Tasting Her Christmas Cookies: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

by Alina Jacobs

  “To be perfectly honest, it's probably going to be the nightmare wedding cake. The last time I made a wedding cake, it took me three days. Now I don't even have a full twenty-four hours.”

  Owen chuckled. “I have faith in you.”

  “I'm glad one of us does,” I said.

  He leaned over to kiss me. “I'll see you tonight.”

  After Owen left, I tried to focus. I desperately needed to win. I couldn’t just show up with some three-tiered dumpy cake and call it a day. I needed height, drama, and a touch of something special.

  I knew I was going to have every layer be a different flavor. On the bottom, it was going to be red velvet cake, because I wanted something red for a Christmas wedding. The red velvet layer would be the biggest. I was going to shape it like an abstracted snowflake. The next layer was going to be offset a few inches. It was going to be two layers of a citrusy cake with orange buttercream frosting. Layer three was going to be another round cake, and it was going to be chocolate with a fudgy frosting. The fourth layer would be tall, ten inches, and cut in a pentagon to add some visual interest so it wasn't just a stack of circles. For that tier, I was going to bake a seven-layer yellow cake with chocolate, raspberry, and butter crème between the layers. Layer five was going to be a smaller circular butterscotch-rum cake. For the final sixth layer: strawberry cake with layers of stewed fruit.

  For the cake topper, I was going to blow sugar into a snowman groom and snowwoman bride. The decorations on the cake should evoke winter. I was going to have a few sugar-gum flowers but make them look frozen, as if they were covered in frost. I didn't want a lot of flowers. Sometimes wedding cakes with too many sugar flowers looked diseased. I just wanted a few tasteful bunches here and there. The rest of the cake would have intricate icing designs to evoke a frozen winterscape.

  I had my sketch and my game plan. I checked the clock.

  “Let's do this.”

  I preheated the ovens then started several mixers going simultaneously. When I had worked in restaurant kitchens, I’d regularly cooked four of five dishes at once.

  I made the bottom red velvet cake first, the cocoa powder frothing and turning red when I poured in the buttermilk and vinegar. I needed two mixers since the bottom tier of the cake was so big. The batter went into the largest pans, and I put them in the oven. Then I made the next three layers. The red velvet cake finished cooking while I was mixing up the final tiers. I took it out to cool then put the next pans of cake batter in to bake.

  The actual making-of-the-cake part wasn’t difficult; I could make cakes all day. It was the assembly and decoration that would be tricky. As the cakes came out of the oven, I carefully turned them over onto cooling racks. Once they were partially cool, I wrapped them in plastic wrap and put them in the fridge. While they chilled further, I started on the decorations.

  The sugar snowman and -woman were going to take some time, so I heated up the sugar first. The cake toppers were going to be blown like glass. I couldn't just use the same sugar I would for candy; I had to add corn syrup and cream of tartar to make it thick enough to blow. I wanted the whole cake to feel minimalist and wintery. I kept the snow couple white and crystalline.

  I was a little worried; the sugar was hot. I was wearing gloves, but still, last time, my dress had caught fire.

  After the sugar had reached the correct temperature, I poured it out on a silicone sheet and rolled it into several balls. Then I stuck in a metal tube and started blowing. It was a delicate process. I shattered the first two before I got the hang of it. Using a blowtorch, I lightly melted the spheres and formed the snow couple. Then I colored the rest of the sugar, some orange for the noses, some black for the buttons, and some blue for a scarf. I was going to use blue and silver frosting as accents on the larger wedding cake. The accents weren't as difficult because I could just roll those out of fondant.

  “Hard part is done,” I said happily, running my hands under cold water. Amber passed by me, lugging a huge hand cart of ingredients. I watched her carefully to make sure she didn't throw anything into my icing.

  “Please do not get too close to those,” I warned Zane, who was shooting close-ups of the snow people. He flashed me a thumbs-up.

