The Christmas Crush

Chapter 44

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Congratulations, Lawrence Higgins and Elena Voss! Your contest entry Cherry Chocolate Christmas Sweethearts has been selected as a finalist. Home Baker Quarterly cordially invites you to the Snowcap Inn on New Year’s Eve for the final round of competition. Please bring one dozen freshly baked cookies for the judges to sample. New Year’s toast and dance to follow the contest. Formal dress requested.

Elena reread the email for the zillionth time since they’d received it three days ago. The party would begin in an hour, and she still expected their invitation to be rescinded. Why she thought so, she couldn’t put her finger on. A lingering fear that Derick would pop up like a horror-movie villain to spoil everything again, perhaps.

Witnessing Derick being walked out of Sparkle Cookie HQ by security had left her elated yet shaken. Would he come back for revenge? In the end, it was his own fault he’d gotten fired. He ambushed CEO Margaret Zimmerman as she attempted to leave her office, followed her around the C-suite level babbling about “false accusations” and “cookie conspiracies.” Elena hadn’t expected such a dramatic end to his employment. She’d assumed they’d write him up, give him an action plan, and he’d have a chance to course correct or change jobs. They might have if he hadn’t stood outside the ladies’ room when Margaret ducked for cover inside. Rumor had it everyone in the C-suites witnessed him crying about “that liar Elena Voss.” Elena harbored a minute degree of sympathy at his unexpected proof of human emotion, but not enough to think he deserved to keep his job and subject more employees to his problematic behavior.

Keen to avoid any further unpleasantness, Margaret had promptly offered Elena the percentage of sales on the gingerbread latte cookies Dad demanded, in addition to the bonus Derick had promised. Elena had collected a tidy a sum in record time, which lessened the blow of Derick’s unhinged accusations. Dad called from the Caribbean to congratulate her, and even took it in stride when she said she didn’t plan to apply for Derick’s job. The C-level executives all knew her name now, and the prospects for promotion had never been better, but she still wanted out.

What if Derick showed up at the Snowcap Inn, looking for a fight? She leaned against the wall in Lawrence’s living room, the scene playing in her mind. No, she didn’t have to worry about that, because Derick wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning a fight against Lawrence, especially since she would pitch in. It was possible tonight would go smoothly and Lawrence’s cash-flow issues would be solved without her help.

She adjusted the strap of her one-shoulder plum-colored silk dress. The fabric glided over her in a curve-flattering bias cut. The floor-length hem accented her height and made her feel good about herself. Mom had flown home this morning, on an earlier flight than Dad, to help her shop, a stunning development.

They spent the whole day together, assisted by Mom’s personal shopper to find the perfect gown. Elena smiled remembering her mom asking questions about Lawrence, about Elena’s feelings for him. When had they last had a deep conversation like that? She wasn’t sure, but it had been a while. Mom insisted on paying for a salon blowout and lash application. The expression on Lawrence’s face when he opened the front door to see her in all her glory would live in her heart forever.

“Ready, sugarplum?” he asked, trotting down the stairs in a well-fitted black suit with a black tie, looking for all the world like he’d stepped out of an Old Hollywood movie, heartthrob gorgeous. She drew in a breath, mouth open, at a loss for words. “What, you thought you were the only one who can clean up nice?”

Lawrence looked amazing in jeans and a flannel, tasty in a towel after a shower, was pure snuggle-bait in his sweats, but nothing—nothing—could compare to the sight of him in that suit. Dashing.

“I want to paint you,” she said at last, taking hold of the jacket lapels to tug him to her.

“Someone should paint you, sweetie.” He traced the contours of her face. Careful not to muss her lipstick, he gave her the gentlest kiss.

“You have the cookies?” she asked when they parted. “I have the recipe copies with our story.”

“Sounds like we’re all set, then.” They walked to the door; he opened it, paused. “No matter what happens, tonight is already the best New Year’s Eve, because I get to spend it with you. Let’s have fun, not worry too much about the competition. Something will work out, I know it.”

She had an idea for an alternate plan to ensure the bakery’s success, but she wouldn’t tell him yet. She wanted to see how the night went first. She swooped up her dress to keep it from dragging on the ground, and he gave her a hand to keep her steady in her heels as they stepped out.

