Tasting Her Christmas Cookies: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

by Alina Jacobs

  “Milo had puppies?”

  “Dude, no, that is not how that works. And you call yourself the smart one!”

  I stood up and put Jack in a headlock. He shoved me off, laughing.

  “Milo knocked up a dog at the groomer’s,” Chloe explained.

  “I thought he was fixed?”

  “So did I,” Jack said grimly.

  “So how is this your problem?”

  “He knocked up an award-winning Dalmatian,” Chloe explained. “Ginny, from the Scottie Dog Groomers and Pet Boutique, said the Dalmatian's owner sued.”

  “Thankfully, only one of the puppies is Milo's,” Jack said. “We had a pupternity test done and everything. The rest of them are all Dalmatians.”

  “Ginny's insurance settled with the Dalmatian's owner on the condition that Ginny keep the puppy.”

  “But she said it's Milo's problem, ergo, it is now my problem,” Jack said.

  “Mazel tov!” I said, raising my glass.

  Jack poured me another while he and Chloe exchanged a look.

  “Do you want to see the puppy?” Chloe asked.

  “Sure, I guess,” I said, trying to figure out what was going on.

  She disappeared for a minute.

  “So how's the bake-off?” Jack asked, grinning. “Find a cute girl?”

  “No. You know I'm done with dating.”

  “You can't let Sloane turn you off of love!” Jack exclaimed.

  “Who are you, and what did you do with my cold-as-ice brother?” I remarked, feeling his forehead.

  “You're soft on the inside,” Jack cajoled. “You still talk to Mom and Dad.”

  “I shouldn't,” I sighed. “But I keep thinking they'll have a revelation and apologize.”

  Jack snorted. “The Svensson brothers think you're lonely.”

  “I'm not.”

  “Also, they want me to make sure you don't go after Meg.”

  “What? Hunter's Meg? Why would I?”

  “You made the comment at Thanksgiving that you would pursue her. It's been a serious point of contention. Liam showed me the group chats,” Jack said seriously.

  “It was a joke, and also Hunter would probably light my tower on fire. I'm not an idiot,” I retorted.

  “We know, but they're all concerned. You know how tightly wound Hunter is,” Chloe said, coming out with a bundle of floof in her arms. “Isn't he cute!” Milo wagged his tail as Chloe placed the puppy gently in my arms.

  “He definitely doesn't look like he came out of a Dalmatian,” I said, inspecting the puppy. He was the spitting image of Jack's husky.

  “Do you love him?” Chloe gushed.

  “A dog can add a lot of value to a person's life,” Jack added. I looked between him and Chloe.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Take the dog, Owen.”

  “I don't have time.”

  “I don't have time,” my brother insisted.

  “He pees everywhere,” Chloe explained, “and I just had the penthouse redecorated. He's ruined several very expensive shoes and a nice couch I had imported.”

  The puppy stuck his tongue out and licked my face.

  He was cute.

  “He likes you,” Jack said. “Just take him for a little while.”

  “Also, he's a good chick magnet,” Chloe added with a giggle. “Put a little Santa hat on him, and women will flock to you!”

  Chloe proved more right than she probably knew. I had taken the train, as it was rush hour. The puppy was in my jacket, looking around intelligently at his surroundings.

  “Are you going to help me steal my Thanksgiving leftovers?” I whispered to him as I rounded the corner to my tower…

  … and immediately crashed into Holly. The puppy yelped as she screamed. I grabbed Holly around the waist before she could tip over. She was wearing ridiculous high heels.

  “You should pay attention to where you're going!” I growled. “Dangerous men look for girls like you who are wandering around totally oblivious.”

  “You mean dangerous like you?”

  11

  Holly

  “I'm not dangerous,” Owen countered.

  “It’s good that we cleared that up!” Something furry stuck its head out of his overcoat.

  “You have a puppy!” I squealed. Owen winced. I ignored him. “Hi! You're so cute! What's your name?” I said to the puppy.

  “He doesn't have a name,” Owen said, peering down at me.

