“Next you’re going to flood the cookie with the thinner royal icing.” I demonstrate the technique, and thankfully for once Brooke doesn’t need extra help. She does, however, go out of her way to show it off to her new friend.
“Almost as perfect as you.” Adley winks.
Brooke blushes.
I fight the urge to hurl.
“What kind of name is Adley? Isn’t it a girl’s name?” I blurt the question out and wait for him to sputter through his embarrassment.
Once more I’m disappointed.
“Well, Evan, I’m not one to get hung up on gender or what should and should not belong to someone. There was a time when Courtney was only masculine, but now it’s considered a feminine name. It’s all social construct. I try not to allow myself to succumb to those whims of fancy.”
He’s lucky I don’t shove my whim of fancy down his throat, but Brooke swoons at his words.
“That’s really beautiful, Adley. It’s great to meet someone this secure in his manhood that he doesn’t have to play games.”
Secure in his manhood? With a beard like that, I’d be secure in my moonhood too. Let’s shave it off and see if he’s brave enough to face the world without a mask.
“I’m sure Evan understands what I’m saying.” Adley smiles at me despite my glower. “Women have dominated the culinary industry for ages.”
I scoff. “Not really. With the exception of a few big names, professional chefs tended to be men until recent years.”
Adley floods another perfect cookie and sets it aside. “I’m sure that’s true professionally, but when a little boy says he wants to be a baker, most people tell him it’s a hobby for girls, or wasn’t that your experience?”
My skin twitches with anxiety. “I didn’t want to bake when I was young, so I wouldn’t know.”
“When did you start?” Brooke asks the question with such innocence, I feel like I have to answer her.
“Thirteen.”
“Yeah? What sparked your interest?” Adley floods one more cookie and sets it on the rack, waiting with eager eyes for my reply.
“Eating.” It’s the truth, probably the truest thing I’ve said in the last two weeks. Needing to steer away from spilling any other secrets, I pick up one of the prepared cookies that had time to dry. “Now you’re going to decorate. The royal icing sets hard, so you can pipe more icing on top of it and create some intricate cookies.”
“I like what you’re doing there, Brooke.” Adley watches Brooke pipe a scarf around her snowman’s neck. Meanwhile, I watch his fingers trail over her arm. I don’t even like hearing the word caress, but I hate seeing him do it to her even more.
Needing a distraction, I pipe a sweater onto my snowman, fill in his top hat, and try to ignore Adley reaching across the table to brush Brooke’s hair from her eyes.
“You gonna do anything, Adley? Your snowman is looking a little naked.” He hasn’t added anything to his perfectly white snowman cookies. Hard to, I guess, when he’s basically climbing over the table to get to Brooke.
“I really like the simplicity of the plain white. Reminds me of the newly fallen snow.” He gives Brooke’s hand a squeeze. “Isn’t there something magical about the first snow of the winter?”
“Nothing magical about stuffing newspapers in your clothes for a little extra warmth.” I’m careful to mumble my reply so I don’t catch the microphone, but Brooke’s head whips around to face me. I swallow my nerves, hoping she didn’t actually hear me. “With royal icing, you can add detail to almost anything. As long as the surface is dry, you can keep adding layers.”
“You can add it to almost anything?” Brooke’s left eyebrow twitches as if she’s challenging me.
I don’t understand the joke. “As long as it’s dry.” Taking a risk, I slide a little closer to her. “For instance, I could pipe a little mustache on your snowman here.”
“Cute.” Her mouth twists to one side. “But what if I think you need a mustache?” With one quick motion, she pipes a strip of icing over my lip.
“Oh Brooke, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Adley tries to draw the attention back to the matter at hand, but it’s too late.
She’s started a war.
Chapter 12
Brooke
I don’t know why I did it. Evan gets so deeply entrenched in his foul moods, sometimes I think a little levity might do him some good. The mixture of disbelief, excitement, and frustration in his eyes is proving me right.
