How to Bake the Perfect Christmas Cake (Home for the Holidays - Book 2)

by Gina Henning

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. One dress?” Megan shakes her head. “Come on, it’s a good thing I’m here.” I follow her as we make our way to the dressing room.

  “Hi, my sister would like to try on these dresses.” Megan holds up the dresses for the sales attendant.

  “Mmmhmm…Okay, well we’ve got a five-item limit.” The sales lady grabs a red plastic card with a white number five on it.

  “Five?” Megan stabs her head with her fingers. “Fine.” She sorts through her pile and counts out five dresses.

  “Right, this way.” The lady leads us to the second stall on the right side. I follow behind Megan into the stall.

  “Can you wait outside?” I raise my eyebrows at her. I’m all for sisterly support, but I can handle dressing on my own.

  “Sure.” Megan steps outside the stall.

  I take off my jeans and sweater and slide into the first dress. It’s a bright-purple number with slits on the sides. No way. I’m no Lady Gaga.

  I toss it over the stall with the hanger and pick out the next dress, its navy with tiny flecks of glitter.

  “What’s wrong with the purple dress?” Megan asks through the door. “Too tight?”

  I laugh. “No, not too tight, I’m not wearing something with slits on the sides.” I glance at myself in the mirror. The dress has two straps that crisscross over my collar bone. It’s too tight, I’m gasping for air.

  “Well show me the next one.”

  I open the door. “I can’t breathe.”

  “What? It doesn’t look too tight?” Megan tugs on the waist.

  “The straps around my neck. I need…oxygen.” I close my eyes and then shut the door.

  “Oh good grief, you’re so dramatic. You’re just like Mom.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” I sing out to her.

  The next dress is taupe. Nope. I stare at the last dress, a possible contender. I pick it up and slide it over my head. It’s ruby-red with a lace overlay. I open the door.

  Megan inspects me from all angles and shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It just doesn’t look right. Here, try this one on.” She hands me the black lacey dress that I had picked out. “I exchanged one of the purple ones from the attendant, so you are still only five items.”

  I take the dress and close the door. I hop out of the red dress and pull the black one over my head. I stand in front of the mirror. I’m like the black swan, minus the face makeup and extra poof of the tutu. I open the door to the stall.

  Megan gasps. “It’s perfect! You look gorgeous.”

  I take in a deep breath. “Thank you.” We hug. “Hurry, we have to get shoes too!”

  “Right.” I close the door and quickly hop out of the dress and into my jeans and sweater. Megan has already given the sales attendant the remaining dresses and we scurry to the register. I pay for the dress and we head for the escalator which is jam-packed. I tap on the railing as we creep down to the bottom floor. I want to pole vault over this crowd and land in the shoe department.

  “There they are.” Megan points to a pair of silver heels. Sparkling at us from across the room, we rush over to the display. They have straps that wrap over the ankle of the mannequin, like ballet slippers.

  I grab a shoe sales guy. “Do you have those in size seven?” I point at the shoes.

  The guy purses his lips to the side. “Not sure…I’ll go and check in the back.”

  We nod and find a seat. “I’ll keep looking in case they don’t have your size.” Megan goes off on a hunt for a runner-up.

  I dig into my purse and type a text to Jack.

  Thank you for the ornament…I’m dancing right now thinking about tonight. I can’t wait to see you. XX Lauren

  My phone vibrates in my hand.

  Dancing without me?

  I laugh. Never.

  See you at three.

  My eyes widen. Three! I glance at my phone, it’s already one. Shiat.

  “We’ve got a seven and a half. You want to try it?” The sales guy says to me.

  “Sure.” I might as well, a half size isn’t that much of a difference.

  “Okay, I’ll go get it.” He turns and walks towards the back room.

  Seriously? Why wouldn’t he bring it with him? I shake my head.

  Megan returns with a pile of shoes. “I’ve got these as back-ups. What’s the deal, do they have your size?”

  “They have a seven and a half. He’s going to go and get it now.”

  “He didn’t bring it with him?” Megan wrinkles her eyebrows.

  “No he didn’t.” I roll my eyes.

