The Christmas Cookie Wars

Chapter Seven

Seven

Leaving the eggs and butter out until they were room temperature did not make one iota of a difference.

Melody inspected the snickerdoodle dough, which, according to the recipes, should’ve been smooth and thick but had turned into a dry crumbling sandcastle in her bowl.

Maybe Jonathan had sabotaged them.

“Something’s not right.” She leaned into the counter and went over her full page of recipe notes again.

Next to her, Finn reached into the bowl and grabbed a chunk of dough, popping it into his mouth. “Tastes good to me.”

Good was not enough. Melody walked back through each step in the plan she’d built from about ten different recipes. She’d measured everything meticulously. She’d even weighed the eggs!

“We’re supposed to roll up the dough into balls.” Tate took a handful and started to roll it between his hands, but the crumbles cascaded to the floor. “Oh.” He frowned. “Yeah. Something’s definitely not right.”

“I know.” Melody wiped perspiration off her forehead with the back of her hand. It was nearly eight o’clock and they hadn’t even gotten one batch into the oven yet. The sense of panic she’d kept at bay by humming Christmas carols and teasing the boys swelled. “It needs something else.” But what?

“More sugar?” Finn’s voice had increased about five decibels because of the sugar he’d already consumed.

“Or what about more eggnog?” Tate held up the container.

“Maybe?” The dough seemed too dry, so adding liquid might help. “We’ll start with a few tablespoons.”

“On it.” Tate found the measuring spoon and added the eggnog while she stirred. “That’s helping, I think. Maybe.” She didn’t know. “Let’s add a few more.”

Tate tipped the carton but ended up spilling nearly a full cup into the batter. “Uh-oh.” He offered her a repentant frown. “Sorry, Mom.”

“That’s fine. No biggie.” Melody set down the spoon. Tate always took himself too seriously, and he happened to be much harder on himself than she ever was when it came to making mistakes. “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll add more flour.” She dumped in three fourths of a cup and stirred, but the liquid still sloshed around the bowl.

“I ruined it.” Tate’s lips quivered. “Now we’re gonna lose. All because of me.”

Whoa. She hadn’t seen Tate this close to tears since he’d accidentally broken his favorite Star Wars model a few months ago. “We’re not going to lose.” But it wasn’t like they could win either. Ugghh. Why had she done this to them? If he was this upset now, wait until they lost the contest.

“Forget it. I quit,” Tate muttered, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

“Wait.” She couldn’t let him walk out. “Nothing’s ruined.” Baking together was supposed to be fun, and now she had about ten seconds to save this night from becoming a bad memory. After a quick scan of the kitchen, Melody grabbed a handful of flour and smeared it across Tate’s face right as he turned back to her. “Ha ha! Got you!”

His mouth gaped open but then he grinned—his real, caught-off-guard grin that so rarely appeared these days. “Oh yeah?” Her son scooped out a handful of flour and threw it at her.

The powder covered her face. “Hey!” She wiped her eyes with a dish towel.

“I’m gonna get both of you!” Finn stole the bag of flour and poofed them on his way to the other side of the table.

“Come back here!” Melody lunged in one direction while Tate lunged in the other, but Finn slipped between them, giggling the way he used to when Thomas would throw him up in the air.

“Oh no you don’t!” She followed her younger twin past the sink and captured him in her arms. The bag of flour flew over their heads.

“I’ve got it!” Tate caught the bag, engulfing all of them in a powdery spray.

The boys’ eyeballs grew wide, standing out against the white covering their faces.

“Look at you two.” She laughed so hard her ribs ached.

“ Us? ” Tate could hardly get the words out past his own guffaws. “You should see your face!”

“It’s about to get worse too!” Finn sent another poof of flour in her direction, and so she was now covered in the stuff, looking like the abominable snowman.

“You’d better run!” Her sons squealed while she chased them around the table.

Tate stealthily jumped over a chair and both boys collapsed onto the floor, the flour falling like snow between them. They were laughing so hard they couldn’t even breathe.

This. This was why she’d taken over the cookie committee—so she could spend time with these two, laughing and playing and making memories together the way they always had this time of year. This was why they were doing the contest together. Not so they could win. Not so they could beat Mr. Braxton.

So they could be together.

Joy radiated straight from her heart, filling her up with a warmth that had been too elusive with all of the stressing and worrying. She wanted to press the pause button, to savor this—

The doorbell rang.

Melody froze. Oh no. No, no, no. She’d completely forgotten about Jonathan’s promise to deliver his contest cookies.