  “You have to name him Rudolph!”

  The puppy barked. “He's not staying,” Owen said.

  “Of course someone who hates Christmas also hates puppies.”

  “I don't hate puppies,” Owen said tersely.

  “Great! Because you're perfect for each other!” I swooned, taking out my phone. The puppy mugged for the camera.

  “You have no shame,” Owen scolded the dog.

  “He’s too innocent!” I cooed at the dog. The cuteness was overwhelming. “Wait, hold him up! Shots of attractive men and cute dogs are gold! Once Penny sees you have a puppy, she's going to go nuts! You'll be plastered all over the Vanity Rag website.”

  I took the puppy out of Owen's arms, tipping him over in the crook of my own arm and snapping pictures.

  “Who is the absolute cutest thing in the world?”

  The dog was either exceptionally friendly and photogenic, or more likely, he smelled the turkey on my breath.

  Owen was studying me intently.

  “He's cute, isn't he?” I said, kissing the puppy on his little black nose. “You should keep him.”

  Owen didn't say a word. Instead, he stepped up to me, cupping my face slightly. Was he about to kiss me? Not that I was complaining. I would totally make out with him then yell at him about Christmas, of course, but I can compartmentalize.

  Owen leaned in close to me. His breath felt cool against my mouth. He closed his eyes and—sniffed?

  “You smell like—” he sniffed again.

  “I smell?”

  His eye twitched slightly. “You smell like Thanksgiving leftovers!” he snarled. He turned my face and swiped a thumb over my cheek. “Is that gravy?”

  I made a face. “There were the most delicious leftovers in the fridge. Morticia said I could have them.”

  “They weren't hers,” Owen said flatly, releasing me. “They were mine.”

  “I'm sorry!” I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “They were really good. Best turkey I've ever eaten. Really life changing.”

  His lip curled back, and he snatched the puppy from me. “People who eat another person's leftovers don't then get to pimp out said person's dogs for Instagram likes.”

  “I'll make it up to you. I ate something of yours, so you can eat something of mine!” I struck a little pose.

  “How is eating you out a fair trade? Shouldn't you be offering a blow job in exchange for eating leftovers?” Owen asked, confused. Then he looked horrified.

  “I meant, I would make you something to eat,” I clarified, feeling slightly flushed at the thought of him tasting my Christmas cookies. “I'll make you a roast beef or something or, hell, another turkey. But sure, I mean, I can totally also give you a blow job.” I smiled at him. So twist my arm. I wanted to open that Christmas package early.

  “I'm sorry. My apologies,” Owen said abruptly, turning and leaving only snowflakes in the space where he had been.

  12

  Owen

  I tossed and turned all night. I couldn’t sleep. I alternated between apocalyptic scenarios in which Holly went on a nuclear public relations campaign against my company and then fantasizing about what it would be like to actually taste her Christmas cookies, so to speak.

  The dog didn’t help, either. Someone had decided he wanted to be named Rudolph. I tried calling him Monster or Gremlin, but the puppy ignored me. When I called Rudolph, though, he came running. With his tiny bladder, I had to race him all the way downstairs every few hours.

  At this rate, I should pitch a te
nt in the lobby.

  I felt less than sharp the next morning, which was bad, because I had a meeting with Svensson Investment. Greg Svensson was mean on a good day. The holiday season made him unbearable.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I asked the dog. It was clear I couldn't leave him in the condo. Picking him up, I took Rudolph (dear God, why did that have to be his name?) down to the main lobby with me. Several of the bored-looking software engineers perked up as soon as they saw the dog.

  “Whoa!” one guy said. “Best CEO ever! You brought a puppy to work!”

  “He's not staying.”

  “You're not keeping the dog?” another programmer asked in horror.

  One of our marketing interns whipped out her phone to take videos of the puppy wriggling in my arms, tail wagging. I recalled how terrible my CEO relatability scores had been in the last TechBiz report. Pictures of me with a puppy would probably go a long way to helping Quantum Cyber beat the Holbrooks.

  Guess he's staying.