“Actually, I think it’s very necessary.” Evan pipes a swash to my cheek and grins. “You like to smiles so much, Miss Brooke, now you have two.”
I turn my head and give him the other cheek. “Why not make it three?”
“And you’ll even out my mustache?”
“Of course.”
“I’m pretty sure we should be working on the cookies right now.” Adley tries to bring us back, but I’m pointing my icing bag at Evan, and he’s got his pointed at me like we’re stuck in a Mexican standoff of powdered sugar and food coloring.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Evan eases a little closer.
“I think I already did,” I say, shifting my grip and testing the readiness of the frosting.
“Okay, Jake, go ahead and cut the feed here—”
I squeeze the bag with all my strength. Purple icing streams from the metal tip like a water gun built by Santa’s elves. Evan launches his full attack. Icing catches the right side of my face. I try to grab it off, but the glob smears across my skin. I return the favor, smashing the lump of icing over Evan’s nose.
“Okay, I think we should stop.” Adley’s words barely register. Evan pipes a mound of frosting into his hand as I try to give him a full beard of sage green. His frosting ball splats over my left eye. I squeal in protest, but fling whatever I can back at him.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it now.” Out of my one clear eye, I watch Evan squeeze the pastry bag from the open side until his hand is covered with red icing.
“Oh shoot!” I try to fling myself out of the bench, but the glob of red catches me square under my chin. I can’t catch my breath from the deep laughter rolling through me. The world becomes a blur of icing flying back and forth between us. Evan’s laughter eggs me on, like we’re kids again and decorum, and rules, and adulthood, is something of the past. I finally free myself from the table and run toward the hall. Hot on my heels, Evan pursues, carrying the bowl of frosting.
I stop midway, hands above my head. “Wait! I’m not armed!”
“That didn’t stop you from pelting me with snow. I didn’t fire the first shot, Miss Brooke. You started this.” Evan dips his hand into the bowl of fluffy white frosting, removing what looks like a snowball’s worth of royal icing. “Any last words?”
The drama of it all makes my heart race, but no part of me is scared. The wicked parts of me are dying to have him throw that snowball of sugar. I can’t wait to see what happens after that.
“I regret nothing.”
Evan draws his arm back, ready to let it fly.
Adley comes toward us, hands up as if to calm our shenanigans. “Brooke? Evan? Could you come back to the table? I think we could start again, maybe without the food fight.”
The ball of frosting soars through the air, but it doesn’t hit me. No, it splatters right into the side of Adley’s face, coating his beard in a white sticky web of confectionery. My hands go over my mouth, but I can’t hold the laughter in. Adley stands perfectly frozen, completely still.
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry.” Evan tries to apologize through his laughter as Adley scrapes the assault from his face. It drips from his fingers and lands on the floor with a plopping sound. “I was aiming for Brooke, and you came over at the wrong moment. I really didn’t mean to hit you.”
Adley continues to claw at the mess on his face, but every swipe digs it deeper into his facial hair. I step forward, look into the camera’s lens, and smile. “Just like Evan said, if the layers are dry, you can ad
d royal icing to almost everything. Even your beard.”
Sensing the end of the segment, the cameraman cuts the feed. Evan draws in a deep breath and takes another shot at apologizing.
“Seriously, man, go upstairs. You can use my shower. It should come right out.” He catches my eye and smirks. “Though I have to say this is my first royal icing battle, so I don’t have a lot of experience—”
“Enough!” Adley’s cool cover blows. The camera is off, and he no longer has to maintain his composure. “You’re every bit as bad as they say you are. You’re immature. You’re spoiled. You’re like a child, Evan!”
The levity in the air flees. I step forward to place myself between them. “Adley, we were goofing off. I’m sorry. I started it.”
“I could never blame you, Brooke. He’s obviously a bad influence. I pity you for having to put up with him. No matter of fame and fortune is worth dealing with him as long as you’ve had to.”
