Tasting Her Christmas Cookies: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

by Alina Jacobs

  16

  Owen

  “How's Rudolph?” Chloe asked after the contestants were all furiously making huge batches of cookie dough. I was not looking forward to having to eat ten rounds of dessert. I had doubled my run that morning to make up for it.

  “Unfortunately, he's very attached to the name.”

  Chloe giggled. “Huskies are smart dogs!”

  “He's a handful. I should go check on him actually.”

  I had left the puppy with Walker that morning, and my COO had insisted on bringing the dog to the office.

  He better not have peed on my carpet.

  A gaggle of my employees was playing with the dog when I strode into Walker's office.

  “You didn't tell me you bought him a costume!” Walker said, trying not to laugh and failing. Rudolph, true to his name, was dressed as a reindeer, complete with a noisy bell-studded harness and reindeer antlers. He raced around in a circle then tripped over his feet and collapsed on the floor. “I'm glad Santa doesn't have to rely on him, because nothing would be delivered,” Walker joked.

  I was barely able to complete any more work in the next few hours. Between the puppy's admirers coming to visit and take pictures and the barrage of text messages and calls I was getting from Sloane, I couldn't concentrate.

  Rudolph whined, and I took the excuse to go outside for a break. There was a park near my tower, and I took the dog there to burn off some energy.

  “Does he have snowflakes and candy canes on the leash?” I complained. Of course that was what Holly had bought for him. Six figures on Christmas decorations, then she decks the dog out in Christmas.

  “I don't understand why you hate Christmas. I always tried to make Christmas perfect.” Dr. Diane Frost, researcher extraordinaire and, according to Jack, the world's worst mother, stepped out from behind a tree.

  “Mom? What are you doing here?” I asked in shock. “Are you stalking me?”

  “I can't come see my son?” she said, reaching up to hug me. She was a slightly older version of my sister, Belle, but with none of the humor. She had the same height and blue eyes, but her hair was brown, not our white.

  “Several of my children refuse to talk to me. I don't understand. I've given you all everything,” she said in disbelief.

  Jack felt she was the worst mother in the world. I took a more nuanced view. She certainly wasn't great, and what she had done to Belle was terrible, but Diane wasn't all bad. She was my mother after all. That had to mean something.

  “I met your girlfriend the other day,” she continued. “She and I had a very nice chat over coffee. I really like her. I think she will be a good wife and mother. And she has a high-profile job. You two are perfect for each other.”

  “Girlfriend? That's news to me.”

  “Sloane is very much in love with you!” my mother said with a laugh, as if I was just joking. “Sloane told me all about how she's going to help you with your contest.”

  “Sloane isn't my girlfriend. She's—” What, a stalker? Men couldn't really be stalked, could they? Sloane wasn't dangerous, just delusional. “We are not together,” I said flatly.

  “You’re not getting any younger,” my mother insisted. “You've done so well in your career. You own all this property. Now you just need to get married and give me grandchildren. All my friends have grandchildren.”

  “This is so typical,” I said in annoyance. “You didn't even ask me how I am. You just jumped straight to what you want.”

  “I'm so sorry you think I’m such a terrible mother that you won't give me grandchildren,” Diane said dramatically.

  My mother did this every single time I interacted with her. It was as if she sought me out to make herself feel validated.

  “If you want grandchildren, maybe you could go adopt a child out of foster care,” I suggested. “There are lots of needy kids.”

  Diane jerked back as though I'd slapped her. “No! I could never. I need nice grandkids, not rejects. I want to have a picture-perfect Christmas morning, watching them open their little presents, giving them their stockings.”

  I didn't want to listen to her anymore. “I have to go back to work,” I said, picking up Rudolph.

  I left Rudolph with Walker then went to the studio to judge the bake-off. The encounter in the park had reminded me why I had been trying to limit my contact with my mother. She was so self-absorbed and a bit of a snob. After that terrible family experience, all I wanted was a drink and to work on my new computer code. Instead, I had to eat multiple Christmas cookies.

