“I’ll make sure to pass it on.” He accepted one of the brochures in his free hand and nodded.
But Ronny didn’t make like he was going to move on. Instead, he adjusted his beanie, revealing a wilted shock of salt and pepper hair, and crossed his arms over his chest, rumpling the remaining flyers in his hand. “They’ll be a pageant, and a parade, and of course, the annual bake-off. That’s always a favorite.” He patted his generous belly and laughed. “I’m a judge, if you couldn’t tell.”
He liked Ronny. “I wouldn’t mind getting in on that action.” Griff laughed.
“I’m afraid you’ve got to know people to be a judge, son, but there’s still openings for contestants—even some of the more coveted oven spots. You happen to know your way around the kitchen?” Ronny waggled his bushy gray eyebrows.
Griff winced. “Let’s just say I know my way around instant potatoes and the cereal aisle.”
Ronny chuckled, the raspy sound echoing over the snow frosted yard. “I hear ya, boy. Why do you think I co-chair every year? This bake-off is my bread and butter.”
“I’m sure we’ll try to swing by.” It wasn’t like they had much else to do, and he could always go for some carnival-style food. Maybe it’d give him and Maggie a chance to take a breather from Harper and Carolyn. “Thanks for the tip.”
“You said Massey, ‘eh?” Ronny removed his beanie and scratched his balding head. “Usually the Wintercrisp Cottage here is rented this time of year by Ms. Craft.”
Griff shifted the basket to his other arm. “It is. I’m staying here with her and her daughters.”
“Daughters?” Ronny frowned. “I remember that one pretty little blonde gal, always winning the pageants every year when she was younger.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s Harper. Her sister is Maggie.” How could anyone forget Maggie? Though he supposed Harper cast a long shadow. Adding a tiara to that mix probably made it even longer.
“You don’t say.” Ronny replaced his beanie and shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to meet her Sunday.”
Griff nodded, not trusting his words. He knew Ronny meant no harm by the slight, but no wonder Maggie had been dreading coming. She was invisible next to Harper and put down by her stepmother.
Which still begged the question—why did she even bother every year?
“Well, I better keep on keeping on.” Ronny pointed up the hill to the next cabin. “Nice day for a walk but it gets dark out here quick-like and the temperature drops. Remember that if you all go snowshoeing.”
“Yes sir. Will do.” Griff stared at the flyer in his hand as Ronny said goodbye and started up the hill. The pink and blue snowflakes on the paper stared back at him until they blurred together into a kaleidoscope of opportunity. An idea struck.
They should enter the bake-off. All of them.
Harper and Carolyn—against him and Maggie.
The idea settled over him like a warm blanket. It was perfect. After all, Maggie needed to leave her mark on this town, and the bake-off was just the way to do it. Her apple tarts were second to none. She could easily win, prove herself in a different way to her family—and have fun in the meantime. What could go wrong?
He set the basket on the ground and pulled his cell out of his back pocket. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the quiet house behind him, he typed in the phone number on the flyer.
Done.
4
Maggie perched on the edge of her bed and hunched over her iPad. “Guys, you’ve got to quiet down.” She glanced over her shoulder at her closed bedroom door. That’s just what she needed—her stepmom or stepsister to hear her talking on the phone to seven guys at once while her ‘boyfriend’ was downstairs unloading the car.
Dave—or maybe it was Dan, it was hard to tell the triplets apart on the sketchy connection—leaned over Moe to see into the phone. “Hey Maggie. I keep telling them to hush. It’s Lester’s fault. He’s all worked up about—”
“Quit hogging the screen.” Lester pushed Dave out of the way. “I want to tell her.”
Kyle wiggled into the picture between him and Moe before he could, a grin plastered across his pale face. “Lester finally leveled up on World of Warcraft.”
“I told you I would.” Lester sniffed, trying and failing to look unaffected. “So what’s your excuse now, huh, Dave?”
He snorted. “I leveled up last night, and didn’t see the need to create a ruckus about it.”