“He’s not, I mean, Evan’s fine, Adley. I don’t need pity. I may need a housekeeper,” I motion to the frosting dripping down a couple of the walls, “but I’m hardly being tortured.”
Adley casts a searing glare at Evan before he steps forward and takes my sticky hands in his. “It’s truly upsetting to see what you’ve been put through in order to keep a treasure like this inn alive. If you ever want to know how a real man would treat you, I’m only a phone call away.”
Real man?
Phone call away?
“What on earth are you saying, Adley?” I try to peel my hands from his grasp but the icing has started to set. I fear we’re bonded for life. Not high on my wish list at the moment.
“This is what I’m talking about.” Adley takes a step forward, pulling me close. He turns to the left for a split second, as if to make sure of something, then smashes his lips against mine.
It’s like kissing a loofah sponge, not that I’ve tried, but I’ve washed my face with one and found the experience overwhelming enough that I never tried again. Between the icing and the facial hair grating against not only my mouth, but my cheeks as well, I feel like I’m being attacked by some kind of wooly beast.
Adley pulls back, facial expression soft, as if we’re in some romantic film about star-crossed lovers. Meanwhile, I can’t hide my disgust.
“I’ll wait for you, Brooke. I’ll wait a hundred years if that’s what it takes.”
I want to call him on his overly dramatic expression. We met maybe twenty minutes ago. Get a grip, buddy. Royal icing falls to the ground as I tear my hands free of his grasp. I’d wipe his spit from my mouth, but I don’t think I have one square inch of me that isn’t covered in sugar.
Adley looks over his shoulder to the camera guy. “Did you get the shot?”
He nods, confirming whatever Adley was looking for. Was he recording the whole time?
“Okay! That’s a wrap! Clear down, guys.” Adley turns away from me like the last twenty minutes didn’t happen. Was that all for show? What did he have to gain from that kind of display?
I spin, looking for Winnie, or at least Evan, but they’re gone. The crew starts clearing out. I’m left with a table full of half-decorated sugar cookies and a mess bigger than the frosting splattered around the room.
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
Immature? Irresponsible? Who does he think he is? So what if he hosts some video channel online? No one knows his name. No one cares who he is.
I peel my clothes from my body and turn on the shower. Adley had to go and ruin some perfectly healthy fun, because it didn’t fit his mold for what he wanted. Return to basics? What’s more wholesome than a food fight?
Besides, Brooke looked good with all that red icing covering her jaw. It set off her dark eyes. Well, at least the one I hadn’t covered in green. I laugh at the memory. She’s something else. Not your average woman, that’s for sure.
But Adley had to ruin everything. I step into the water and watch the holiday colors swirl near the drain. I wish I could wash the image of them kissing down the drain. But it’s printed on my mind, playing and replaying on a continuous loop. I walked out before I had a chance to see her reaction. She’d been gunning for him all day, not like I wanted to see her kiss him back.
I catch sight of my bandage through the falling water. Sure, she kissed me last night, but not really, and not much could have happened since Martha showed up early. I groan and turn to let the spray hit me square in the face.
It’s all part of farmhouse fever. It has to be. It’s got me strung out over this girl, and nothing else seems to matter anymore. If I could get out for a while, try to clear my head, maybe I could think straight again.
My phone rings in the next room. I debate ignoring it, but the ringtone belongs to Andrew. The Christmas war paint is gone anyway. I cut the water, step out, wrap a towel around my waist, and snag my phone off the bed.
“What now?”
“Nice to hear from you too. You’ve had a busy day, haven’t you?”
I swipe at the errant water dripping into my eyes. “Just say whatever you want to say. I’m out of patience today.”
“I forget you don’t have Wi-Fi access there. You’re trending from a few different directions, brother. Between the caroler chase off and this love triangle, you’re really working that bad boy angle, aren’t you?’