“That must be Mr. Braxton!” Finn scrambled to get up, and just the sight of him all powdery made Melody start to giggle again. She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture to document this moment. Of course their principal would show up now . When they’d made a huge mess of their kitchen and themselves. They didn’t even have any cookies to show for the chaos. Though, at this point, who even cared? He likely couldn’t think much less of her than he already did.

“I’ll get it!” Finn bolted out of the room before she could even shake the flour out of her hair.

“What a mess.” Tate swiveled his head, glancing around them like he couldn’t believe what he saw.

Melody could only giggle again as she did her best to swipe the flour off her face with a towel. She wasn’t even sorry. She hadn’t laughed this much in too long.

“Wow.”

She heard the principal before she saw him. There was no hiding now. She tossed the dish towel onto the counter.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, openly staring at the flour on the floor.

“Everything’s great.” Finn sounded jovial. “We had a flour fight, and you can’t even give us detention or anything because we’re not at school.” There was a pause while her son’s gaze shifted nervously. “Right?”

“Nope. No detention. I don’t have any jurisdiction here.” Mr. Braxton was still looking around at the mess with wide eyes. He probably didn’t like messes, but she was used to them with two boys in the house. In fact, maybe Mr. Braxton needed more mess in his life.

“We were having a little fun.” Not that she needed to explain herself to him. “Baking should be fun, right?”

“It always was for me with my grandma.” His polished black loafers cut a trail through the flour. “In fact, back in the day, we got in a few flour fights ourselves.”

Huh. She had a hard time picturing him covered in flour. Or laughing hysterically. Or making a mess.

“Did you bring the cookies?” Tate had become hyperfocused on the plate in his principal’s hands.

“I did.” Jonathan held out the goods. “They’re just gingersnaps.” He shot Melody a pointed look. “So I don’t expect you to be wowed or anything.”

Finn took off the plastic wrap. “They look pretty good.”

Melody caught a glimpse. Okay, she was wowed. Those cookies didn’t look good, they looked fabulous. They were poofy and half dipped in what looked like white chocolate. “They turned out better than ours so far,” she admitted. She might as well start preparing the boys for certain defeat. They couldn’t even get their cookies in the oven, and Jonathan’s appeared to be perfectly decadent.

“What happened to your cookies?” The principal directed his attention to the counter, where she’d abandoned the bowl.

“Nothing.” Tate put himself between Jonathan and their cookie dough, his mouth full of another gingersnap.

“It’s okay.” Finn nudged his brother out of the way. “Mr. Braxton’s cookies are so good. Maybe he can help us.”

They might be beyond help. Melody scanned her kitchen. A teetering mountain of dirty dishes sat in the sink while ingredients and spills littered the counters. Everything seemed to be coated in flour too. Maybe they should raise the white flag on this whole endeavor. “The dough came out too crumbly. I don’t understand it. I followed the recipes exactly, but we must have done something wrong.”

“I can take a look.” Jonathan peered into the mixing bowl. “Hmmm. You do know the flour is supposed to go into the mixture, right?” The wry grin he shot her over his shoulder could only be described as teasing.

Hold the phone! Mr. Braxton was teasing her? She couldn’t miss this opportunity to get him back. “Oh. That’s where we went wrong, then.” Cue the eye roll.

“It’s all my fault. I accidentally dumped in too much eggnog.” Tate helped himself to another one of Jonathan’s gingersnaps. His third? Fourth? Melody didn’t know. She was dying to try one too, but pride held her back.

“It was my fault to begin with.” She joined Jonathan at the bowl. “The batter was too dry and got all crumbly. So we decided to add more liquid, but things got a little out of hand.” Now here they were. Embarrassing themselves in front of this man once again. This time in their own home.

“I think we can salvage this.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves.

For a second she was transfixed by the sight of his forearms. She’d never seen Mr. Braxton’s forearms, what with all the button-up shirts he wore. But they were nice forearms. Muscular and toned.

“Why would you help us?” Finn screwed up his mouth all tight and skeptical. “We’re your competition.”

Ha! Jonathan knew they weren’t his competition. Especially after tonight. Though she didn’t want to tell the boys that.

“What can I say? I like a challenge.” He found a measuring cup in the sink and started to wash it. “The better my competition is, the more satisfying my victory will be.”

Who was this man and what had he done to Mr. Braxton? Melody threw a towel at him. “Don’t egg them on.”

The words came too late. Tate had already grabbed the flour bag. “I think you mean our victory!” Her son threw a handful at his principal, leaving a white circle blotching his navy blue sweater vest.

A gasp sucked all the air out of Melody’s lungs. “Tate!”

But the man only laughed. He laughed! Loud and deep. “You’d better watch yourself, kiddo. I don’t get mad. I get even.” He scooped out some flour and lightly sprinkled it over Tate’s head and then Finn’s, which they thought was hilarious.