  The guy returns with a box. “Here you go, a size seven.”

  Megan and I exchange crinkled-eye stares. The guy opens the box. Inside are the gorgeous shoes. They are sparkling and calling me to try them on and never take them off. I want to slide into them and dance out of the store and into Jack’s arms.

  “So are you going to try them on?” Megan nudges my shoulder.

  “Yes, of course.” I slip off my boots and slide into the heels. I stand up and strut around a few times.

  “Perfect.” I sigh. I feel like the Snow Princess about to perform.

  “Do they feel comfortable enough to walk for a few hours?” Megan raises and eyebrow at me. Our eyes meet and we laugh. As if comfort was ever a concern. I take the shoes off and carefully place them in the box. I put my own shoes back, hand the box to the sales guy and follow him to the register.

  Megan and I navigate our way through the busy Christmas shoppers and out into the brisk air. It’s probably fifty degrees outside. We find the car and place my packages in the backseat.

  “What time is he picking you up?” Megan starts up the engine and backs out of the parking space.

  “He texted me three.” My chest tightens.

  “Three? It’s two-fifteen.” Megan speeds up the car.

  “I know, but go slow at least in the parking lot.” I grab her arm. “It is three days before Christmas, and lots of people are out.”

  Megan slams on the brakes. A young woman with a handful of bags peeks over her packages and gives Megan the death stare. Megan waves. The woman rolls her eyes.

  “What’s with her, it’s Christmas time!” Megan turns on my mom’s stereo. I flinch. I’m expecting to hear a bunch of Tibetan monks chanting, but instead it’s my mom’s favorite Christmas song. ‘Rocking around the Christmas tree’ blares through her speakers.

  Megan manages to get us home without causing any injuries to anyone or my mom’s car and I think my near-death experience quota is up to five for the day. We hop out of the car and I grab my packages from the backseat.

  It’s two thirty-five as per my phone. Jack will be here in less than thirty minutes. Shiat. I’ve got to hurry. I rush up the stairs without greeting my family in the living room and head for my bedroom door. I toss my bags on my bed and undress as fast as I can.

  I slide the plastic off the dress and cut the tags. I throw it over my head and zip up the back. I reach down and grab my curling iron from my suitcase, plug it into the wall and place it my vanity.

  Okay, makeup time. I dig into my lavender cosmetics bag and find my smoky eye palette. I swish my brush over the sparkly black shadow and brush it over my lid. I take my bigger brush and swipe it over the dark brown and deepen my crease line on each eye. My little pot of sparkles is calling my name. I dig into my cosmetic bag and find the pot of gold shimmery dust and dab some across my brow bone and in the corners of my eyes. A bit of blush, I swipe on a few strokes of rouge on the apples of my cheeks and up my cheekbone. I opt for my light-pink gloss for my lips. The light on my curling iron is green. I pick it up and go round and round my hair, into loose ringlets all over my head. I stare at myself in the mirror and nod. Magnifique.

  Oh shoot. I didn’t get a purse. I traipse out of my room. “Mom?”

  “Yes, dear, I’m
in my room.” I follow my mom’s voice down the hallway and into her room. She is folding laundry on her bed.

  “Mom, do you have a clutch I could borrow?”

  My mom turns around and faces me. “Oh, Lauren, you look so beautiful. Let me go and get my camera.” My mom heads for her closet and rummages through her things. She returns to where I’m standing with her older-than-eight-track player camera.

  “Okay, now smile.” Click-click-click-click-click.

  I smile through the burst of flashes, I’m sure my eyes are closed in all of them. Finally the flashing stops and I blink several times. “Do you have a clutch I can borrow?”

  “Oh sure, let me see.” She goes back to the closet and crashing and thumps come from the inside.

  “Here you go, it matches perfectly.” My mom hands me a satin black clutch. It’s beautiful and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.

  “Thanks, Mom, it’s gorgeous.”

  “Yes, well, it’s antique at this point, that’s the clutch I had when your father took me to see Elvis in Vegas.” She beams.

