Christmas With Granny McPherson

by Nellie K Neves

  Brooke’s hand captures my shoulder, warm, reassuring. I turn to look at her, and I get lost in her dark eyes for a millisecond.

  “Wave or something,” she whispers quiet enough that no one else knows.

  I plaster on a smile, turn back to the camera and wave like an idiot. Great freaking first impression.

  “What do you have planned for us today, Evan?” John escorts Mona to the counter while I try not to choke on my tongue.

  “Um, well, today I have some breakfast foods.”

  I’m dying. Words refuse to make sentences. Maybe it’s a stroke. How do you check for that? There’s something about a smile, but I feel like I’m going to barf.

  Barf or die.

  It’s a toss-up.

  Right here on national TV.

  I’m dying.

  Chapter 5

  Brooke

  It’s painful watching him flounder. It reminds me of the time I almost hit a squirrel. He tried to run back, but stopped mid-way, ran back the opposite direction, and turned and stopped directly in front of my car as if he’d consigned himself to death. I ended up parking on the old road, and shooing him from the center divider before I started on my way again. If I can’t squash a squirrel, I certainly can’t let Rise & Shine America plow over Evan.

  “You’ve heard of a black thumb in the garden, well I have a black spatula in the kitchen.” I’m not supposed to talk. The cameras shift to me. I have no choice but to keep going. “Evan is going to teach a helpless anti-cook like me how to make breakfast.”

  My words throw off both the hosts, but with their celebrity only this side of catatonic, I suppose they have to roll with the punches.

  “And you are, of course, Brooke Cratchett, the local owner of this quaint bed and breakfast where Evan is spending his holiday season.” Mona widens her eyes once the cameras shift back to me. She’s furious, but I’m trying to save my inn.

  “Yes, here at the Willow Brook Inn I’m in charge of the breakfast part of it all, and what can I say, I’m a disaster. Sweet Evan here,” I rub my hand over his arm, only stuttering once from the row of muscles I find there, “is going to take on my hopeless case. What are we making, Evan?”

  I’m terrified he won’t speak. He’ll leave me to my cooking abilities, and it won’t be long before I fulfill that promise to burn the place to the ground.

  “Waffles and cinnamon popovers.” Food calms him. He turns to the work station he’s set up. “It’s not that bad really. Anyone can do it.”

  I pull a face and consider showing him some of the scorch marks behind the fridge that escaped painting. “Is it the waffle mix where you add water? Because I’m a wiz at that one.”

  “No.” He shakes his head like I’m kidding. “We’re going from scratch.”

  “Uh-oh,” Mona wants in on the action, “I hope we’re not in for some trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. It’s straight out of my cookbook, Hometown with Granny.” Evan’s voice levels out. “First, you need all your dry ingredients.” He motions to the carefully measured cups to my left. I pour each in the bowl, mix it and wait. “Now the wet ingredients. Don’t worry, Brooke, I cracked your eggs. You don’t have to worry about shells.”

  I smile because it’s a real concern in my world. “Someone tattled on me.”

  “Mix that up until you don’t see any lumps.” Evan watches over my shoulder, only making room for the cameraman. “Now we need egg whites.”

  “That sounds hard.” I’m being honest. I’ve tried it before and ended up with whites on the counter, the floor, and specks in the vents.

  “Nothing to it.” Evan sets his hand on my back, leading me to the mixer. “The whites are in there, ease the speed up a little at a time.”

  I do as he asks, carefully clicking through to the highest speed. Thankfully, nothing flies out of the bowl this time.

  “Then what?”

  Evan smiles, a real smile for once. “We’ve got a minute, let’s mix up those popovers I was telling you about. These will be in my new cookbook, Christmas with Granny.”

  He guides me through it again, showing me how to gauge the cinnamon by smelling what’s in the bowl. Of course John and Mona have to take a sniff. We use a mini cupcake pan, filling each hole only halfway.

