by Piper Rayne
Well played, Millie. Well played.
Scott stands from where he was fixing the floor, a perplexed expression sliding into place. “Beee-cause I didn’t realize how much it would…mean to you?”
“Well, shame on you,” Millie scolds, absolutely scandalized. “Letting prying eyes steal my hard work.”
“I’m…sorry?” His feigned apology sounds sincere enough.
“You ought to be. Why, if it weren’t for Nova, I’d never have known my next ‘bloomer burner’ had been hijacked until it was too late,” she remarks, hurriedly gathering her items. “And to think all this time, I’ve let you talk me out of that wonderful writing nook.”
Scott’s face has “What the hell?” written all over it. Trying to keep my laughter at bay, I clear my throat, attempting not to break character. “I think the best form of an apology would be a fresh pot of tea and one of those Naughty Il-Lemonati biscottis for free, don’t you, Millie?”
“You’re darn tootin’!” she decrees, getting her new writing nook sorted out. “Better make it a double, though. I’m feeling inspired already.” With our marching orders, we prepare Millie’s severance package for emotional distress.
“I don’t know how you just made that happen,” Scott says in a hushed tone as we work, “But I owe you.”
“Worried about prying little eyes?”
He blows out a puff of air. “And the therapy costs.”
“I’m sure Halle hasn’t been scarred that badly,” I conclude with a wink.
“Not for her—for me. I can’t explain womanly changes and adult toys.” We share a quiet laugh, as to not raise suspicion. A warm hand settles over mine before I can reach for the teapot Scott just filled. “How can I ever repay you?” His gray eyes sparkle with gratitude.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
He stares at our connected hands, his brow furrowed slightly. “What about dinner tomorrow night? I could probably get Vera and Harper to tag team babysit and watch things. Or put Griffin and Clay in a boxing ring to entertain them until Hadley moves in and wipes the floor with both of ‘em.”
I chuckle, loving the way his hand feels against mine. “It’s a date.”
12
Scott
One Month Later
As we sit near the judges’ table, anxiously awaiting the results, I take in the major transformations this past month has brought to the shop—and us as well.
Swags of greenery and white lights bring in the outdoors, while metal signs from our local iron maiden at Heavy Metal and wooden creations from Kasen Construction add a bit of whimsy. Christmas-themed artwork from students at The Great Create pepper into the mix, along with white and green wares on display from local artisans. It’s a collection of all the extraordinary talents the amazing people who make up Silverton possess, many of whom are currently packed into the shop, waiting for a verdict with us.
Nova holds my hand, casting assuring glances at me every so often while we watch the judges deliberate. Our shop is the last on the Soiree Taste Tour, meaning they will announce the winner today.
Our entry? A cranberry-pistachio biscotti dipped in white chocolate with a touch of orange liqueur added in for an extra pop of flavor. The kids fell in love with it when we did the final taste test, so Nova insisted we use it, even though her Christmas version of Naughty Il-lemonati didn’t get chosen. She’s such a good sport, always willing to do what will help Team Baker—a team I hope she’ll want to join one day in the future.
Speaking of coaches...
I catch a glimpse of Grey Kasen across the way, standing with his family and a wonderful young lady who runs The Great Create, someone my Harper thinks the world of. When I took Nova out for the first time last month, I finally admitted how much I like her. She thankfully returned my affections and even told me about her “non-date” with Grey. Once I realized he wasn’t even in the running, things have returned to normal between us.
He throws me a wave, which I return. He truly is a good guy, and I hope things work out for them.
A portly man in a Santa suit retrieves the judges' envelope and greets the crowd with some jolly banter. After some ho-ho-hos for the kids, he opens the envelope. “And the winner of this year’s Christmas Spirit Soiree is…”
Epilogue
Nova
One Year Later
“God, Nova.” Grunts and impassioned sighs fill the kitchen as Scott takes me against the kitchen door. With the kids already at Vera Kay’s for a movie night, we stayed back to work on a new recipe for this year’s upcoming Soiree. So much for that…
I cling to him, my long skirt bunched up between us, partially obscuring what’s going on beneath. His buckle jingles with each hard thrust, the snap of his hips driving me higher. “Don’t stop, Scott,” I plead, nearing the finish line.
So close...
He pinches my nipple through my blouse, pushing me over the edge, making my muscles clamp down on him. Ever since I’ve entered my second trimester, they’ve been insanely sensitive, so it doesn’t take much to bring me to bliss. A moment later, a guttural roar erupts from his throat as he finishes inside me, filling me with his love.
That’s right. Our little family of twelve will soon be a well-rounded thirteen—perfect, no matter which way you count it.
As we come down from our high, I stroke his hair, the glint of my wedding band dancing in the rays of the recessed lighting. Finding out we brought back a little souvenir from our honeymoon was a major surprise, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.
The squeak of hinges pulls us from our stupor, and a white-haired blur runs past the kitchen door, not sparing us a glance. “Don’t mind me.”