Melody had to blink a few times. Was Jonathan Braxton really standing in her kitchen having a flour fight with her children? A trail of warmth snaked through her, starting low in her abdomen and then traveling up to encircle her heart.

Warmth? Whoa. Where had that come from? She couldn’t feel any warmth when it came to Mr. Braxton …

“What’d you say, boys?” The principal floured his hands and then put two handprints on his vest, making the boys fall all over themselves with laughter again. “You want some help?”

“Yes!” Finn and Tate cheered.

Melody watched from the sidelines while her boys gathered around the man who’d been their nemesis only minutes ago.

Was this even appropriate? What if someone saw his car there? Or what if her mother decided to make one of her impromptu visits? Oh God, the news would spread faster than word about a two-for-one sale on Christmas hams at the market. “You don’t have to help us, Mr. Braxton.” Melody rushed back to the bowl of doomed cookie dough. “We’ll add a little more flour and everything’ll be fine.”

Then he could leave before someone got the wrong impression about him making a house call at eight thirty at night.

“I don’t mind at all, Melody.” He took the bowl out of her hands. “And you should call me Jonathan when we’re not at school.”

The warmth exploded into sparks now, crackling dangerously close to her heart. It was her! She was starting to get the wrong impression.

“Now, you can’t only add more flour to the dough because the ratio of the flour and baking powder has to be perfect.”

“That makes sense.” Tate practically pushed her out of the way and joined his principal at the counter. “We learned all about ratios in math.”

“Exactly.” Jonathan—Mr. Braxton?—measured out a cup of flour. “Finn, you can dump this into the bowl.”

Her younger twin was all too happy to comply, moving so quickly he spilled a little more onto Jonathan’s fancy shoes. “There we go.”

“Good. Now, Tate, you can add in a teaspoon of baking powder.” Jonathan picked up the wooden spoon and started to stir the sloppy cookie dough while her older twin meticulously measured out the ingredient. “Perfect.” The principal worked the dough with the spoon, and now his forearms were truly a sight to behold.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Finn asked. “Your face is red.”

“I’m fine.” She coughed. “It’s warm in here with the oven on.” And with this man in her space. How long had it been since she’d had a man in her space? Not since Thomas…

“See?” Jonathan held out the bowl in her direction. “The dough is coming together nicely now.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Likely because of that vigorous stirring. “Wonderful. Thank you so much for your help.” She went to take the bowl away, but he whirled back to the counter, one of her sons on each side of him. “It looks like we need to add an egg too. The cookies will hold together better.”

He could tell that by looking at the dough? “I’ll get one.” Melody stuck her head into the refrigerator and pretended to rifle around so the chill could take the color out of her cheeks. She shouldn’t even have any color in her cheeks! Hello! This was Finn and Tate’s principal. No matter that he was standing in her kitchen helping them make cookies. No matter that he was being so kind and sweet with her boys. No matter that his forearms could win an award.

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not with him .

She was feeling things. Her body was starting to do things it hadn’t done in years.

“The eggs are right there, Mom.” Finn pointed to the shelf in front of her face.

“Of course.” She took one and stood upright. “I don’t know how I missed them.” Likely because she’d found herself in a whole different dimension and now she wasn’t sure how to function.

“Why don’t you crack the egg into the bowl?” She held it out to Finn.

He backed away from her. “Heck no! Last time I tried to crack an egg, all the shells fell in too.”

That was true. The eggshells had given their pancakes quite the crunchy texture.

“Here you go.” Jonathan approached and held the bowl against him in one arm while he stirred with the other hand. “Crack away.”

“Right.” His close proximity set her nerves ablaze. Were her fingers tingling? She tapped the egg on the edge of the bowl and separated the shell, somehow getting all the liquid in the right place.

“See?” Jonathan gave the dough another good stir and tipped the bowl toward her. “Now you’ll be able to roll out these cookies no problem.”

“Thanks.” Hopefully he didn’t detect the squeak in her voice. Melody quickly turned around and threw the eggshell in the garbage. Things were getting out of hand. Her pulse had escalated and she was too warm and her knees were threatening to buckle. All very bad signs.

“Wow,” Tate mused. “How do you know so much about baking?”

“I used to bake with my grandma.” Jonathan set down the bowl and washed his hands, drying them on the towel next to her.

He smelled as delicious as her kitchen right now. What, did the man bathe in cinnamon and cloves every morning?

“Grandma taught me everything she’d learned from her grandma.” He sprinkled some flour onto the countertop and then dumped the dough on it, kneading with his hands. “My parents weren’t around much so I spent a lot of time with her.”

As much as she tried to distract herself with tidying up, Jonathan held her attention.