Once they arrived, Lawrence escorted her up the stairs to the inn with sure steps and his shoulders squared. She couldn’t stop looking up at him, couldn’t stop feeling just as lucky as he did that they were together. That she could call him—this handsome, caring man—hers. The porch boards creaked under their feet. Dozens of flameless candles in different sizes graced the entryway, flickering like fairies. From inside antique punched-tin lanterns, more candles cast patterned shadows on the inn’s facade. One final glimpse of Christmas.

“Wow,” the innkeeper, Marilyn, said when they walked into the lobby, surprise tinged with confusion on her face. “Can I help you?”

“We’re here for the contest,” Lawrence said.

“My goodness, aren’t you two glamourous? Come right this way.” She bustled toward the ballroom, and they followed, arm in arm. Marilyn looked at them again, pointed at Lawrence. “I remember you! The baker from New Hope, right? Yes, and I thought you were here about the snow removal, since you’re rather … um … a … rugged baker. Silly me! And you also attended the cookie swap, miss, am I right?”

Happiness flooded Elena, warmed her blood, at the memory. It seemed like yesterday and forever ago at the same time. How much things had changed since that day, when she’d rushed out to avoid getting too close to Lawrence. She squeezed his forearm where she held on to him, the wool suit jacket sleeve smooth under her fingers. “Yes, that’s me,” Elena said.

“I wish you both good luck. As pretty as a picture, you two.”

Inside the ballroom, the Christmas tree had been moved from the center to a corner of the room, and a parquet dance floor took its place. The string duet was back, playing “Greensleeves.” Elena and Lawrence swept into the room on the melody’s repeating chords. The tune carried her heart away with it as she reveled in the refined atmosphere. Real candles in crystal jars on high-top tables draped with ivory cloths, tulle swags laced with white lights on the walls, and the curtains open to reveal the snowy grounds, well-placed floodlights throwing the ancient pine trees into relief.

Everyone was beautifully dressed—a few more men in suits, though none quite as gorgeous as her own man. The women wore a jewel box of colors, cocktail dresses and long gowns. Sequins sparkling.

“Champagne?” a waiter in a burgundy vest asked, lifting a silver tray. They each took a glass, clinking them together. Elena sipped the dry, pear-and-floral-flavored liquor.

At the judges’ table, Lawrence gave them the box of Cherry Chocolate Christmas Sweethearts, and Elena provided them with the printed recipe, which included a short origin story for the cookies.

“I’m a little nervous. Are you nervous?” she whispered to Lawrence as they circulated the room. She didn’t think she could stand to see him disappointed, even if she had a secret strategy to help the bakery regardless.

“Not with you by my side.” He shrugged his shoulders as if he’d never had symptoms of social anxiety a day in his life. She liked that she could be a calming source for him, and her own agitation relented.

A flash went off nearby. A grandmother and a teen in a pleated skirt smiled at the photographer as she took a second picture.

“Here, let’s get a picture for the magazine.” Any good marketing executive knew the magazine would print Lawrence’s picture even if he and Elena placed dead last in the contest. She straightened his tie as she gave the photographer’s assistant their names, careful to stress the name of the bakery as well. Then she showed him how to pose and leaned against him, letting the dress slit fall open just enough to catch the eye.

“Photogenic,” the photographer said, tipping her camera for Elena to see the preview screen.

More like scorching hot. Lawrence looked so good, and her clear infatuation lit her up, making her not mind her full cheeks or wonky brow. Step one in the plan to promote the bakery complete. Elena asked the photographer to please take a picture of them using her own phone. Once she saw that photograph, she knew it would bring traffic to the social media site she’d get Lawrence to start for Sweet L’s. Step two well under way. Add a few videos of him stirring dough in a Henley, and they’d have a million followers.

The sound of a spoon tapping a champagne flute caught their attention. They both looked to the sound and froze. The magazine’s editor tapped once more, and the chatter died down. Tonight the editor wore a stunning black velvet dress.

The editor cleared her throat, traded her glass for a microphone. “Ladies and gentleman, I’m pleased to announce the results of Home Baker Quarterly ’s Spirit of Christmas cookie contest.”