Suit yourself. But I can’t be responsible for what happens to you.” She peeled off the lid.

He laughed, low and gravelly. The sound stirred something in her.

“I’m not worried.” He selected an extra blobby red-and-green cookie and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s not so bad,” he finally said.

“Right. I’m sure it’s delicious.” She happened to know they were too dry and salty from her ill-fated taste test at home.

“This isn’t the worst cookie I tasted today. I promise.” He took his time methodically finishing the cookie and then dusted the crumbs off his hands. “You need to let the butter sit out at room temperature next time. The eggs too. That’ll help the texture. And the colors wouldn’t have bled so much if you’d chilled the dough longer.”

Melody simply blinked at him. Was he being…nice? It seemed like it, although his facial expression stayed neutral.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” she blurted. “About my cookies. They didn’t turn out quite right and I was…a little embarrassed, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to explain saving face to me.” Jonathan’s mouth finally softened into something resembling a smile. “I lie sometimes too.” He stacked the cash box on his empty cookie containers and disappeared into the office for a second, leaving her to wonder.

“Mostly to my daughter, Ainsley, when she asks me if I know a band she’s really into,” he said when he came back into the hallway, without the box. “I don’t want to seem obsolete, so I tell her I know whatever band she’s talking about and then I have to spend a week listening to make the lie true.”

The confession disarmed her. Ainsley. What a pretty name. “I get that.” The older Finn and Tate got, the less she seemed to have in common with them. “I didn’t want people to know I’m an incompetent baker, so I hid my own cookies behind the trash can.” As long as they were trading confessions, she might as well come clean. “I didn’t want to hand them out because I knew no one would want them.”

“I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t tell anyone I’m a fake when it comes to music.” He folded up their card table. “Ainsley would die if she knew that I really listen to reggae.”

“ Reggae? ” She had to take a second to process this information. Buttoned-up, sweater-vested Mr. Braxton listened to reggae? She sharpened her gaze on him. Maybe he was messing with her. “Really?”

“I know.” His head swiveled side to side like he wanted to make sure no one was eavesdropping on them. “Now I know one of your secrets and you know one of mine.”

Yes, and she had a sudden desire to learn more. “How old is Ainsley?”

“She’s fifteen.” He leaned the folded table up against the opposite wall. “After the divorce, we let her decide where she wanted to be, and she chose Denver with her mom. I told her I would be okay with whatever she chose, but I lied about that too.”

Melody couldn’t look away. She’d truly never seen this side of him. “I’m not sure that’s lying as much as it’s sacrificing what you want for your kid. That’s one of the harder parts of the job.”

“For sure.” His sigh said it all. “I don’t get to see her as much as I want, but we talk all the time. And, even though she’s busy, she always spends the whole winter holiday with me, so I can’t complain.”

“That’s swee—”

“Hey, Mom!” Her boys came charging down the hall until they caught sight of their principal and then they quickly put on the brakes.

“All the tables are put away,” Finn reported, eyeing Mr. Braxton with caution.

“No one ate your cookies?” Tate took the container out of her hands and appeared to count.

“Nope.” She eyed Mr. Braxton. “Except for one. I guess people aren’t interested in blob wheels. Their loss.”

“I’ll have one.” Her son dug into the container and shoved the whole cookie into his mouth.

“It’s delicious, Mom,” he said, still chewing. “I’ll bet you’re gonna win the Cookie Contest next week.”

Yeah, she was thinking about finding a way to recuse herself from the next cookie committee event. “I’m not sure I’ll enter—”

“You boys know I’ve won the Cookie Contest three years running,” the principal broke in.

That was true. “Yep. So what’s the point in entering anyway?” She was almost relieved. Let Jonathan win it again. If today was any indication, she should definitely not enter. It was one thing to have her cookies passed over. At the contest, the attendees publicly voted on all of the cookies, ranking them from first place to last.

“You’re not going to win this year.” Tate marched to his principal and then quickly added, “Sir. Because we’re gonna help my mom bake the best cookies anyone in this town has ever tasted. And then we’re gonna win. Isn’t that right, Mom?” He moved to stand by her.

“Oh. Well…” They were going to help her bake cookies like they used to? Visions danced in her head—the boys measuring out ingredients, mixing, and rolling and singing along to Christmas music in their cozy kitchen. A few uninterrupted hours with them. She’d pretty much do anything—even humiliate herself again. “I mean, I guess we could try…”

“You’re absolutely sure you want to enter?” There was something almost playful about Jonathan’s question. “Nothing can beat my grandma’s recipes, you know.”

“My mom can.” Finn lunged to her other side, his hand on her shoulder, chin lifted up the way it did when he wanted to look taller.

Her heart melted. In probably two years they would be bigger than her, but for now, they were still looking up at her, both of them. Expectantly. How could she back down in front of them? “I can’t beat his grandma’s cookies. But we can. Together.” She winked at her boys and then shot Jonathan a glare to let him know the challenge had been accepted.

“Come on, Mom.” Finn hurried to the office and found her coat and purse. “We should get going so we can decide what cookie we’re going to make.”