Her younger twin gazed up at his principal in awe, as though seeing him in a whole new light.

Melody could relate. Everything he revealed clicked a piece of the Mr. Braxton puzzle into place. Maybe he liked order and control so much because he hadn’t had any as a child…

“Where were your parents?”

“Finn, that’s really none of our business.” She glanced at Jonathan and their eyes found an instant connection. “You don’t have to answer that.” Please don’t answer that. While her brain fought the sudden attraction, her heart had started to unfurl, one fragile petal at a time. She couldn’t let it open all the way. Not for anyone.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing.” Jonathan continued to work the dough, rolling sections between his hands to form the cookies. “They were both very focused on their careers in academia. They didn’t have much time to take care of a kid.” He took another large section of perfect dough and handed it to Tate. “But I loved being with my grandma. I mean, imagine getting cookies like that all the time.” He pointed to the gingersnaps.

“That’d be so awesome!” Tate carefully set the dough balls on the cookie sheet. “Not that your cookies aren’t good, Mom.”

“Right.” Her specialty was flour fights.

“Good job on those, Tate.” Jonathan nudged Finn to the counter. “Your turn.”

“I’ve done this tons of times,” her younger twin told him proudly. “We’ve made cookies ever since I was a baby, right, Mom?”

“That’s right.”

“Our dad was good at baking too.” Tate said the words matter-of-factly, and Melody was glad. She’d encouraged them to talk about Thomas often so he was a part of their lives, so they could acknowledge their father and also what they’d lost. But hearing him say that now, in the context of Jonathan in her kitchen, made her throat tighten.

“I think I would’ve liked your dad.” Jonathan used a spatula to place the cookies carefully on the baking trays sitting next to the oven.

“He was awesome.” Finn snuck a piece of cookie dough into his mouth.

“He must’ve been to have sons like you.” Jonathan held up the oven mitts. “Ready to do the honors, boys?”

“Yep!” Finn took one cookie sheet and slid it into the preheated oven while Tate handled the other.

Melody had become a bystander in her own kitchen, watching Jonathan’s beaming smile. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile this way. So…unguarded.

Because of the baking. Because he loved baking. Not because he was happy to be here in her kitchen. Not because a trail of warmth snaked through him too. His knees weren’t weak. His pulse hadn’t picked up. Nope.

“Now we set the timer for eight and a half minutes.” Jonathan pulled out his phone. “And then the taste testing can begin.”

The twins cheered and high-fived each other.

Wait. Melody swam through the emotions back to the surface. That couldn’t be right. “The recipe said we should bake them for ten minutes.” She went to the kitchen table and flipped through her notes.

“Oh no.” The principal waggled his finger at her. “Trust me. Eight and a half minutes is exactly what you need for cookies this size. They’ll come out perfectly chewy on the inside and the slightest bit crisp on the outside.”

“He knows, Mom.” Finn poured himself a glass of eggnog and then offered one to Jonathan. “We always have eggnog when we’re baking Christmas cookies. It’s a tradition.”

Yes, their tradition.

“I like eggnog.” Jonathan pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. At her kitchen table, sipping eggnog with her boys, telling them all about his life and laughing with them and making them like him. Making her like him. Except, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want her heart taking sharp drops whenever she saw Jonathan. She didn’t want the sparks crackling through her or the longing that crowded her chest.

She didn’t want to long for anyone.

“It’s getting late.” There was no controlling her tone. Emotions were clashing—irritation and longing and a rising panic she didn’t fully understand. “Mr. Braxton should probably be getting home.”

He froze, the cup of eggnog suspended halfway to his mouth. “Oh. Right.” His wise somber eyes met hers and completed a lengthy study before he quickly stood. “Yes, I should be going.”

“But we haven’t even gotten the cookies out of the oven yet.” Finn hopped out of his chair as though ready to block the door.

“Yeah.” Tate stood at his brother’s side. “Mr. Braxton helped us, so he should be able to try the cookies too.”

“I can’t stay,” Jonathan said apologetically. “Sorry, boys. I have a lot to do at home.” He scooted past Melody but wouldn’t look at her now. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, though. And I expect a full report on the cookies.”

“Yes, sir.” Finn was hanging his head.

“Thanks for the eggnog,” Jonathan called over his shoulder.

The front door opened for a few seconds before slamming shut, leaving the room too quiet.

“Wow, it was pretty awesome of Mr. Braxton to help us with our cookies, huh?” Finn downed the rest of his eggnog.

“Sure.” Melody shrugged off the heartache that had pinned her back to the wall and grabbed a broom so she could clean up the mess they’d made. “But we can do this. The three of us together.”

They didn’t need to let anyone else in.