by Alina Jacobs
“You aren't what I envisioned,” Diane said, nostrils flaring. Geez, I wasn't even sleeping with the guy, and yet I had all his family drama spewing all over me.
“Well, I hope you get that checked out! Have a nice life!” I said, flashing her a thumbs-up and scurrying back to the bake-off group. Hope I never see you again.
“Who was that?” Fiona asked as we walked back to the tower.
“Crazy lady.”
“It's Manhattan. I once saw guy having an entire conversation with a pigeon. You just have to let these things go.”
“I made alcohol,” Morticia said in a bored tone when we were back in the condo and had put away our ingredients.
“What is it?” Fiona asked.
“Alcohol,” Morticia repeated.
Fiona shrugged and picked up a glass. “Can't beat that.”
“Ooh!” I said, clapping my hands after I'd taken a burning sip of whatever the hell that was. “Take cute pictures of me. Like a sexy Mad Men Christmas with my drink. Please, Morticia, you're such a good artist!”
“I know you're trying to flatter me, and it's working,” she said, picking up my phone.
I struck a Betty Boop pose.
“I hope you're not going to be like that when the kids are here,” Morticia commented.
“Hardly,” I said, smooshing my boobs up even more in the tight-fitting bodice. “Though I think I better find an apron that provides some coverage. Otherwise these babies might be a bit much.”
Morticia lowered the phone. “Call me crazy, but since you still claim to be running a baking Instagram account, not an escort-for-hire Instagram account, maybe you should put some baked goods in the picture?”
“She had her muffins!” Fiona giggled. The alcohol concoction was clearly hitting her fast.
I took another sip of my own. “I don't have any cookies. Except for the extra-special Christmas cookie!” I said, pointing down to my hoo-ha. Fiona and I collapsed into a fit of giggles.
“Three hundred twenty-five days until Halloween, three hundred twenty-five days until Halloween,” Morticia chanted and went around to the other side of the kitchen island. She pulled out a box. “I have some leftover cookies here. Use these in the picture.”
“You like these?” I held the mitten cookies up to my chest and blew a kiss to the camera.
Morticia snapped a few more pictures. “Just post one of the photos along with a donation link. I bet you make this month's student loan payment.”
“My grandmother always said to use the gifts God gave you, whatever they may be!” I said, flipping through the pictures.
“I'll drink to that!” Fiona said.
22
Owen
A notification came into my phone, making it rattle on the glass conference table. I tried to force myself not to look at it. I'd set the notifications to let me know when Holly posted a picture on Instagram. But only because I wanted to know if she was doing any more buzz for my company.
My hand twitched. I tried to concentrate on the financial report Garrett was giving. He paused and glared at me.
“Go ahead and look at it. You clearly aren't going to pay attention until you do.”
“I don't—”
“Go ahead. We're waiting.”
I picked up the phone and swiped at the notification. A very suggestive picture came up. Holly was blowing a kiss for the camera, and two of the sugar cookies were held up to the mounds of her breasts, which threatened to spill out of the bodice. The caption read:
I know you want to get your mittens on my cookies!
“Geez,” Walker said, looking over my shoulder. “Now I see why you were out in the middle of the night.”
“That's not—I have a puppy that I am now responsible for, thank you very much.”
I snuck another glance at the picture then set the phone down.
Walker was still looking at me. “Three, two, one,” he said.
“What?” Then it hit me. Holly hadn't just sent the picture to me, obviously—it was a social media account after all. But that meant that everyone had seen it. I was suddenly, irrationally furious.
“And there it is.” Walker patted me on the shoulder. “We might as well call it quits, you guys. He's going to be stewing over Holly the rest of the day, poor big idiot.”
“I'm not an idiot. I can handle myself,” I snarled, shaking him off. “Go through the rest of the report, Garrett. Please.”
I was wound up tight through the rest of the meeting. I'd barely said ten words to Holly that weren't related to the bake-off or how much I despised Christmas. Why was I suddenly so possessive? It was irrational. I wasn't irrational; I thought deeply about things then made decisions and followed through decisively. I was the very definition of a cold, rational man.
Furthermore, Holly, with her Christmas excess and crazy outfits, was not the type of woman I had ever imagined myself being with.
It's the cookies. She put some sort of spell in them.
No, that would be crazy.
“Owen, so you're in agreement?” Greg asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Uh, yes, that sounds great.” I said, trying to look as if I'd been paying attention.
“Wonderful. I'll have my little brothers delivered to your house in the evening. I'm sure all of my half brothers will be looking forward to their six-week-long snowboarding retreat. Do be mindful. Several of the children have developed the rather unfortunate habit of throwing random items such as clothes, Rice Krispies treats, and once even a toaster out the window. While that's not much of an issue on a private estate, I hope your liability insurance covers people throwing things off your balcony.”
“Wait! I don't want to take all your little brothers!” I said, panicking slightly.
“Then pay attention and don't agree to things when you have no idea what's going on,” Hunter snapped.
“It's Holly,” Walker said sagely.