I groan. “The caroler incident was a mistake. I thought it was the press again. And I don’t know what you’re talking about with the love triangle.”
Computer keys clack through the phone. He’s likely looking for the exact article.
“And I quote, ‘trouble on the inn front? Popular lifestyle vlogger, Adley Barnes, was seen making a move on Brooke Cratchett, the love interest to Evan Skruggs, food empire king.’ That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Love interest? Who writes this stuff? And how does anyone know about it? It only happened an hour ago.”
“Live feed, remember? You’re streaming to the internet except when I tell Winnie to cut the feed. You’ve got gossip columnists watching those cameras like hawks. That stunt in the middle of the night? Little nurse Cratchett comes to your rescue, that was brilliant, Evan. People ate it up. It was all anyone was talking about until this afternoon. This guy Adley wants your spotlight. He’s playing the game like a pro.”
“Yeah well, he can have her. Consider me out of the running.”
“Not a chance. We’re gonna lose this deal if you can’t deliver.”
I’m not in the mood. If someone asked me today to sign everything over, I think I would. There’s a reason I wasn’t in the spotlight before. I’m not sure it’s worth it.
“Maybe I don’t want the deal.”
I end the call before he has a chance to guilt me into things again. Seduce Brooke, just to destroy her? I’m not going through with it. Not that she wants me anyway. After our day together, it’s pretty obvious I’m not what she’s looking for.
Chapter 13
Evan
Going in search of anything to cure my farmhouse fever, I head downstairs. The dining room is clean again. I should have helped her. I couldn’t face her though, not if she was going to be all dreamy-eyed over her new love interest.
My stomach growls. It’s seven-thirty, probably time to figure out some kind of dinner. I’ve had something brought in every other night, but the kitchen calls me, and I hope to find something to eat in the house.
It takes ten minutes, but I leave the kitchen with an overstuffed hoagie in hand, loaded with two types of cheese, three deli meats and a host of vegetables for texture. I take a bite and make my way to the solarium. It’s quiet, void of people, but not entertaining. I take a door at the back and wander down a set of stairs. Near the bottom, I fumble for a switch in the dark. My fingers find it, flip it, and I’m rewarded with the glow of neon lights.
“Well, hello,” I say to no one in particular. The walls are something out of the seventies, wood paneling, no windows, and neon beer signs instead of typic
al lighting. A bar rests against the back wall, but dead center and sexy as anything I’ve ever seen, sits a pool table, ready for play.
I take another healthy bite of what’s left of my sandwich. This is what I need. I used to play pool years ago, made enough money to get by for a short bit of time, at least until Santi figured out what I was up to and put a stop to it. Hustling pool isn’t the best future for a sixteen-year-old, I guess. I pull the cue from the wall, twirl it once between my fingers and then line up my shot. The crack of the white cue ball is balm to my soul. I needed this. I forget to take time outside the kitchen. I obsess, I know that about myself.
About food.
About my career.
And now about Brooke.
I just need a little time away to clear my head, that’s all.
✽ ✽ ✽
Brooke
“Come on, Brookie! You know you need a night out.”
Winnie has a way of convincing me to do everything I never planned on doing. Hence, my current predicament with my long-term house guest. Tonight she’s determined to drag me out to some concert in a bar two counties over. Driving in the snow after sunset has never been my cup of tea.
“I don’t think so, Winnie.” I walk the length of my room to stare out the windows into the night. “I don’t have it in me.”
“I saw you flirting with that vlogger guy today. I think you have it in you, and you want to let it out.”
“Flirting? He was asking me about the way the roof was constructed on the inn. I don’t think it was romantic in the slightest.”
“When are you going to figure out that it’s not about what they’re saying, but how they’re saying it?” Her sigh fuzzes up the receiver. “Sometimes you’re so helpless.”
“I am not. I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much.”
“Prove it. Come out tonight, see the band, sneak back in around daybreak, and live life on the edge.”
Christmas With Granny McPherson Page 10