  Against my better judgment, I checked all the messages from Sloane. As I scrolled through them, I saw a picture of her and my mother. I sent it to Jack.

  Owen: This is why I refuse to date.

  Jack: Wow! Your stalker and Mom. You need to cut her off.

  Owen: You know I can't do that.

  I was in a terrible mood when the first batch of cookies was brought out. All the talk dredged up memories of Christmases past. Most children loved Christmas. I had dreaded it.

  My mother would become extra demanding. She would make us all scrub the house, then she would dress us in matching outfits. Belle would be put in charge of wrangling me and my four younger brothers. My sister spent the entire month of December in a terrible mood, because what teenager wants her mom micromanaging her whole holiday and treating her like the live-in maid and chef?

  Belle would yell at my brothers and me until everything was perfect for the lavish holiday parties my parents would throw for their work colleagues. The only food my mother would make herself was macarons. Belle cooked everything else, from all the perfectly constructed hors d'oeuvres to the impeccably decorated cakes and cookies.

  My mother and father were obsessed with making sure their neighbors and colleagues thought the Frost family was perfect. Diane would force all of us kids to decorate the whole house for Christmas. Garlands on the staircases, candles in the windows, and the large blue spruce tree in the living room all went up right after Thanksgiving. My mother would order us to rehang the ornaments until they were perfect, and heaven help us if we dropped one.

  No, Christmas was a terrible holiday. Usually I tried to avoid it. But here it was staring me in the face.

  “I have an array of chocolate holiday sugar cookies with royal icing,” Fiona said.

  “What do you think, Owen?” Chloe asked me brightly.

  I picked up the cookie gingerly and broke off the smallest piece I possibly could.

  “It's sweet,” I said. “And tastes like chocolate.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes and patted me on the head. She broke the cookie in half and showed the camera.

  “See how the cookie looks layered? You can tell Fiona didn't overwork the dough.” Chloe took a bite. “It's light and flavorful and has a nice bite. This is a very nice cookie! Also, making a chocolate sugar cookie is more difficult than a plain sugar cookie, because you have to balance out the chocolate and subtract that amount in dry ingredients. People think baking is just some sort of girly thing to do while you sip wine, but baking is a science. The ratios, temperatures, and processes have to be exact, or you won't get excellent results.”

  “I agree with everything,” Anu said. “Fiona, you're lucky to have the dessert queen looking over your cookies.”

  “They're beautiful cookies,” Chloe continued. “Look at the intricate icing work. This winter lace pattern is perfect. It's like art. Did you see that, Owen? She put snowflakes on it.” She stuck a cookie in my face.

  I grunted, earning more eye-rolling from Chloe.

  Holly was up next.

  “I heard you almost blew up the kitchen,” Chloe joked as Holly set the platters of cookies before us.

  “What?” I growled. “Are you seriously trying to burn down my tower after you subjected my dog to a Christmas costume?”

  Holly's eyes narrowed. “He looks cute in that costume. Every other normal person feels a sense of warmth at the sight of a puppy in a costume. But of
course not Owen Frost.”

  I glowered at her.

  “Don't worry about the accident. It all worked out,” Holly said to Chloe. “And I was able to make all these cookies.”

  The sugar cookies were piled with fluffy white frosting. I poked one suspiciously.

  Chloe picked up a star and took a bite. “These are delicious, if a bit rustic. They sort of dissolve in your mouth. They're really addicting! Try it, Owen,” Chloe coaxed.

  I picked up a frosted candy cane. I appreciated that it wasn't pretentious. It was a cookie. It didn’t need to have a detailed depiction of the Mona Lisa on it. I took a bite of the cookie, bracing myself for the sledgehammer of sugar to my teeth. But it didn't happen.

  The word dissolve made it sound as if the cookie had no substance. That was not the case. This cookie was like eating a cloud. It tasted—happy. It wasn't too sweet, either. It was perfectly balanced.

  “These just feel very homemade,” Nick said, inspecting the cookies critically.