  “Oh wow, how cool! Thank you.” I kiss her cheek and make my way out. I need to switch out the items in my current purse to this clutch.

  “Lauren, Jack’s here.” Megan calls from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Great, I’ll be right down.” I head for my bedroom.

  I dump the contents from my purse on my bed and find all of the important items. My wallet, my powder, my phone, comb, floss, and lip-gloss. I stick them in the clutch and grab my perfume on my vanity. I squirt on each side of my neck, my wrists and between my legs. The liquid makes me jump. Ha!

  As I sashay down the stairs, I’m reminded of being all dressed up for a date. Prom…that didn’t go so well. Scott was not the best of dates. He got super-drunk and passed out at the dance. I shudder.

  “Wow, Lauren, you look amazing.” Jack reaches for my hands and pulls me close. He kisses me.

  I pull back. “Thank you.” I stand back and take him in. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks and black jacket with a blue and white striped shirt.

  “I like the suit,” I smile. “Let’s go.” I don’t want my mom to realize he’s here and want to take another round of blindness-inducing photos.

  “Have fun!” Megan says and squeezes my arm.

  “Thanks.” We stride down the sidewalk and Jack opens the door to his car. The last time I was in his car was over Thanksgiving. I take in a deep breath. Happiness overcomes me. I’m with a great guy and about to have a fabulous night.

  Jack starts up the engine. “Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry, it’s three?” I squint my eyes.

  “True, but I’ve always got an appetite.” Jack wiggles his eyebrows at me.

  I laugh. “What are you in the mood for?”

  “Moo Gai Combo de Lauren?” Jack steers the car out of my parents’ neighborhood and heads south on I35.

  “Again?’ I cock my head to the right.

  “I’m always in the mood for Chinese, but we can have something else. If you had your choice of your last meal what would it be?”

  I press my finger to my lip. “Hmm…I guess it would have to be eggplant parmigiana.”

  “Well then, eggplant parmigiana it is. I know a great Italian restaurant close to the theater. In fact it’s in walking distance.” Jack eyes my feet and then makes his way up my legs. He swallows. “Are those comfortable to walk in?”

  I laugh. “Comfort smumfort. Walking distance I can handle.”

  “Well, if the road becomes too burdensome I’ll just swing you over my shoulder and carry you.” Jack flashes me a sparkling grin.

  “You wouldn’t hold me like a bride?” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “No, that’s a special grip reserved for only once in life.” Jack runs his finger along my jaw.

  My chest tightens. I need to change the subject.

  “So how are things going with Vintage Estates?” I rub my knees. It’s a good thing I used my special lotion this morning. They are smooth and soft.

  “Argh, well, I’ve finally decided to sell my architecture firm to a partner and I’ll use the money from that to pay off the balloon payment mortgage that Sherry took out.” Jack grips the steering wheel.

  “Really?” I rub his arm.

  “Yes, it’s the only option.”

  “There isn’t another investor? Or just letting the business go to the bank?” I probably shouldn’t have said the last part.

  “Absolutely not. Vintage Estates has been in my family for years. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way.” He furrows his brows.

  “I’m sorry. I was just—”

  “It’s okay, I know you are only trying to help.” Jack glances in my direction and smiles.

  “Well, that suggestion isn’t much of a help.” I stare out the window and before I can even reconsider my thoughts, I’m speaking them out loud. “What if I could help in another way?”

  Jack stares at me. “In what way?”

  “Finance is my thing. I’ve been the top resolution consultant for my company for five years straight. I’m able to find solutions that others haven’t.” I raise my chin. I’m proud of myself, but I don’t want to sound arrogant.

  “What, are you the wolf?” Jack laughs.

  “Yes, I guess you could say in this instance, I am the wolf.” I giggle.

  “If you are truly the wolf like in Pulp Fiction, sure, I’d be interested in giving it a try.” He reaches over and grabs my knee. “But in all other aspects I’d prefer to be the wolf and you’re Little Red Riding Hood.”