  “It’ll make it look round when it comes out. Everyone will assume you have a specialty tin when really you just know a few tricks.” He steals the tray from me and slips it into the preheated oven. “About twelve minutes for those, and it looks like the egg whites are done.”

  Where there was once clear goo, fluffy white clouds have taken their place. Under his direction, I click back through the speeds, slowing until the beater shuts off.

  “Now what?” I haven’t screwed up yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

  Evan removes the bowl from the stand. “We need to fold them in. Have you done that before?”

  “You mean mix them? Yes, I can mix them.”

  He bites his lip to hide his smile. “Folding is different. It’s softer.” He sets the bowl next to the batter and moves behind me. “Let me show you.”

  Without another word, he wraps his arms around me and slips his hands over mine. My breath catches in my throat. We move together, his hands experts in everything I don’t understand.

  The egg whites fall into the bowl. I move to stir them, but his strength stops me short. “You’ll break them to pieces if you force it. You have to ease them into this.” The spoon dips into the bowl, dragging rich batter up and over the fluffy egg whites. “They have to get to know each other before they’re one. It’s a process.” We dip low again, folding the batter up and over the clouds of white. I’m trying not to focus on the way he surrounds me, or how strong his chest feels against my back. I’m desperate not to feel his breath in my hair, or his thumb rubbing over my hand as he changes his grip.

  “See how it’s coming together?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” I don’t trust my voice. I press my lips together. I certainly don’t trust my lips.

  “Evan,” Mona decides this is the moment she should ask a few questions, “do you find baking to be a sensual experience?”

  “Excuse me?” Evan falters his movement for the first time.

  “I mean, it’s heating up in here if you ask me, and it’s not the oven.”

  Evan reverses, dropping his hand away from mine. “Folding egg whites, that’s all.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Evan

  Horrible timing.

  That woman has horrible timing.

  It was getting hot. Yes, it was sensual. But the last thing I wanted to do was point it out. Brooke’s entire body went from whipped perfection to overworked dough in three seconds flat.

  “Okay, Brooke. Let’s take these popovers I made earlier and roll them in cinnamon sugar.”

  She’s happy to ditch the waffles and the slightly seductive egg folding for a minute. I show her the technique, and she’s quick to replicate it. For as hopeless as she claimed to be, I’m impressed. A little teaching would go a long way for her skills.

  “So Evan,” Mona’s voice is nails on chalkboard to me, “are we going to be seeing more of you now that you’re coming out into the public eye?”

  “That’s what I’m told.” It’s probably the wrong answer. I should say something about wanting to meet my fans and make connections, but I don’t, and I don’t feel like lying. Instead I look at Brooke. Her fingers are coated in cinnamon sugar. It only happens if you lick the sugar off. I guess she was taste testing. “We have what, five more specials here at the inn?”

  “Hmmmm,” Mona’s voice goes conspiratorial, “I guess we’ll be seeing more of the two of you then?”

  Brooke’s laugh is pure music. “Oh no, just Evan. I’ll be in here trying to perfect my waffles.”

  “Well, let’s see how you did.” John steals center stage and pops one of the spherical treats into his mouth. Mona follows suit, but it’s Brooke’s reaction I’m waiting on.

&
nbsp; “Go ahead,” I tell her, “try one.”

  She catches her lip between her teeth before she selects a particularly sugary one from the pile. In one motion, she pops it in her mouth. I wait, watching, hopeful for a good response.

  Her eyes close and soft hum escapes her lips. She nods while smiling and gives two sugary thumbs up.

  “There you have it America, rise and shine and go out and grab yourself a copy of Evan’s new book Christmas with Granny.”

  We hold our smiles for four more seconds before a voice yells, “That’s it. Pack it in.”

  Brook exhales like she’s been holding her breath through the whole ordeal. I catch her arm before she flees. She deserves a thank you for what she did.