Scott pales as do I. Harper was supposed to double-check the bathrooms before she left. With her head in the clouds as they so often are these days, it looks as though she missed one.
Millie grabs her things and bolts out of the coffeehouse, muttering, “Better than anything I’ve ever written before…” As she escapes, she nearly knocks over the small display we had made for last year’s Soiree win. We came in a close second, but the first-place trophy will be ours this year.
Stunned, we both stare at each other, unsure of what to say. I’m unsure who bursts out laughing first, though soon, we’re both consumed with loud laughter and giggles.
As we try to catch our breath, Scott lowers me to the ground. “How much do you want to bet that ends up in her next book?”
“Oh, I’d say that’s get written tonight.”
We clean up quickly in the now unoccupied bathrooms and find our way back to the kitchen, the sign for tomorrow already prepared. “Wonder if this will be our next bestseller?” I ponder, loving how it also serves as our announcement to the community that we’re expecting.
Baker’s Dozen Brew
Served with a Baker’s Dozen biscotti
Tastes like: teamwork, second chances,
a bun in the oven, and happily ever after
“Hopefully,” he answers, wrapping his arms around me. “But I already know it’s my favorite.”
Also by Kali Brixton
The Vows series
* * *
To Have (Book 1)
* * *
To Hold (Vows #2)*
From This Day Forward (Vows #3)*
'Til Death Do Us Part (Vows #4)*
* Coming in 2021
Standalones
Summer Sizzle
* * *
RISE
About Kali Brixton
Kali Brixton is the alter ego of a mild-mannered English teacher who adores the written word and a good ol'-fashioned love story (or song). Cinderella will forever be her bread, butter, and jelly, and glitter runs in her veins.
* * *
She believes in the healing power of hugs, humor, and HEAs. All things sparkly, cheesy, and Wizard of Oz-zy are guaranteed attention-grabbers.
* * *
Although rooted deep within the Appalachian Mountains, she has a
heart full of wanderlust. Kali dreams of one day becoming a full-time author and traveling to faraway lands. Until then, she will continue to teach high school students the indisputable importance of Poe and puns.
* * *
Kali resides with her own Prince Charming/partner-in-crime/husband of more than a decade and the dreams that are too big to stay within her wild imagination.
Deck…the Balls
DL Gallie
Synopsis - Deck…the Balls
INGREDIENTS
One sassy woman—Reese Turner
One stubborn man—Jesse Thornton
A Christmas baking competition
* * *
METHOD
1.Throw woman and man together
2.Combine with teasing and taunting
3.Simmer with sexual chemistry
4.Add alcohol to loosen the lips
5.Mix and see what happens
* * *
It’s going to be a nutty Christmas
copyright @ 2020 by DL Gallie
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews.
For information, please contact the author.
This a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
1
Reese
“And the winner is… Jesse Thornton,” Mrs. Stefanie Arnold, the fair baking superintendent announces.
My mouth drops open, I was beaten by him, really? I’m not upset I lost, I’m pissed off I lost to him. He’s such a jackass. First he takes the job that was meant to be mine and now, he takes first place at the county fair. My brownies are so much better than his snicker-fucking-doodles; it’s not hard to bake a shitty cookie and roll it in cinnamon sugar.
“Ohhh shit, Reese is gonna be pissed.” Rusty Richards—my best friend Drew’s husband says—and yes, his name really is Russell “Rusty” Richards.
“They were delish,” Drew agrees, snuggling into his side like they always do. I’d vomit at their affection for one another but Drew and Rusty are perfect for each other in every way possible.
My gaze snaps to hers and I give her the evil eye, she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “What? They were,” she protests, my eyes widen further at her honesty. “Not your brownies good but still—”
“—good. I get it,” I snap at her.
Some best friend she is, I think to myself as I watch everyone congregate around him, congratulating him on his win. The jackass probably cheated. Got his mom to bake them for him. But I know that’s not true, Mrs. Thornton is the best baker in three counties, her pecan pie is THE best pie ever and she’s sweet as pie. She wouldn’t help her son cheat. It seems he inherited her baking talents, pity he didn’t inherit her niceness.
Sitting back in my chair, I cross my arms and huff. My dislike for Jesse Thornton started back in school. He was your typical jock. Hot, popular, and everyone bowed down to him. He teased those beneath him, me included. All through senior year he referred to me as Short Stack—I hated that nickname—it even followed me to college. At least he didn’t, thankfully, but now he’s back and taunting me in different ways. Jackass.
My eyes are locked on him and I start to fume even more, not only is he an asshole but he’s a sexy as sin asshole. He’s always been hot but since returning, it seems he got sexier. Broad shoulders. Muscly arms. The most kissable lips I have ever seen. His face is covered in a light fuzz that he keeps groomed and occasionally lets grow into a sexy as hell beard. Chocolate brown hair I want to run my fingers through and the bluest of blue eyes you can lose yourself in. They remind me of the Caribbean Sea, and then there’s his voice. It’s deep and rough but at the same time it's soft and sweet, it vibrates through your body. Each cell and nerve ending coming alive at the sound. It's a shame his beautiful looks and killer baking skills are the total opposite of his shitty ‘I’m an asshole’ personality.