“Honestly,” Archer said from the corner, where he was playing games on his phone—how he ran a multibillion-dollar hotel conglomerate was beyond me—“You should have Holly come and organize all your fun workplace activities. That contest is based on employee surveys, right? So foster some good cheer and host a boozy party at two in the afternoon.”
“I can't just throw parties in the middle of the workday,” I protested.
“Of course not. That’s why you have Holly do it!”
I stewed about Holly the rest of the evening as I assembled with Gunnar, Dana, and several other Romance Creative workers in my condo. The TV was set to the Internet-streaming channel. A countdown clock of happy elves tossing numbers on the timer was ticking down to the premier of The Great Christmas Bake-Off.
Belle was setting up another flat-screen TV that displayed several stats, including number of viewers and shares on social media.
“I made snacks!” Penny called, bringing in a charcuterie tray from the kitchen. Garrett followed his girlfriend with several more dishes.
“I didn't peg you as a Christmas Bake-Off fan,” I said to him, snagging one of the pinwheel sandwiches off the tray he held.
“I'm supportive,” he said, settling on the couch and wrapping an arm possessively around Penny. She giggled and fed him a bite of sandwich.
I was suddenly jealous. Not that I wanted Penny—Garrett would flat-out murder me if I even thought that—but I wanted what Garrett had. When I'd originally agreed to go out with Sloane six months ago, she had seemed perfect. She checked all the boxes: Ivy League educated, good career, slim and tall, with conservative fashion sense.
I had been ready to find a partner, a girlfriend and eventual wife I could settle down with. Then Sloane had turned into a disaster, and I was in damage-control mode. But now there was Holly.
The timer on the screen reached zero. The cartoon elves cheered, and the theme song played.
“I had to basically sell my soul to Lilith and Morticia to get them to create that little cartoon,” Penny explained with a laugh.
Morticia was standing in a corner, glowering.
“Don't you feel a little bit of Christmas spirit?” Penny teased her friend.
“Never.”
That was how I felt unless I was looking at Holly in a sexy costume or Holly's Christmas cookies or Holly in that outfit with the Christmas cookies. I jumped up, suddenly warm, and threw open the French doors to the balcony.
“It's freezing in here,” Gunnar complained.
“Shhh, it's starting,” Belle said.
Upbeat Christmas music played while the contestants baked. I sucked in a breath when the show cut to a close-up of Holly, hair swept into a messy updo, that ridiculously festive and ridiculously short sweater dress emphasizing her curves.
“There's a lot of people watching,” Penny said, chewing on her lip. “Are all those people going to crash the system?”
“Of course not,” I retorted. “My company runs the server infrastructure for WebFlix. You could have ten times as many people watch it all at once and not notice a difference.”
“Hopefully we have that many,” Dana said, making notes on her tablet as the episode played.
“How are the stats looking?” Gunnar asked, looking at the adjacent screen.
“Shit, we're up to eight hundred thousand,” Belle said. I watched as Holly presented her dessert on screen.
“Owen's really hitting it out of the park,” Garrett remarked. “That shot where Anastasia asked him a question and he just scowled up at the ceiling and grunted was particularly insightful.”
“He's eye candy,” Dana said.
“He's definitely helping to sell the show,” Gunnar said, scrolling through his phone. “From the stats, a good thirty percent of the comments are about Owen. This woman said, 'I want to smear him with frosting and lick it all off'.”
“He's drawing in viewers,” Belle said. “We're at one point three million!”
“Fantastic!” Dana said, pleased. “I think we had that many viewers during the season finale last year. We're going to blow those numbers out of the water this season!”
“Someone needs to give Owen a crash course in baking. We're trying to ensure his company does not fail the TechBiz ranking again,” Garrett said. “He can't just sit there with a blank look on his face. That does not inspire confidence.”
23
Holly
I'd stayed up late into the early morning, first watching the premiere of The Great Christmas Bake-Off then interacting with fans online. The Taste My Muffins baking subscription boxes also experienced a surge in subscribers, which I was grateful for. I'd received another note from the storage facility where my grandmother’s Christmas decorations were. The owner said I needed to make some sort of payment or they were going to auction off my unit. I didn't even have to check my accounts or my credit card to know that I did not have enough money for that month’s payment.
I sent an email back begging for an extension until Christmas. By then I would have won the bake-off, and everything would be perfect!
A few hours later, I had stuffed myself back into my gingerbread girl dress and was standing in the studio at my station. Today I would be vigilant. After Amber’s attempt to ruin my cookies in the last episode, I wasn't letting anything slide.
“Welcome to the next episode of The Great Christmas Bake-Off,” Anastasia said. “Christmas is about family, and there's something about experiencing Christmas through the eyes of a child to make the holiday extra special. And that makes children's Christmas our theme of the day. Contestants, your challenge is to create a dessert that is enjoyable for children to both eat and bake! And to help you, we have brought in a few children. We're borrowing the Svensson brothers! Come on out, boys!”
This wasn't a few children, I thought, as two dozen blond-haired, grey-eyed boys, in a range of sizes and ages, streamed into the studio. The younger ones looked around in awe at all the Christmas decorations.