  “I'm keeping him,” I assured them. “I just need someone to puppy sit. He's not housetrained yet.”

  “My brother has a dog-sitting start-up,” the programmer offered. “I can email you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I had been planning on paying the receptionist to take care of the dog. I couldn't just leave Rudolph with her now, though. That would look like puppy abandonment. I would ruin all the goodwill I had just built up.

  Penny and Holly and the other contestants streamed off the elevator. I peered at her. She liked dogs. And Holly had eaten my leftovers, so she owed me a favor. But then I had asked her to suck my dick, which was, in hindsight, not what I should have done. I weighed my options. Talk to Holly? Pretend I didn't see her and take the dog with me to Svensson Investment to face Greg's wrath?

  Holly waved to me, so I headed in her direction.

  “Good morning, Rudolph!” she said.

  “I'm sorry for last night,” I said gruffly.

  “Last night was amazing!” she said, squeezing my arm. Amber looked as if she was having some sort of fit. “No need to apologize!” She winked at me.

  I pressed my lips together. “I hate to ask you to do this, but I have a puppy emergency.”

  “A cuteness emergency?” she asked, scratching Rudolph behind one floppy ear.

  “I need someone to pet sit. I know it's—”

  “I accept!” Holly squealed, snuggling Rudolph, since apparently this was my life now and I had a puppy named Rudolph.

  “He needs food, a collar, a leash, and a bed probably. Here.” I pulled out my wallet and handed her my credit card. “Buy him whatever he needs.”

  “I think Rudolph might need a new pair of Louboutins and a Coach bag!” she said, hugging the puppy.

  “Honestly, if you keep him out of trouble, I'll overlook any shoes or jewelry he might require.”

  The Svensson Investment tower loomed in front of me. I squared my shoulders.

  “How's our favorite puppy-owning CEO?” Walker said in greeting, clapping me on the shoulder. “Where's your new furchild?”

  “Did Jack tell you?” I frowned.

  “Dude, it is all over Twitter. It's trending!” he said gleefully, sticking his phone in my face. The comments under the picture ranged from wholesome to… less than wholesome.

  “I think you've acquired like seven new stalkers,” Walker said, swiping through his phone as we went into the building to the elevators.

  “I cannot afford to deal with that right now. Sloane is bad enough,” I complained as we rode up to the upper-level conference rooms with the million-dollar skyline view.

  “Look on the bright side,” my COO said as we stepped off the elevator, “this is good publicity. Maybe it will help us edge out the Holbrooks. I know Kate definitely pimps photos of Grant and his chunky corgi on the Holbrook Enterprises Instagram account. This is going to be awesome!”

  When we sat down in the conference room, however, Hunter and Greg, Walker's brothers, did not share his enthusiasm.

  “I cannot believe you got a puppy while your company is in shambles,” Greg said, glaring at me.

  So it was going to be that kind of meeting.

  13

  Holly

  “All right, listen up!” Penny said, clapping her hands. Rudolph barked.

  “He's the most adorable dog!” Fiona whispered to me. “His feet smell like pupperoni!”

  “I should take him,” Amber whined. “Owen and I are practically dating. You promised you weren't going to get between us.”

  “I'm not handing over Owen's dog to you!” I exclaimed.

  “Girls!” Penny ordered. “Part of being in the bake-off is participating in creating digital content for Vanity Rag. Now, we want all the viewers to learn a bit more about the contestants. The first episode is airing in a few days. We need a lot of content online. It is in your best interest to participate. Be charming! Feel free to talk about your endeavors. Also, if you have any ideas for content, I want to hear them.”

  Penny motioned around the lobby. “Today, we're decorating for Christmas. Owen Frost and Walker Svensson have generously allocated money to add some festive cheer to the lobby. We are going to take some footage of you all talking about your ideas.”

  “We should have a romantic Christmas theme,” Amber said, waving her arm. Dana Holbrook was surveying us, arms crossed, looking very chic in her pencil skirt and silk shirt. She directed one of the cameramen to follow Amber. Of course. Crazy people sell.