  I made the frostings next, huge tubs of them. Once I had the cakes frosted, I was going to cover each in fondant as a protective coating and a clean, smooth base for the decorations. I rolled out the huge white sheets of fondant and set them aside. Then I took my cakes out of the fridge. They were nice and cold, and I easily trimmed them down to be flat and shaped like my templates.

  Satisfied, I frosted and stacked the bottom red velvet layer, sticking in the dowels that provided the structural integrity, and then carefully laid the sheet of fondant over the top of the cake, smoothing it out so all the edges were crisp.

  Then I assembled the next layer and the next. When I was done, I had a pristine white tower of cakes. I had to put on the final layer, then it would be ready to decorate. It was so tall that I needed a stepstool. I was carefully placing the final layer on when Amber rammed the hand cart into my table.

  I shrieked as the cake tipped. I tried to catch it and stumbled off the stool, my hands raised. Somehow I didn't fall flat on my face. It truly was a Christmas miracle, especially since I felt something heavy and cake-like resting on my outstretched hands.

  “I can't open my eyes,” I said to Fiona. “How does it look?”

  “Just hold on. We're going to right it,” she said. She and I gingerly tipped the cake back upright. “Thank goodness you had the fondant on. It was like Spanx for your cake.”

  I was not in the mood for jokes.

  “Seriously, Amber! You keep trying to ruin my desserts!” I turned and yelled at her.

  “You're trying to ruin my life!” she yelled back. “You steal everything good in my life.”

  “Girls,” Dana hissed, striding over, high heels clacking on the polished concrete. “I have two more days with you, then I am going to celebrate Christmas with all the alcohol. Stay away from each other.”

  “But she—” I protested.

  “I don't care. Finish your cakes.”

  60

  Owen

  The tension was high in the studio when I returned. During the day, I had caught up with work, taken Rudolph for several walks, met with my younger brothers about what in the world they planned on doing when they graduated, and now it was eleven p.m. and the contestants were still working on their cakes.

  The Weddings in the City girls had already returned and were watching, enraptured.

  “This is impressive,” Zoey said.

  “I need to hire Holly,” her friend Gracie replied.

  I didn't want Holly to have a job that would take her away from me for long stretches. She needed perhaps a café that closed in the early evening. But then, it was her life. I shouldn't try to dictate it.

  Holly was carefully icing the wedding cake with intricate designs. On each tier was a different winter scene. The bottom was reindeer in a snowy pine forest. The next was a panorama of a countryside after a fresh snowfall. The next depicted little fairies riding snowflakes. Edged on the rims of each cake were icicles of icing.

  It was exquisite workmanship. I respected technically perfect work. I demanded it of my programmers, and I appreciated that Holly also shared the same values. Though she acted fun, especially in bed, Holly was also very serious about the quality of the work she produced. I felt a renewed sense of conviction that she was exactly who I needed in my life, contrary to what my parents believed. Not that I cared. But it was nice to be right.

  The buzzer sounded as Holly was inspecting the sugar flowers she had arranged sparingly on the cake. The production assistants very carefully wheeled each cake out to be photographed and videotaped, then they brought them to the judges’ table.

  Holly's cake was first.

  “What amazing workmanship!” Zoey congratulated her.

  “I appreciate it. It's all winter and no Ch
ristmas,” I said with a slight smile.

  “There's a bit of Christmas if you know where to look,” Holly said.

  “I'm just in awe that you managed to do all this in a day,” Gracie said.

  “I'm definitely ready for a drink,” Holly replied with a laugh.

  “You've earned it!”

  “I don't even want to cut into it; it's too pretty to eat,” Gracie said.

  “I'm going for it,” Zoey said, cutting a neat slice of the middle tier and taking a bit. “Good crumb, moist, great flavors, perfect wedding cake!”

  Fiona had a great cake as well.

  “I feel like I’m going to be up all night!” Zoey joked as she took a bite. That particular tier was espresso flavored. Fiona's cake wasn’t as tall as Holly's, but she had done more with hers. It looked like a stack of presents in a leaning pile, but it wasn't hokey. The ribbons were made of pulled sugar. Fiona had lightly colored the cake presents and dusted the royal icing that she'd used to decorate them with patterns of fine silver and white gold dust.