He catches me looking at him but I quickly glance away and picking up my drink—a Dark ‘N’ Stormy—I look around the fair and smile. These fairs are the best part of living here and the people are great too, well most of them. But my most favorite part, is the homemade ginger beer. The homemadeness—that’s totally a word—makes the rum seem ever rummier, therefore making my Dark ‘N’ Stormy that much more yummy. The only thing that would make it the ducks nuts would be if they used Bundy Rum. I love that shit. Ever since I went to Australia a few years back, it has become my go-to rum. Every time I travel, I buy a bottle or two when I come through duty-free.
“Better luck with the Christmas bake-off,” Jesse says as he saunters on by, not even stopping to chat or give me a chance to reply. “Jackass,” I growl under my breath and watch his jean-clad ass as he walks away, my anger rising at his flippant remark and his lack of respect. He will NOT win the Christmas bake-off, that prize is mine. I’m going to make what I’m best known for around here at Christmas, rum balls. I have made and won the Christmas bake-off with my rum balls for the last three years. And this year will be no different. I’ll make the most kick-ass balls I have ever made and blow the judges’ minds. I will deck my balls like never before. The presentation alone will cause me to win and kick his sexy ass. Jesse is going down, I will not lose to that man again.
Game on, Jesse Thornton, game on.
2
Jesse
When they called my name as the winner, I was shocked. I was sure Reese and her brownies would win, ‘cause those things are the ducks nuts when it comes to brownies. They are chewy, chocolatey, and ohh-so good.
Looking over I see she’s got her arms crossed, pushing up her tits. From the scowl on her face, and the quickly diverted eye contact, I get the feeling she’s super pissed and no doubt my win is the cause of that. Ever since I returned, she’s been cold and frosty toward me. Not like the carefree girl from school who I used to tease. I can only imagine this will add to her hate and animosity, can’t wait for school next week—not!
Before I left our relationship was civil, sure I teased her, but it was all in jest. Ever since my return three months ago, when I accepted the principal position, she’s been icy and bitchy. Clearly, Drew has rubbed off on her. She was always the outspoken and crazy one, the fact they are best friends always confused me ‘cause they’re so different.
Passing her on my way to the bar, I offer my condolences on her loss. “Better luck with the Christmas bake-off, Short Stack.” I don’t stop because the look she gives me indicates she’s in no mood to chat, and I’m pretty sure she just growled at me too. The sound heading straight to my dick and I wonder what she sounds like when she comes. I head over to the beer tent and order a beer. While I wait, I lean back against the wooden bar and watch those on the makeshift dance floor. My eyes gravitate toward Reese, currently dancing with Drew. The two of them are laughing and cackling, just like always. She looks happy and carefree, I wish she’d be like that around me. Her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. She’s absolutely gorgeous right now. Even though she’s blonde-haired and blue-eyed, she’s no bimbo. She’s one of the smartest people I know. She also happens to be the sexiest woman I have ever laid eyes upon. She was hot in high school but now that she’s pushing thirty, she’s a fucking knockout.
Turning back to the bar, I pick up my beer and take a sip when someone gropes me on the ass, giving it a squeeze and a pinch. Looking over my shoulder, I’m shocked when I see the pinch came from Reese.
Her eyes lock with mine and when it registers she just squeezed my ass, she groans, “Fuck,” and her face drops.
“Come again?” I say, as I turn around. Standing up to my full height, I stare down at the pixie before me.
“I�
��m going to kill her,” Reese mumbles to herself.
“Kill who?” I question.
“My ex-best friend.”
“Why?” I ask, confused as to why she wants to kill Drew when she just groped my ass.
“She dared me.”
“Dared you to what?”
“Pinch the sexy ass of the guy leaning against the bar.”
“You think my ass is sexy, Short Stack?” I tease.
“Of course that’s the part that you’d pick up on AND stop with the Short Stack.”
“It takes a sexy ass to know a sexy ass.”
“What does that even mean?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I take a sip of my beer and stare down at her. “Did you get shorter?”
“Fuck you, jackass. I don’t tease you for being a giant.”
“I’m not a giant, Seven Feet Pete is a giant. I’m six foot two, which is a normal height if you look around.”
“Whatever,” she huffs. “It’s not nice to tease people about their height, or lack there of, in my case.”
“It’s not teasing, even Pete refers to himself as Seven Feet Pete.”
“Not the point,” she snarls. She picks up my beer and takes a drink, and I watch her lips wrap around the rim of the bottle. She stares at me as she chugs back my beer. Slamming the empty on the bar top, she licks her lips. My eyes follow her tongue as it sweeps across her plump bottom lip. I want to trace her lips with my tongue.