  I couldn’t really concentrate, as I was having a religious experience. The slightly savory buttercream frosting, the crunchy sugar crystals, the cookie dough that wasn’t overly sweet. I stuffed the rest of the candy cane into my mouth.

  “If you compare these to the cookies we just saw,” Anu said, “those were professional cookies. These are… I don't know if I would even put these on Instagram.”

  “Sometimes rustic cookies are good,” Chloe said. “These are tasty and addictive. You feel like you could eat one after the other then look around and say, 'Hey, who ate all my cookies?'”

  Maybe they weren't Instagram-worthy, but that was why I liked them. They were honest. My mom would never have served cookies like these at her holiday party. I was about to take another cookie but scowled. I didn't want to think about my mom right now.

  “You don't like it?” Holly asked. She was annoyed at the comments.

  “Those three are the chefs,” I said gruffly. “If they say they're bad, then they're bad. They don't look like Fiona's cookies. I guess you could have used one of those bag thingies.” All the while, my thoughts were spinning. How would I sneak out the rest of these cookies?

  “You mean an icing piper,” Holly said through gritted teeth. “Why are you even judging the baking contest if you don't even know what anything is called?” Her voice became shrill, and her cheeks flushed. “And why are you even judging something called The Great Christmas Bake-Off if you don't even like Christmas?”

  “Thank you, Holly,” Anastasia interrupted.

  Holly stalked off to the greenroom, and I had to contend with a parade of cookies. Nick and Anu weren't as harsh with the other contestants. None of them made simple cookies like Holly’s; they all had fussy, fancy cookies.

  I tried to look around as the stagehands swapped out the plates of desserts. Where had they taken Holly's cookies? Surely they didn't toss them. Were they eating them?

  “Who do you want to pick as the winner?” Anu asked Chloe as the last contestant was escorted to the greenroom.

  “Holly's cookies were just too homemade. They were very lacking in professionalism,” Nick interjected.

  “They tasted good at least,” I retorted. “Especially compared to that guy with the purple hair. His cookies tasted like grass.”

  “They were vegan,” Chloe added.

  “You can make a tasty vegan cookie, but those weren't it,” Anu said with a shudder.

  “They were beautifully decorated though,” Chloe said. “But yes, of course it's better to serve something tasty than beautiful and borderline inedible.”

  We finished the discussion. Then it was time to announce the decisions.

  “Fiona,” Chloe said when the contestants all filed in front of us. “Your cookies were beautiful, tasty, and technically perfect. Congratulations! You win this round! Would Holly and Waldo step forward. Waldo, while we appreciate you trying to bring something different to the world of baking, a kale and applesauce cookie just didn't bring on the Christmas spirit. Holly, your cookies were simply lacking in finesse and aren't what we expect to see at this level of competition,” Anu added.

  Holly pursed her mouth angrily. She didn't even seem to be scared of being sent home.

  “Holly, you're safe for another round. Step up your game.”

  17

  Holly

  “How dare they?” I fumed after all the contestants had sat in front of the camera as Dana asked for our reactions. “Those are my grandmother's famous sugar cookies,” I said, pacing around the master bedroom in the penthouse. Morticia sat on the bed. “Everyone loves those cookies. You remember Mimi's boyfriend? He was sick, and I sent cookies back with you. Everyone thought he was dying, and the cookies gave him another year to live.”

  “It probably was the antibiotics,” Morticia said, flopping back on the bed.

  “It was the cookies!” I exclaimed.

  “We need to decorate the lobby,” Morticia said in a bored tone. “Fiona just texted me and says she's down there already.”

  “And Owen.” I continued to seethe as I followed Morticia downstairs with my decorating kit. Yes, I had a decorating kit. Yes, I was delusional and thought that one day in the near future, a craft room would simply sprout up in my nonexistent dream apartment.

  Instead, I was confronted with a sea of boxes when we stepped off the elevator into the tower lobby. More had been delivered since yesterday, and there was a maze of cardboard.