  Amber's cake was the worst. Also, the topper looked suspiciously like me.

  “I had premonitions while making this cake,” Amber said. “Premonitions of a wedding with a handsome ice prince.”

  “Okay,” Zoey said after a moment. “First off, this cake is much plainer than the other two.”

  “It's simple and honest,” Amber retorted.

  “Naked cakes are in vogue,” Gracie explained, “but they're more rustic, and honestly, a lot of people can make them. The theme of this episode is winter wedding. Usually weddings tend to be on the extravagant side. We don't want gaudy, but you did have a whole day to make a cake. I would expect something better, though this does taste pretty good.”

  Amber pouted as she left after hearing her criticism.

  “So obviously we're sending Amber home,” Gracie said. “But who should win?”

  “What Fiona did was structurally more difficult,” Zoey suggested.

  “But Holly's cake was taller,” I interjected.

  “Ah, yes, rich men and their towers,” Zoey said with an eye roll. “But Gracie is the wedding cake queen, so she should decide.”

  “I say we give it to Holly,” Gracie said thoughtfully. “What she made is most like what a winter wedding cake should be.”

  Holly was as excited to win as Amber was devastated to lose.

  “You can't do this to me! Please, Owen, you were supposed to save me!”

  “What was that about?” Zoey asked as Anastasia led Amber away.

  “It’s the holidays,” I replied as we listened to Amber shriek in front of the cameras. “People completely lose their minds around Christmas.”

  61

  Holly

  I breathed more easily after I won.

  “You didn't honestly think Amber was going to make it to the finals,” Morticia said after I'd given my interview. I was sure I looked a mess.

  “Who knows.” I yawned. “I’m exhausted. I'm going straight to sleep.”

  “You need to shower first,” Morticia said with a sniff.

  I showered and put on my favorite fuzzy pajamas with the cat wearing reindeer antlers, but I couldn't sleep. I missed Owen. Against my better judgment, I snuck downstairs.

  When I was outside his door, I thought, Holly, what are you doing? You're as crazy as Amber. Besides, Owen's probably asleep. You can't just knock on his door at three a.m. and wake him up; he has to work tomorrow. He has important things to do.

  As I stood there and debated with myself, the door opened. Owen was standing there shirtless, wearing grey sweatpants, the nice soft ones.

  “I was hoping you'd come by,” he said, deep voice sending shivers through me.

  “Sorry I'm not wearing anything super exciting,” I said. “But I did shower and wash my hair, so that's something.”

  Silently, Owen wrapped me in his arms, kissing me. Then he picked me up and carried me upstairs. He laid me back on the bed, kissing my neck. He unbuttoned my top as I ran my hands down the planes of his muscular chest, counting the washboard abs. I loved the feel of all that muscle and sinew against me.

  Owen kissed my breasts then continued downward. He pulled the pajama bottoms off and slipped his hand under my panties while he kissed me. I moaned against his mouth, spreading my legs for him as he stroked me. He teased my clit, making me whimper. Then he tugged off my panties, planting kisses like snowflakes down to my pussy. I grabbed his hair as he licked me.

  “I want you,” I murmured. He ignored me, still licking my clit. I fumbled around in the nightstand and pulled out a condom.

  “I want your cock,” I said, ripping the packet.

  He rolled the condom on then flipped me over so I was on all fours.

  “Reindeer style!” I joked then moaned as he pressed his tongue against my aching pussy, holding my hips steady as he licked and teased me.

  “Please,” I whimpered.

  Owen slid into me, caressing my tits, teasing my nipples. I ground back against him, needing the friction. He thrust into me again, and I whimpered.

  “I need you to go faster.”

  “Why? You don't have to make it around the world to deliver presents,” he said, slowly pulling out and thrusting into me again.

