The Christmas Crush

Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

She made Lawrence blush. Blush multiple times like a nervous kid asking out his first crush. Sure, he’d made her blush too with that appraising, inscrutable, enticing blue stare, but he probably hadn’t noticed, since the editor had made the announcement at the same time.

On the outside, she busied herself handing out samples and making friends at the swap. On the inside, she pumped her fist in triumph. Last night, she’d called her dad to ask him for some tips on handling adversaries with dignity. She didn’t want to be caught crying a second time. Dad had explained the importance of exploiting your opponent’s known weaknesses. Elena had intended to continue flexing her marketing skills to intimidate Lawrence if she ran into him at the swap.

She hadn’t expected to catch him checking her out. And his priceless, befuddled horror when he recognized her made it even better. Of course, she hadn’t worn her sexiest sweaterdress for him—she never dressed for a man—but she couldn’t help loving the effect it had on him. She told herself she enjoyed his consternation only because it gave her an edge in their cookie war, not because she cared if Lawrence found her attractive. Though she’d have to be made of ice not to feel a little flattered—a little heated—when he looked at her like that.

A mother and daughter duo quizzed her on Sparkle Cookie baking procedures. Without having to think about it, she rattled off the facts, throwing in a compliment for the iced sugar cookies they’d traded her. Her attention slipped over to Lawrence’s table as the women savored their Sparkle samples.

Lawrence appeared to be hitting his stride, shaking hands, joking with people he must know, and even introducing himself to strangers. He didn’t have any logos or branding on his boxes, but telling people his bakery was on Main in New Hope near the gazebo resonated. People said they’d be sure to stop by before some ceremony everyone kept mentioning. Many women returned to his table to chat him up—grandmas mentioning pretty granddaughters, moms elbowing their grown daughters to step forward to talk to the handsome baker.

Elena doubted anyone would need a business card to remember Lawrence. She hadn’t, after all.

Not that she watched him continually, but she hadn’t seen anyone else make his face turn a festive red.

“Be sure to visit the New Hope location when we open on Christmas Eve,” Elena told her guests before they stepped away. “We have loads of delicious flavors.”

The women looked over their shoulders at Lawrence. “We’ll be sure to visit you too, L,” said the daughter, a cute blonde in an ivory boatneck sweater. He nodded, his expression neutral, to Elena’s delight.

Elena’s muscles clenched as she forced a smile. The blonde’s aggressive flirting rubbed her the wrong way. This was a professional occasion, after all, not an excuse to seduce a baker.

A lull in the exchange hit. People drifted to the cocoa bar or over to the windows to gaze at the snow-covered pines. The string duet played the opening bars of the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.” Elena swayed to the music.

“You like this one?” Lawrence asked.

“Almost as much as I like the Gilmore Girls .” She had to push him a bit on the subject, had to know more. Had he been trying to trip her up by being friendly? Or had the comment been as genuine as it seemed? “I must say, you’re the first guy I ever met who watches that show.”

A part of her wanted to ask if he watched with his girlfriend, but she reminded herself she was here on business, unlike that blonde woman, who kept looking over at Lawrence from across the room like she wanted him to invite her back to his bakery this instant.

“I started out like any other little brother, forced to watch my sister Lonnie’s favorite shows after school every day. Joke is on her, though, because that show is funny as hell. You better believe I’d use it to my advantage sometimes. Never let her know how much I liked it. Insisted I got to pick the movie Fridays if she made me watch too many reruns. Or made her get up for the snacks—that was the best perk.”

“I don’t think my brothers watched a single episode with me.” Elena didn’t intend to sound like a pitiful sad sack, but Lawrence furrowed his brow. True, she had spent many afternoons alone in her room drawing while her brothers played in the back yard or dominated the TV selections in the family room. Old loneliness crept in. She ran her hand through her hair. “Anyway, you’re right. It’s a great show.”

An awkward silence started to stretch out between them.

“You were right too,” he said.

“Huh?”

“About drawing new customers. Not relying on my regulars.”

“Did I say that?” She didn’t mean it as a challenge, but she saw color creep up his neck once again. Watching his skin react to her had an addictive quality; the more it happened, the more she wanted to be the cause.

“Maybe not those exact words.” His voice hitched. “You inspired me to put the bakery out there more.”

“Glad I did some good.” The way she remembered it, she’d been condescending to cover her own hurt feelings the last time they talked. Did Lawrence hold grudges? Or would he give her a second chance to be … to be what? Friends? Friendly?