  “I can't believe they put him on the judge's board. Isn't that just the worst? Owen Frost is just a pretty face. He has no idea what's going on. You can tell he thinks the whole thing is stupid.” I angrily tore into a nearby box.

  Morticia took out a huge knife and started cutting the plastic ties that held the boxes together. We spent the next several hours unboxing and decorating. I even livestreamed some of my decorating to my followers.

  Zane also came down and shot footage of the decorating process. Making the lobby into a winter wonderland lifted my mood. Screw those judges if they didn't like my cookies. I was going to enjoy the Christmas season and enjoy baking.

  “We made a fair amount of progress,” I said, looking around. It was dark outside, and Quantum Cyber's workers had mostly left for the evening. A few of the hotel guests were milling in the lobby, watching us bring Christmas to the space.

  “Come help me position this last tree,” Fiona said.

  We rotated it until it was straight. We were still waiting on the giant tree I'd ordered to tower in the atrium space. The garlands were waiting to be hung as soon as a scissor lift was delivered.

  “The furniture looks amazing!” Fiona gushed, snapping pictures for her own social media.

  “Hey, six figures should get you something nice,” I said, admiring how we'd used the various chairs, ottomans, and benches to create cozy spaces. Fairy lights softly glowed, nestled in the garland that was draped along the walls.

  Morticia had put her art degree to good use and had made several metal sculptures in the months before the competition. There were winter scenes with reindeer, elks, and even one with cute penguins. The metal sculptures were lit up, and instead of fake snow, we'd used white fur throws to give a more abstract winter feel.

  “It's beautiful,” Fiona sighed.

  “I think we need some more plants,” I said. Morticia scowled. “Just some poinsettias,” I told her.

  “Gross. They smell.”

  “We need some more live greenery,” I countered.

  “Maybe a few dozen more Christmas trees,” Fiona added. “It supposed to be a winter wonderland.”

  “A few dozen more?” Morticia said in annoyance.

  “Just some small ones.”

  “I'm trying to make this a high-end Christmas experience,” Morticia sniffed. “I have a vision.”

  “You've been trying very hard,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. Her black leather jacket was covered in spikes, so I did it gingerly. “I didn't see any skeletons or jack-o'-
lanterns wearing Christmas hats, so good job!”

  “Really? Because I feel like that life-sized animatronic elf is pretty creepy,” Fiona commented.

  “What elf?” I asked, frowning.

  We followed Fiona back to the bank of elevators. There on a shelf was a literal life-sized elf.

  “Are you sure this isn't one of your grandmother’s old ventriloquist’s puppets?” I asked Morticia softly.

  “It's creepy enough to be one,” Fiona whispered.

  The elf peered at us with lifeless eyes.

  “I’m not a puppet,” the elf said, head swinging to look at us.

  Fiona and I screamed and clung to each other. Morticia hissed.

  “Amber!” I said as the elf hopped down to the floor. My stepsister was wearing heavy makeup along with the green felt costume.

  “I'm trying to surprise Owen,” she said.

  “He's going to be surprised, all right,” Fiona said, slowly backing away.

  Amber adjusted her costume then hopped back up onto the shelf, striking a sexy pose.

  “Well, I think I need a drink,” Fiona said as she swiped the key card to the elevator. “Care to join me? I'm trying out new cocktail recipes. The penthouse came with a fully stocked bar. I was planning on drinking my way through it.”

  “As much as I like Christmas and alcohol and Christmas-themed alcohol, I really need to do some more pics for Insta,” I said. “It's snowing outside, and I need to snap a few shots.”

  “Okay! Need help?”

  “Nah, I got it. It's tedious and cold. Besides, I have a tripod.”

  As soon as I was back to my room, I changed into a cute Christmas costume. It was a red-velvet sleeveless dress with white fur trim, matching elbow-length gloves, and a giant silk bow that went around my waist. Red stiletto boots and a furry white hat completed the look. I loved dressing up. It was probably left over from my childhood dream of being a Christmas unicorn princess.