Oh brother. Maggie tapped the screen with her finger. “Guys, having a crisis here. Can we focus on me?”
“Sorry, Mags.” Dave took the screen back. “Back to what you were saying—I think you’re probably catastrophizing the alleged exchanges with your stepmother. It’s not as bad as you’re thinking.” Moe’s head popped over his shoulder and nodded in agreement.
Maggie sighed. “She embarrassed me in front of Griff.”
“Griff even being there is a lie in the first place.” Moe snorted. “Why do you care?”
She hated when they made sense. Maggie shifted her weight on the hot pink bed. “That’s not the point. The point is, she doesn’t know Griff isn’t real. And she still said that about me being single for so long.”
“Aren’t you single?” Dave frowned.
“Well, yeah.”
“Then I don’t see the disconnect.”
Of course not. She blew out her breath. “Guys—”
“She wants support, Dan. Not logic.” Kyle’s face appeared in the display.
“It’s Dave.”
“Sorry, I only saw the back of your head.” Kyle nudged someone’s shoulder out of the way and ignored their yelp of protest. “Don’t you know anything about women?” He rolled his eyes at Maggie. “Sorry, Mags. So how’s the wicked stepsister treating you?”
“Yeah, is she still hot?” Beeker came into view, eyebrows wiggling.
Kyle cuffed him upside the head. “Ignore him.”
“What? You know she is.” Beeker’s off-camera voice protested.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Yes, she’s still as gorgeous as ever. Beautiful. Ravishing. Stunning.”
“Uh oh, guys, she’s slipping into thesaurus mode.” Kyle pantomimed slicing his finger against his throat. “Dial it back.”
“Sorry Mags.” They all chimed in together.
Her stepsister’s beauty certainly didn’t need clarifying, but one thing Maggie couldn’t figure out was why Griff was responding to Harper the way he was. He seemed annoyed at her, yet kept looking at her every time he started a conversation, like he wanted to make sure she was listening. Granted, the looking part wasn’t unusual for any red-blooded male. But something just seemed different about it with Griff.
Maybe it was her imagination, and she was projecting negative expectations. Griff wasn’t interested in Harper. He was there as her date, however much of a façade it was. He wouldn’t renege on that, regardless of Harper swinging her hair around like a shampoo commercial.
The thought of Griff liking Harper—actually liking her—pricked like a splinter. A metal one. She really should end this emergency chat and go find him. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to leave him alone with her family for long. There were too many opportunities for this to blow up in her face.
She inhaled deeply. They just needed to get through the weekend, and then she could go back to her cozy bookstore existence and pretend like this big charade never happened.
Speaking of her store. “Hey.” Maggie peered closer into the screen and frowned. “Does Dan have his feet in my red chair?”
“Dan! Down.” Kyle barked. “Sorry, Mags. You were saying earlier about not understanding why your stepmom always insisted on this family get-away?”
“Yeah, it’s weird. No one ever seems to really have fun, yet here we are year after year.” Maggie lowered her voice to a whisper. The guys crowded around to hear. “It’s always a few weeks after Christmas, too—like she doesn’t want her holiday season interrupted by someone not in her real family.”
The sinking sensation she’d felt ever since laying eyes on Carolyn earlier this afternoon intensified. Maggie had come here out of loyalty to her father—to make yet another effort toward genuine connection with the family she had left, despite not getting much back. After a few hours in, she was already defeated and ready to go home. What did that say about her?
She swallowed hard. Would her dad be disappointed in her? Was there something else she should be doing?
Would he be upset she’d lied?
She cleared her throat of emotion, refusing to cry in front of the guys. “Bottom line, I think Carolyn just feels obligated. It’s pretty obvious.”
“I’m sorry. That sounds awful.” Kyle’s bushy brows furrowed with sympathy.
“Right.” Beeker snorted. “I wish my evil stepmother would obligate me to spend a weekend once a year in a fancy cabin resort and make amazing hot chocolate every day.”