  My leg is on fire. I’m thankful the car is slowing down, something needs to. We pull up in front of a restaurant and the valet opens my door. I step out into the road. It’s cold. I should have brought a jacket. This was not smart planning on my part. Jack rushes round to my side and wraps his arm round my shoulders. He kisses my head. We pause for a second and I read the name above the door of the restaurant Ti Adoro.

  Chapter Twelve

  I stare down at the piles of bills and papers, some of it is organized, but the majority is a big bag of receipts and handwritten notes. I can only imagine the IRS stumbling into this mess and shaking their heads. Most likely they would shuffle the papers, receipts, and notes around and then say, “Yeah, we think you filed everything correctly” and move on happily to the next home. But this isn’t the case for me. I can’t walk away from this mess and I definitely can’t walk away from Jack. The very thought of being without him makes me sad, which is somewhat silly since we live in two different states.

  “Okay, we need to make some piles. Are any of these receipts or notes yours?” I shift my eyes from the mess to Jack. He’s sitting across from me with a pair of Superman glasses, or rather Clark Kent. I like a guy in a pair of smart glasses. He puts a pen up to his mouth.

  “Those are all the receipts from Sherry and Lewis, but mostly from Sherry. I think my brother adhered to my same policy of being paperless.” He sets his eyes on his MacBook. “All of my records are here, in Excel and QuickBooks. I’ve been asking Sherry since I got here to begin transferring her data and records to these systems. But she wasn’t really into it.” He sighs.

  “Yeah, I could see how stealing a ton of money would get in the way of proper record-keeping.” I tsk.

  Jack nods at me and blows some air through his teeth.

  “All right, well, I’m not even sure if logging any of this is a good idea for now. How about, let’s see what is in the bank accounts, if any, and then figure out monthly expenses to determine the profit and loss.” I bump him out of the way and slide into the seat in front of his mac.

  Jack moves over a bit but not enough. Our legs are touching. “This might be more fun if you were wearing a sexy little accountant outfit.” Jack squeezes my knee.

  “I can think of a lot of ways this could be more fun, but I’m not sure cos-play at a retirement home is one of them.” I knock his knee. “Where are
your bank accounts held?” I hover my fingers over the keyboard, ready to strike down on the keys to find the answers to questions about how bad a situation this is. I’m almost afraid to let my fingers touch the keys. Like once my skin is on the plastic, some sort of wake-up sequence will happen. I’m scared. I’ve managed multi-million dollar accounts, but I’m expecting the worst from this screen. I want to give it a go and see if I can find any way for Jack to avoid selling his architecture firm to save Vintage Estates, but my confidence is lacking. I take a deep breath and let it out quickly.

  “Wells Fargo and Texas Bank One, but the latter isn’t online, we’ll have to go in person.” Jack says.

  I tap my fingers over the keys quickly to the login screen at Wells Fargo.com.

  “The Texas Bank One account isn’t registered for online access?” I toss my head back.

  “No, the bank itself doesn’t have online access for its customers yet.” Jack’s shoulders rise and fall.

  “They aren’t online?” I shake my head. “How is that even possible? How do they even have customers?” I shake my head again and realize they do have at least one customer. A customer I’m sitting right next to.

  “I know, what kind of idiots would bank with them?” Jack says, giving me a raised eyebrow glance.

  I slug his shoulder. “You know what I mean, seriously though, why are you banking there?” I roll my eyes.

  “My brother and Sherry already had the account set up and I haven’t had the chance to change things, yet. But it would be a good idea to go down there, there might be some money there, I’ve already checked Wells Fargo.”

  “Well, I would still like to see the Wells Fargo account. What’s your login?” I stare up at him. Out of nowhere I have the courage, I’m channeling my business persona. Ready to take on the challenge of this situation and remedy it, if I can.

  “VE1979 and the password is wise&old$.” Jack’s eyes are on the screen. I type in the login and the password.

  “Wise and old money? Please tell me you did not come up with that?” I’m flabbergasted. This wouldn’t be such a bad password if it wasn’t for the bank account for a retirement home. But good lawd, wise and old money? I glare at Jack, waiting for him to answer. He sits in silence, his eyes on the screen. I cut my eyes to his focus. There it is in front of us, a seven-figure number. My chin is in my lap.