  Amber took a deep breath, stepped in front of the camera, and then she was off.

  “What these girls don't understand is that men like women who can bake and decorate and look sexy while they do it.” Amber hiked up her boobs. Morticia and I looked on in horror.

  “I'm here to win the competition and to win Owen Frost. I know all these girls here, and some of them are trying to steal my man!” Amber said, turning to screech at us. “But you won't get away with it! He and I are meant to be together. Everything I do, I do for him!”

  “What a train wreck,” Morticia said, shaking her head.

  “You're telling me. I had to live with her for years. Thanks, Mom, for giving me a crazy stepsister for Christmas.”

  “And thanks, Dana and Gunnar, for subjecting all of us to her,” Morticia added.

  “How are we supposed to decorate by committee?” I asked Morticia as we walked around.

  “It's just for show. Penny wants me to clean up whatever you guys buy,” Morticia said. “Because apparently that’s what I do—clean up whenever the Polar Express jumps the tracks.”

  “The ceilings are so high in here,” I said, looking up. “Let's hang lights and garlands from the ceiling, so it looks like a winter fairy forest. Also, we need a giant Christmas tree, plus a few smaller ones. And as much as I despise Amber, I do sort of like the idea of a romantic Christmas theme. The lobby has little niches, so we should make them semiprivate spaces. Obviously we don't want people boinking in the lobby, but they could be nice little moments.”

  “Color palette should be silver, white, gold, and green. We don't want a lot of red. If it happens, it needs to be desaturated and matte, not a shiny, glittery red,” Morticia added, sketching on her small drawing pad.

  I nodded, looking over her shoulder. “I'm feeling like I want a very retro, very mod Christmas. Also, I have a miniskirt and fake eyelashes I want to bust out,” I said, snapping pictures.

  “Quantum Cyber could have their holiday party down here,” Morticia said as she sketched out a scene. “Penny wants one of the bake-off challenges to be the holiday party. If we decorate this place nicely enough and don’t have giant pictures of Owen everywhere—” She glared back at Amber, who was still going strong. “It should look nice.”

  “Let's go shopping.”

  The snow flurries from the night before had stopped.

  “I'm dreaming of a white Christmas!” I sang. I handed Rudolph to Morticia, who took him as if I had han
ded her a live bomb, so I could take selfies in the streetscape. Wreaths and huge red bows hung from the streetlights. The street's trees were draped in fairy lights and glowed softly against the grey winter sky.

  “You need to buy this dog a leash and a harness,” Morticia said flatly. “I'm covered in fur.”

  “I'll order something on Amazon.”

  “There's a dog boutique nearby,” she said, shoving the puppy back into my arms. “We're going there now.”

  The Scottie Dog Groomers and Pet Boutique wasn't far. The shop was bright and airy, with a section of organic dog treats, along with harnesses and—

  “Costumes! He needs a sweater.”

  “Does he?” Morticia wrinkled her nose. “These are all so… festive. Here,” she said, shoving a black collar and harness at me. “These are his size.”

  “They're black! It's Christmas. He needs a holiday leash,” I said, browsing through the options and selecting a red-and-green leash with snowflakes embroidered on it. There was a matching collar and harness. I tried them on Rudolph.

  “Very festive!” I told him.

  “Is that it?” Morticia said, clearly annoyed. “We need to shop for the lobby.”

  “I want to find him a sweater.”

  “He's a husky.”

  “Hi. I’m Ginny, the shop owner. Can I help you?” She was a pretty young woman, but her pleasant expression soured slightly when she saw Rudolph. The puppy wagged his tail.

  “Ugh,” Ginny said. “I really should ban him from the store, except he's so cute.”

  “He's just a puppy!” I cried. “What could he possibly have done?”

  “His father knocked up one of my clients’ show dogs,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “There were lawsuits out the wazoo. You are in possession of probably the most expensive puppy in Manhattan if you go based on the insurance payout.”

  “Geez,” I said, looking down at Rudolph. “He's definitely a billionaire's dog then.”