She hesitated. The boys hadn’t been this interested in spending time with her since she’d bribed them by taking them to a water park last summer…but she had to see to her responsibilities here, so Mr. Braxton wouldn’t think she was any flakier than he already did. “We have to do a walk-through first—”

“Don’t worry about it.” The principal still had that glint of a challenge in his eyes. Or was she misreading him? “I’ll make sure everything’s back in its place before I go home. You only have a week to come up with a cookie that will beat mine. Trust me. You’re going to need all the time you can get.”

Was he seriously trash talking right now? Her competitive streak might have been lying dormant since high school volleyball, but it fired right back up. “You seem pretty confident for someone who’s only comfortable using recipes from the 1950s.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened with surprise before a smirk narrowed them again. “My recipes are tried-and-true. Time tested—”

“And outdated,” she interrupted. “No offense, but I have a creative edge—”

“Yeah, my mom is a fashion designer ,” Finn added. “She’s going to design the coolest cookie ever and then we’re going to win the contest.”

Mr. Braxton slowly lowered his gaze to the container of blob wheels in her hands. “I’m not worried.”

A fiery indignation boiled over. The nerve! She’d thought they’d had a moment earlier—that they’d almost crossed a line into friendship. But she’d obviously been mistaken. He’d probably been messing with her, telling her to leave out the butter and eggs so they were room temperature. “If you’re that confident, maybe we should make this more interesting.”

“Yes!” Tate jumped into the fray. “A bet! Let’s make a bet!”

Oops. Maybe she was getting carried away…

“I’m game.” Jonathan paused. “We’ve been in need of a volunteer to help out in the cafeteria during lunch the last day of school.”

The cafeteria? Right before Christmas, when the kids were all hopped up on sugar and restless for a break? That was her worst nightmare. The smell of that place alone was enough to drive her to drink. Not to mention the chaos and the noise and the spills…

“Unless you’re too afraid.” He seemed to know exactly how to bait her.

“I’m not afraid.” She sized up his typical uniform—dark- colored sweater vest and slacks with a boring crisp button-up shirt. “Fine. If you win, I’ll take cafeteria duty. But if I win, you have to let me style you for a week. In clothes I’ve designed.”

Jonathan glanced down at his ensemble. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“His recipes aren’t the only thing from the fifties,” Tate muttered.

“What was that?” Mr. Braxton leaned closer to her son.

“Nothing!” Melody shoved the cookie container into Finn’s hands and then slung an arm around each boy, dragging them toward the exit. “We should get going. Hope you’re ready for your new wardrobe if I win.”

For the first time his expression registered concern. “Only for a week,” he called, following behind them. “And nothing too wild.”

She’d take that caveat as a compliment. “You have to agree to give me full creative license—wild or not—or we don’t have a deal.”

“Fine.” Mr. Braxton moved in front of them with a stubborn lift to his chin and stuck out his hand. “We’d better shake on it.”

“Right.” A sudden breathlessness hit her the second his hand swallowed hers. Warmth radiated all the way up her arm.

“I look forward to beating you.”

“Not gonna happen,” Finn assured him. “Just you wait. We’re gonna make something epic.”

“You’re not gonna know what hit you,” Tate added.

“All right, you two.” She prodded them out into the cold, and they all got into the car. “We need to do some serious brainstorming.” They had no idea what Jonathan had up his sleeve, so they would have to think big.

“How about we make some gingerbread people?” Tate clicked in his seat belt. “We could decorate them like ninjas.”

“Maybe.” Christmas ninja cookies? Somehow she didn’t think that would be enough to give them an edge.

Melody started the car and drove out of the parking lot, heading for the boutique. “Not sure if gingerbread people would have enough pizzazz.” Considering the batch she’d made last Christmas had a texture like cardboard. She wasn’t sure she wanted to attempt that again. “We need to think outside the typical Christmas box.”

They might not be able to beat Jonathan on taste, but she was a fashion designer, dang it. She could take him down with presentation. “We have to come up with something so amazing that everyone’ll notice.” And somehow they had to make it taste good too.

“I’ve got it!” Finn leaned between the seats. “We can put two cookies in one!”

“Yes…like a chocolate and a mint,” Tate said. “People love that.”

“Or chocolate and peanut butter.” Finn had never liked mint.

“That’s a good idea. But we’d probably need to stick to traditional holiday flavors.” She turned onto Main Street and slowed her speed. A sign hung in the coffee shop’s window: Today’s specials — Eggnog Crème Br?lée Latte and Cinnamon Latte.

“Crème br?lée and eggnog,” she mused.

“I love eggnog,” Finn reminded her.

“We all love eggnog.” And she happened to know that those specials at the coffee shop were favorites of the majority of people in town. “We can make some eggnog cookies and cinnamon cookies.” A visual formed—huge cookies adorned with rich, creamy frosting. They could caramelize the sugar on top and dust them with gold edible glitter.

They would make them so beautiful and so unique that no one would be able to pass them up. “We’ve got this, boys. We’re going to win the Cookie Contest.”

Hopefully Mr. Braxton liked Sea Island cotton.