  “Hey, I wanted to say—”

  “Oh my gosh! You two! You’re dynamite! I hope we get a lot more camera time from you both! You’re gold!” Mona plants a sloppy kiss right on my lips. I reverse as fast as I can to escape a second attack. Can people do that? Kiss you without permission? She laughs like this is some joke and yells for another glass of wine. I turn to find Brooke, but like I suspected, she’s gone.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Brooke

  I hated that. I hate this. I hate all of it, and I’m not one to use the word hate. Ever. But making a fool of myself on national television wasn’t part of the deal. Watching them break my heirlooms was also not mentioned in the original deal. As I left, I saw some guy mounting a camera in the living room shiplap. Those walls are over a century old, and he punched a hole clear through it. This isn’t what I thought it would be. Winnie said I needed to host this circus, but she never said I had to be in the center ring. Let alone play ringmaster.

  I shake my hands out, trying to rid myself of the ants under my skin twitch that’s taken over my body. Why didn’t they check to see if their talent could perform on camera? A trained monkey could have done better than he did. They say he’s the real Granny, but at this point I’m starting to doubt it. Why did it fall on me to take over and try to save that sinking ship? Why do I always feel like I have to rescue everything? It’s not my job to take on the hopeless cases, but here I am, doing it again. First the inn, now Evan Skruggs. Why don’t I ever learn?

  “Hey, Brooke, wait up!”

  He catches me storming out toward the barn. I need to clear my head after that spectacle. I should slow down. I should break stride. He’s worth more than all my assets combined and then quadrupled.

  “Brooke!”

  I stop. I don’t turn. I wait. It’s the best compromise he’s going to get at this point. I already gave him everything else.

  “Hey,” Evan jogs to meet me, “you ditched me back there. I thought we were in this together.”

  “I needed some air.” It’s not a total lie.

  “You and me both.” He runs a hand over his hair but catches the gel pasted there and grimaces. “Look, I don’t know why you did it, but wanted to thank you. You bailed me out.”

  “I didn’t do it for you.” The words tumble over the top of his. Internally, I groan at the way it sounds. “If you fail, I fail. I’m wagering my future on this publicity stunt you’re pulling.”

  It’s true, but from the look on his face I’d bet he had no idea.

  “Sorry, I thought you were being nice to me. I guess I should have known better.”

  “I was being nice. I am nice.”

  “With ulterior motives.” Evan turns to leave but spins back. “I was coming to thank you for what you did. You know, I’ve never done that before.”

  “Cook? That explains a lot.”

  His glare turns to ice for a second. “In front of people, I’ve never cooked in front of people.”

  “Why? Performance issues?”

  Evan’s finger comes up. “No. Nothing like that. No complaints here.”

  “Sounds like a cop out.”

  “Oh my gosh, this is why I don’t talk to people. You seemed so nice, and then in the next second you make me out to be the bad guy.” He throws his hands up. “I wanted to tell you that it was first for me. A couple actually. It’s been a long time since I cooked for someone. That was thrilling, at least it was until now. Now, all I can think about is the fact that this gorgeous woman was probably lying to me to save her own skin. So thanks for that.”

  “You never cook for anyone? Who tastes your recipes before they go in the book?”

  He shrugs. “Me, I guess.”

  “What if you’re the only one who likes it?”

  “That’s never happened.”

  I blink at his arrogance. “Never? Or is everyone lying to you because they don’t want something to happen to their paycheck?”

  “What? Like I’d fire them for not eating something? Or questioning me?”

  “You seem to have issues with people’s motivations. Heaven forbid, I’m trying to save my own livelihood. Apparently, I should feel blessed that I have camera crews traipsing across my property, ruining heirlooms, and demanding the world at every second.”

  “I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you. How can someone as beautiful as you, act this ugly?”

  The insult stings. He stalks away. I clench my teeth, wishing I could get in one last zinger.