“Dude.” An elbow from someone jabbed into Beeker’s ribs. “This is why you’re single.”
“Then why is Maggie single?” Lester asked. “She’s nice.”
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t helping. “Look guys, I know Lori is going to be shutting down the store in about half an hour, so do me a favor and help her clean up your tissues and Red Bull cans. I’ll talk to you all later.”
It was her own fault. She’d called for moral support, and it’d backfired. She apparently was expecting too much out of all the men in her life. Though to be fair, this wasn’t a conventional conversation for any of them. Her guys were used to cheering her up over dismal sales quarters or giving her pep talks about selling her apple tarts. They’d never understood those tarts were a way of expressing herself, of giving without pressure. It was the one thing she could do—and enjoy—freely, without feeling like she was competing or being compared. That was currently worth a lot more than a sporadic side income.
A knock sounded on the bedroom door. Maggie jumped. It flung open before she could react, and Griff barged inside, a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. “It’s official! We’re signed up!”
No time to power off. Hopefully the guys already had. She shoved a pillow over the iPad just in case and willed her loyal geeks to stay quiet. “Signed up for what?”
Her heart stammered against her chest and she tried not to look at the incriminating pillow. Not that Griff would be mad if she was up here talking to her friends—and definitely not jealous. He was just a faux boyfriend. But it was a little embarrassing to need to call in for emotional backup within hours of their arrival.
“The ninth annual Cabin Fever Bake-Off.” He read from the sheet. A triumphant grin broke through his dark beard as he looked up. “You’re going to enter your tarts.”
“I’m going to what?” She stood up, forgetting about the iPad, and tripped over a throw pillow as she squared off with Griff. Her pulse quickened. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.” He rolled the flyer up and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with it. “You’re a guarantee win.”
The compliment momentarily tempered her irritation, and her throat tightened. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know how much she loved baking those—and why it had to stay her thing. Her private thing. She searched for the right words. “Thanks, but I don’t know if that’s such a good—”
“Don’t worry, I signed up as your partner. It’ll help keep the ruse going for your stepmom.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pointedly raised his eyebrows. “But know this—I’m not wearing an apron.”
“How did you get this?” She grabbed the flyer from him, as if that could somehow stop this whole thing from happening.
“Ronny. Olsen, I think, was his last name. He was passing them out.”
Old Mr. Ronny. She should have known—he was a staple around the resort, and never could remember her name. She crumpled the flyer in her fist. She had to stop this. “Look, Griff, I truly appreciate the gesture, but I can’t—”
“Wait. You’re missing the best part.” He glanced over his shoulder into the empty hallway, then lowered his voice and smiled knowingly. “I signed Carolyn and Harper up, too.”
Oh no. Maggie pressed her fingers against her temples. This wasn’t happening. How in the world could that be the best part? One more opportunity for Harper to beat her at something, to show herself more worthwhile than Maggie. “Griff.”
“Don’t thank me, honey.” He grabbed her in a side hug and winked as she glared up at him. “That’s what boyfriends are for, right?”
Muffled laughter sounded from under the pillow. Griff’s eyebrows rose. Maggie groaned.
What a fine kettle of fish this was turning out to be.
Griff hated to admit it, but discovering Maggie’s tribe of seven goofballs hiding under a pillow on her bed made him a little jealous. Which was absurd—this was Maggie. Bookstore owning, coffee-spilling, stepfamily-tricking Maggie. They were acquaintances—work friends, at best. He barely knew her. It couldn’t be real jealousy.
He took a sip from the warmed-up cup of hot chocolate Carolyn had re-heated for him after his trek outside and leaned one hip against the kitchen counter. Solid oak, these cabinets, with a black and gray swirled granite countertop. The abstract pattern felt like his current control on his thoughts. Something about this cabin made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time—the desire to meet someone. To settle down, build a family. Good things, sure. But with that came the suffocating urge to prove himself worthy of it.