She’d promised to squash this man like a bug. In her defense, she hadn’t expected him to be wearing a clingy Henley, showing off the strong lines of that perfect torso without any regard for her feelings. She certainly hadn’t expected him to throw out a Gilmore Girls reference. Rather than squash him, she wanted to squish against him. Feel that powerful body press into hers.

Better be careful, or she’d be the flustered one.

She could put out a small feeler. To be nice. “I know they’re not your cup of tea, but do you think we should swap cookies? To get a good read on the competition, I mean.”

He sidled over to her table. He smelled like the fresh air outside the inn. Blue eyes looked into hers. He offered a half smile. “For research purposes.”

Biting her lip, she pushed a lavender box toward him. His fingers grazed hers as he took it. As one, they snatched their hands back, avoiding further eye contact. She watched his hands as he untied the ribbon, inspected the card.

“Is this hand-painted?” Now his attention darted back to her. “This looks like the New Hope gazebo. Did you make this?”

She managed a nod. A dismissive chuckle. “Yeah, sometimes I paint.”

“Impressive.” Carefully, he set the miniature picture to the side. Then he unwrapped the cookie, took a decisive bite. “Huh. You guys don’t use real butter, do you?”

“What? How could you tell that from one bite?’

“I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but thanks for confirming.” He winked. If she didn’t check herself, he might gain the upper hand despite all her preparation. Her traitor eyelashes tried to flutter back until she suppressed them at the last possible second. “It’s the aftertaste. Margarine coats the tongue, overpowers the cocoa.”

“Mr. Higgins, that is our best-selling cookie you’re talking about,” she said, voice full of mock outrage.

“You don’t really have to keep up the Mr. Higgins thing. I was kind of a bastard when I said that the other night.” Aha! He admitted it.

“You sure about that, Mr. Higgins?”

“Well, when you say it like that, I never want you to stop.”

Without warning, an image of him with his lips on her neck slammed into her. Her voice breathy in his ear, saying, Like that, Mr. Higgins . The blush tried to come back, heat all over. Don’t let him get the advantage. She took a steadying breath. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lawrence finished the cookie, held his chin in his hand, tapped his cheek over the shadow of stubble. The exact place she longed to run her fingers across in spite of herself. She did her best not to admire his forearms, the sleeves of his Henley pushed up almost to his elbows. “I’ve had worse. It’s fine. The best thing about your samples is the painting.”

She could thank him, be genuine, or keep up the banter. Keep him at a distance. “I’m not much of a cookie girl anyway. Cr è me br ? l é e is more my jam.”

“Oh! Bougie lady. I’ve got bad news: I suck at cr è me br ? l é e. Always end up overcooking it.”

“Seems I’ll have to look elsewhere for a good dessert.”

That response stumped him. She saw him chew on the inside of his cheek. The pause gave her a moment to consider her behavior. Had the innkeeper Marilyn spiked the hot chocolate? Because Elena was flirting, which was not part of the plan. The opposite of the plan, in fact. It might be okay to turn on the charm to disarm him, but she found herself too thrilled by his responses, electricity zapping and building in her. And not because it put her at a business advantage. Ever since she’d caught him checking her out with those bright eyes, her motives had started to shift. A rockslide, outside her control.

Back off, while you still have the ability.

The magazine editor tapped the microphone, saving Elena from further missteps with Lawrence.

“On behalf of myself and everyone at Home Baker’s Quarterly , I would like to thank you all for participating in today’s holiday cookie swap. I hope you gathered lots of yummy goodies and made some new friends.” The editor smoothed the front of her navy jacket. “Thanks to Marylin and the Snowcap Inn for hosting this year’s swap. You have a beautiful place here, Marylin.”

Marilyn, cocoa carafe in hand, took a modest bow.

“One final bit of business before we go. I’m pleased to announce Home Baker’s Quarterly will be hosting a cookie competition for the best original recipe that emulates the spirit of Christmas. I know we have bunches of talented bakers here, and one of you could win our grand prize of ten thousand dollars!”

The room burst into claps and excited chatter. Beside Elena, Lawrence let out a low whistle. A ten-thousand-dollar budget increase would make him a more powerful competitor, make it harder for her to reach Derick’s opening-day sales goal. Keep your eye on the ball, Elena. Vosses are bosses.

In the clamor following the announcement, Elena packed up her table and slipped out of the party without saying goodbye to Lawrence.