  “Takes one to know one!” But he’s gone, and I’m glad because that insult went out of style in the third grade.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Evan

  I slam the door and pace the room. I should go bake something. Start mixing everything together until I make a new treat no one can deny. But now it’s banging around in my head that everyone I know lies to me because they don’t want to lose their jobs. What about the reviews? I have endless five-star reviews on the books, but then there’s plenty of one-star scathing reviews. Maybe those are the truth, and the five stars are the lie.

  I groan and collapse onto the bed. I don’t have TV. There’s no Wi-Fi. I’m relocated to the dark ages.

  My phone buzzes. I fumble for it without lifting my head. I put it to my ear, comforter blocking half the sound.

  “What?” I don’t even bother to hide the tone of my voice.

  “Well, hello to you too. I thought you’d want an update on how Project Reputation is going.”

  Winnie. Of course. Right up her alley to be checking in on me.

  “Who hates me now?” I figure she’s about to start listing off every new member of the Anti-Granny Task Force.

  “Just the opposite.” Papers flips back and forth on her side of the phone. “I mean, they don’t love you, our work isn’t done, but you’ve got them curious.”

  “And curious is good?”

  “Yes, we can work with curious. We need to capitalize on this, use it to our advantage. I hope you’re ready to work.”

  I pull a pillow over my head, wishing it would suffocate me. “Isn’t that what I was doing today?”

  She laughs and says something witty I don’t care about. “Look, I’ve got work to do. I’ll check in tomorrow, okay?”

  The line goes dead. Fine by me, I was done talking.

  The scent of cinnamon catches me off guard. I must have gotten some on my skin this morning, and now it’s all over my pillow. It has a way of sticking around. Cinnamon, that’s the color of Brooke’s hair. A touch of red, but mostly brown.

  My phone buzzes again. I click Andrew’s call through without much thought.

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk to the man dominating the newsfeed, of course.”

  “What are you talking about?” I sit up, dragging my weight to the edge of the bed.

  “Evan, the world is freaking out over your spot on Rise and Shine. They loved you.”

  “That’s what Winnie said.” The sun sets behind the barn, casting color across the open sky. Brooke’s words from earlier still rattle in my mind. It’s hard to trust someone on my payroll. “You’re sure they actually loved me?”

  “Why would I lie to you?”

  In my head, Brooke starts listing reasons off on her sugar-coate
d fingers. I shake my head to lose her.

  “What’d they like though? The recipes? My dashing good looks? Those popovers are amazing. I hoped they’d win people over.”

  “Those were great. You were great,” Andrew dances around the subject, “but what they really loved was Brooke.”

  “Brooke?” My heart hits the floor. My first appearance and my sidekick takes center stage. “Why Brooke?”

  “No, not her alone, the two of you. There was some serious sparkage between you. People ate it up. Social media is alive with rumors about your relationship.”

  “What relationship? Trust me, she’s not a fan.”

  “And what about you? You signing up for a little more action from the innkeeper?”

  “No, stop being gross. We cooked, that’s all.” His inference that there’s more bugs me after that conversation we just had. “She wasn’t interested. Brooke’s out to save her inn at any cost.”

  “Who cares? Go with it and get the ratings. She’s single. You’re single. I don’t see the problem. I see you hitting on women all the time.”

  “It’s a no-go. She hates me.”

  “Well, make her love you. She’s your money train.”

  “You want me to seduce the innkeeper to make a name for myself? She’s not even my type. I don’t like brunettes.”

  “Make her your type. I’m telling you, you want to succeed, this is your best shot.”

  Andrew drones on with plans, schemes, and any idea that might give me an edge with Brooke. The women I’ve dated in the past want a taste of the high life. They want money, they don’t care about the consequences. Brooke’s not like that. I may not know her well, but the wholesome vibe rolls off her like apple pie and Christmas carols. Manipulating someone who freaks out over broken cheap china feels wrong. I’d have to lie to convince her I was interested. I hate lying.

  But, wasn’t she lying at least a little when she jumped in this morning? It was at least misleading. I thought she wanted to help me, but she was out for herself from the start. Shouldn’t I be allowed the same privilege?