  I reached down between my legs to stroke my clit. I needed more. Owen growled, thrusting into me harder then batting my hand away. He rubbed my clit while he fucked me, finally giving me all of his thick, hard cock.

  I let out little cries every time he thrust into me. I was so close. I panted as he worked my clit, his cock filling me. His fingers rolled my clit, and I went crashing over the edge. Owen kept fucking me. His pace increased, and his cock hit me at just the right angle that suddenly I was seeing Christmas lights, and I came again. Owen followed shortly.

  I started laughing as he lay down beside me.

  “What?” he said, confused.

  “Santa came down my chimney tonight!”

  I woke up the next morning with a start. I’d had a horrible dream that I’d had to move back in with my mother and stepfather because my subscription baking box company failed and that Amber had won the bake-off. But she had been booted, and I was going to win the next round. So it was perfectly fine to ignore all the late notices and the nasty-grams about how my credit score was in the toilet.

  “Too bad you have to work,” I said, nuzzling Owen's bare chest.

  “I did have a very important meeting scheduled for this morning,” he said, smiling in a self-satisfied way.

  “Don't let me keep you,” I replied, sitting up. He pulled me down to him.

  “It's with you,” he said, kissing me.

  “Just going to lie in bed all day and let me feed you Christmas cookies?” I teased.

  “Hardly. I do have in itinerary. The TechBiz black-tie party is tonight. They're going to make the announcement about which tech company is best. I was hoping you would attend with me.”

  “Of course! How fun!”

  “On one condition,” he added. “Let me buy you a nice dress.”

  “You mean I can't show up dressed as a sexy Christmas tree?” I said in mock indignation.

  He looked nervous for a second then saw I was kidding.

  “I do have actual nice stuff, you know,” I told him. “The costumes are part of my shtick.”

  “Come out anyway. I already had my secretary make an appointment at a boutique.”

  “You don't have to beg me to go shopping!”

  “I think we're going to have a white Christmas,” I said excitedly as I followed Owen down to the parking deck. “I've been checking the weather. It's supposed to dump a ton of snow a few days before Christmas Eve.” I showed him the weather report.

  “Glad I'm not traveling,” he said with a grunt.

  “Yeah, I hope I'm not too.” If the spirits of Christmas were kind, I would win the bake-off and have enough money to pay off my debts and rent some cheap shared kitchen space. Then I'd have enough room to
really take advantage of all the publicity with my bake-off win and the Taste My Muffins subscription service.

  “Wow,” I said as the elevator let us off in the parking garage. “Your employees sure have a lot of nice cars.”

  I wasn't really a car person, but I could recognize several of the brand decals. Plus the cars just looked expensive with their super-sleek, high-end designs. They were all black, though; none of them were in candy colors, which I thought was a missed opportunity.

  “You need to have a Christmas-themed car,” I told Owen. “We can put a ton of lights and Christmas decals all over it.”

  “Please don't put any stickers on my car,” Owen said in alarm.

  I laughed. “Which one is yours?”

  He looked slightly guilty. “All of them.”

  “Geez,” I said, turning around in a circle. There were a lot of cars. There were even a few that looked like antique racing cars.

  “And I thought I had a problem with all my Christmas decor hoarding.”

  “I don't have a problem,” Owen said. “I can quit anytime.”

  “Sure you can,” I drawled.

  He led me to a Bugatti Veyron. I ran my hands over the sleek sports car. Owen batted my hands away and polished away my fingerprints with a handkerchief.

  “Can I drive it?”

  “No.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Can you even drive one of these?” he asked.

  “I have a commercial trucking license,” I bragged. “Needed it for a catering gig that went so, so badly. Until you've driven an eighteen-wheeler that was improperly loaded, thanks Steve, while it's pouring rain and your coworker's chinchilla is having an existential crisis in the seat next to you, then you don't know how to drive, my friend.”

  “I'm skeptical.”

  I made a “gimme” gesture with my hand. He sighed and held out the keys.

  “Do not scratch it!” Owen warned.

  I grabbed for the keys, but he jerked them away.