“We have assigned several children to each station,” Anastasia explained.
Someone must have already told them where to go, because the boys all sorted themselves out so there were around three kids at each station. Fiona was teamed with three very happy teenage boys who were clearly over the moon to be working with the pretty baker.
I seemed to have been assigned the youngest Svensson brothers. One of them barely came up to my knee. I bent down to talk to them at their level. Zane zoomed in with the camera. The youngest boy immediately looked freaked out.
“What’s your name?” I said, trying to use my best this-is-going-to-be-amazeballs-and-totally-not-scary voice.
The small child looked between me and the camera, wide-eyed. “I'm Davy,” he said finally.
I let out a breath. Meltdown averted.
“I'm Henry,” his slightly older brother announced. “I'm five and a quarter.”
“Are you really!”
“I'm Andy, and I'm six,” said the third boy.
“Are you ready to help me bake?”
They nodded.
“Great! Because I really need your help!”
On the outside, I was the fun, Christmas-loving baker. However, I was silently wondering if I was actually going to be able to finish this dessert. The other stations with the older kids already had their ingredients selected, while I had just finished introductions.
The three teens at Fiona's station expertly chopped nuts and stirred sauces in a double boiler. She had basically been given three sous chefs. Someone had clearly taught them something about cooking.
I doubted that knowledge had trickled down to my three. Davy clung to my skirt as we went over to the pantry to pick up my ingredients. Andy and Henry did at least help me carry things back to my station, and they didn't even drop anything. Henry stood on tiptoe to push his items onto the counter. Andy was barely tall enough to peep over the top of the table, his eyes clearing the counter.
“Can you pick them up?” Zane asked in a low voice. “They're out of the frame.”
“Am I supposed to hold them and bake?” I whispered back.
Zane shrugged. One of the assistants brought out two milk crates, and Henry and Andy clambered onto them.
“Perfect,” Zane said, flashing me a thumbs-up. “Just set Davy on the table.”
“Oh my God,” I muttered, picking him up. He watched wide-eyed as I set about making the yellow sponge cake batter for the cake layer while Henry and Andy whipped cream cheese.
I started several saucepans of fruit to cook on the stove. I had to make two cakes, one for the production crew to photograph and one to present to the judges.
“I feel like they should have parceled the kids out better,” I said to Fiona as she and the three teenagers moved like a choreographed ballet in the tight space. “Maybe we could trade?”
She giggled. “I don't know, Isaac,” she said to one of the teenagers. “You want to switch?”
“I'm good,” he replied, deftly removing the seeds from a vanilla bean with a chef's knife.
I wish one of these kids could handle a knife.
At least Andy and Henry were halfway competent. I wasn't sure what to do with Davy. He was maybe three? He sat on the large table, watching me intently.
“I want to help,” he piped up.
“Um, okay, how about you—” I looked around. “You can start on the whipped cream. We need a lot of it to make the custardy layers fluffy and light!”
Davy nodded solemnly as I gave him the bowl of whipped cream, which was big enough for him to sit in. The whisk was as long as his arm.
“This is a lot,” he said as he stirred it with two hands. He was occupied, but baking the cakes was slow going. I couldn't just cook; I was also basically babysitting.
“I feel like this is turning into a gimmick,” I said when Anastasia came over. “Not that I don't enjoy the world's cutest sous chefs!”
“I'm not sure why they were parceled out like that, honestly,” she said, laughing. “But seriously, this footage is going to be g
old!”
I was finally able to put the sponge cake in the oven to bake while I strained the fruit filling and portioned out the whipped cream cheese. Then I helped Andy and Henry stir the fruit in. Davy was still slowly whipping the cream as I started the custard. I had just turned my back for a second when there was a crash and a clang!
The whipped cream had fallen and splattered all over the floor. I hurried to grab a towel.
“You're fine,” I told Davy. “We have so much whipped cream it doesn't even matter.” I patted the splatters on his pants as his lower lip trembled. “See, you didn't get anything on your nice outfit,” I assured him, trying to keep him calm.
A production assistant hurried to mop up the whipped cream.
“See, it's all cleaned up,” I told Davy.
His eyes watered, his lips parted, and he screamed.
“Oh dear,” I said, picking him up. I looked to his teen brothers.
Isaac shrugged. “Davy's a crier. He'll go for the next few hours.”
“He's messing up my sound,” Zane said as I patted Davy on the back. He screamed and writhed in my arms.
“Maybe one of my older brothers is around,” Isaac said, looking around as he expertly whipped cream. “Garrett can sometimes make him stop crying.”
Zane made hurry-up motions as I tried to rock Davy and stir my custard before it burned. Owen came into the studio, annoyance clear on his face. He stormed over to me, Belle following behind him.
“We can hear him screaming in the Quantum Cyber offices upstairs,” Owen complained. “Isaac, where are your brothers?”
The teenager shrugged.
“Honestly,” Belle complained. “Gunnar just disappeared.”
“The Svenssons are flaky as hell,” Owen said, looking around in frustration. “Someone's going to call the police. One of the interns said she heard him screaming from the street. She thought a raccoon was trapped or something.”