Not such a good thing. He thought he’d shaken that burden off years ago. Yet here he was, almost thirty, spending time in a luxury cabin with a fake girlfriend, with nothing to show for himself except a business that was almost where he wanted it to be.
And now this complicated mass of feelings clouding the mirror.
Maybe he was just feeling slighted because he thought he and Maggie had bonded over this whole deal with her family, and yet, she’d gone to her geek squad for support instead of him. It stung a bit.
He licked a rogue marshmallow off his lip. He was the one helping her out in a jam, lying to her family for the price of a few tarts, and she preferred venting to her clan of goofballs? He wanted to be the one giving her advice, offering sympathy, finding solutions. He was good at building—and that included building people up. She hadn’t given him a chance.
Hence this contest. He wanted to show Maggie she could do it. It was obvious she let Harper emotionally run her over—much like Harper had done to him back in the day. This win would give Maggie the edge she desperately needed. And it would further show Harper what kind of man he’d become despite her rejection—the successful, considerate, good-boyfriend type of man.
“Mom. I can’t believe you’re letting him get away with this.” Harper whispered, but it wasn’t soft enough. Her ire easily carried from the dining room into the kitchen, where Maggie perched on a barstool across the counter from Griff.
Maggie tapped her pencil on the pad of paper in front of her, seemingly oblivious to the heated discussion around the corner. After her initial shock of discovering he’d entered them in the bake-off, Maggie had recovered well, if not a bit mechanically, and had started making a list of ingredients for her tarts. “We need caramel.”
He nodded. “Right. And apples.”
She shot him a look, that side-eye that had become his main goal to achieve for the weekend. He hid his smile. Aggravating her was fun. He pointed to the notepad. “Butter.”
She started scribbling.
“I’m Winter Pageant alumni.” Harper’s indignation drifted from the dining room via a terse whisper. “I can’t enter the bake-off! What will people think?”
Griff covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He might have grown up a good bit since college, but clearly, the blonde bombshell had not. What had he ever seen in her? Besides the obvious, anyway. Had she always been that spoiled and selfish? His gut told him yes, she had, and he’d just been too blindsided back then by her perfe
ct smile and curves to realize. It was hard to even picture Maggie and Harper growing up in the same household, with such completely opposite end results.
He still needed to find out why Harper was pretending like she didn’t recognize him. Unless, of course, she really didn’t.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Carolyn’s voice, low and reserved, demanded respect. It automatically made him want to straighten his own posture. “This is just another area for you to excel. Plus, I’ll help you.”
“C-r-e-a-m c-h-e-e-s-e.” Maggie dragged each syllable out slowly as she wrote it down.
Griff set his empty mug in the sink. “You’re hearing them in there, right?”
“Pretty sure Mr. Ronny over at the main lodge is, too.”
Griff winced. “If I had known a bake-off would be this big of a deal…”
“What? You wouldn’t have entered us?” Maggie looked up from her list and raised her eyebrows.
“No, I’d have filmed your reactions for Youtube.”
She cut her eyes at him again and he cheerfully checked a mental scorebox. That was at least four. Maybe five.
He grabbed a package of peanuts from the snack bowl on the table and ripped open the top. “I didn’t realize everyone hated baking so much. Yours tarts are amazing—I figured making them was your next favorite thing to do after running Once More Books.”
“It was. It is.” Maggie traced over the word she’d just written, her mind clearly elsewhere. “I’m just used to giving them away.”
Griff shrugged, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “Then think of it as giving them to the judges. Ronny will appreciate it.”
She rolled in her bottom lip. “Maybe.”
“Hey.” He waited until she looked up and met his gaze. “You’re going to win.”
A faint blush crawled up her cheeks and she ducked her head. A lock of dark hair fell across her face and before he could censor himself, he reached over and tucked it behind her ear.
She jerked at his touch, and his fingers burned at the graze against her cheek. He closed his hand into a fist. “Listen.” He bent over and braced his forearms on the counter so he could talk quietly—and hide his racing heartbeat. “I know how you feel about your sister.”
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