by R. Holmes
Baking? Fuck.
"Grams, I haven't baked shit in my entire life. How am I going to win that competition?" I ask exasperatedly.
"Finn. Language."
"But—"
She cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. "But, nothing. We're going to spend the next day baking my secret cookies. I haven't shared this recipe with anyone, not even your daddy. Not even Gramps. But, I think this is exactly what you will need to win."
She walks over to her large cupboard where she keeps all of her recipe books and pulls out a large black book from the very back, flipping to a page in the back.
"Here it is." She points to the recipe on the paper. "This. This is what is going to win you Jingle Wars. You’ll have what no one else does. A secret weapon of sorts. In the form of the most delicious cookies in all of Hollyridge. I’d bet my life on it."
Looking at it...she just might be right.
Grams’ secret recipe is going to win me Jingle Wars.
The crowd today is twice what it has been for the past two competitions. Which is saying a lot, since my anxiety was proof of just how many people have been here. Being on stage is one thing, being on a stage surrounded by over five hundred people with a camera pointed in my face is an entirely different thing. Freya stands right next to me, all eyes on us because we’re the final two contestants.
"Welcome back to the last day of the Jingle War competition! I don't know about you guys, but I am so very sad for it to come to an end,” Cornelius says. “It has been a blast seeing all of the wonderful people of Hollyridge and everything that this jolly town has to offer. There is just one last challenge before the winner takes all. And by all, I mean one hundred thousand dollars!"
The crowd explodes in applause.
Freya is quiet next to me. Ever since I walked onto the stage this morning, she has been quiet and not herself. I can tell something’s off. I want to ask her what's wrong, but with the cameras, nothing is private. We haven't had a moment alone in the last few days, with her growing too busy with preparing for her dad’s arrival and me practicing Grams’ recipe.
Despite my pep talk with Grams, I'm still worried about Gramps. I haven't left the house but to pick up a few groceries since he's come home from the hospital. Even then those were short trips, worried if I go too far something will happen and I won't be able to get home in time. Needless to say, this stage is still the last place that I want to be.
I steal another glance at Freya, and she's fidgeting with her nails, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Fuck, it's only been a few days but I miss her. She stopped by as often as she could once Gramps came home from the hospital, when she was able to step away from her work at the resort, checking on Gramps and stealing moments with me. I miss having her beneath me, I miss the little sounds she makes as she comes around my cock, I miss how she gets snuggly and happy once I've given her a handful of orgasms. One more reason to get this damn competition over with. I wanna get home to my girl, and my family.
"Alright folks, it's time. Let's get this competition started!" Cornelius says into his microphone. He's about as over the top as they come, decked out in a green velvet suit with a bright red bowtie to match. Last competition it was a bright red suit.
"The moment of truth," he says, followed by a drumroll from somewhere off to the side of the stage.
Its deep beat does nothing for the knot in my gut. There's only one person winning this competition, and either way the other is going to be hurt by it. It seems like there's not a real winner here no matter which way it goes. Fuck, the last thing I want to do is hurt Freya. At the same time, I need this money more than I want to admit aloud, it means everything to our family. It saves the inn.
But at what cost?
Hurting the girl I care about?
"Today's competition will be a combination of skills. Starting with knowing your way around the inside of a kitchen!" Cornelius exclaims, gesturing to behind the both of us where a deep red velvet curtain with the Jingle Wars logo is. The curtain parts, revealing two kitchen stations with various things for baking. A mixer, giant bowls, baking sheets.
Damn, Grams' intel was right. It is a cookie competition.
The knot tightens further in my stomach, knowing I may win. It's a tug of war inside of me. Happy that I have a legit chance of winning this thing, disappointed that my girl might leave here with a broken heart. Intentional or not, a broken heart is never something I wanted to give Freya.
"Your task today will involve patience, and baking skills. Are we a little worried about Finn here folks?" He laughs lightly, inciting the same reaction from the crowd. "When the timer begins, you will have two and a half hours to make the best batch of cookies that Hollyridge has ever seen. You will be judged on your final product. You have been provided everything you will need to bake the cookies, but you'll have to have your very own recipe. Manage your time well, as it’s very easy to let it slip away from you. With that being said, contestants…” He gestures to the kitchen set up behind us. “Take your places." He gestures to the kitchen set up behind us.
Freya shoots me a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes. It does nothing but cause a bigger knot to form in my stomach. I'm thankful as fuck that Grams spent the last day with me in the kitchen showing me exactly what I need to do to make our secret recipe. Without her, I would have no hope for winning. None.
Up until yesterday Grams has always fed me all the treats I could possibly want, but now it's my turn to make her and my Gramps proud. Cornelius follows us over to our stations as we settle behind the counter and prepare for the timer to start. I see an apron hanging on the stand next to me, so I grab it quickly and put it on. It's a deep red with the Jingle Wars logo on front, much like the curtains that hid this entire ensemble.
If you would have asked me three months ago, did I ever see myself on a stage in the middle of town square, surrounded by hundreds of people, participating in the Jingle Wars competition...I would have told you that you were insane, that nothing would ever make me participate in that stupid competition. I would've told you that falling in love was the farthest thing from my mind. Especially with a girl fresh off the beach in California with a pair of wet, soggy UGGs and a faux fur coat. But here I am, doing things I never thought I'd do.
The truth was that somewhere along the way Freya had changed me. She brought out the man that I was always meant to be, it just took a gentle pull from the girl I’m fucking crazy over.
"Are you ready Finn? Freya?" Cornelius asks us both.
We look over at each other and I hold her steady gaze for a few beats before I nod.
"Remember, you have two and a half hours to win this competition! Best of luck to you both."
Seconds later the bell rings, and our time starts. I take a deep breath before I begin, trying to remember everything that Grams told me.
"Finn, collect everything you need before you start. Don't wait until you're mid bake. That leaves room for forgotten ingredients, error, and you'll waste time doing so."
Right.
All the ingredients first.
Not only am I doing this entire thing from fucking memory, I have to recall exactly what the measurements should be for it.
I spend the next few minutes trying not to see what Freya's doing, but forcing myself to focus on my task instead. I gather all the ingredients one by one and arrange them in front of me in the order I'll need them. Then I spend an extra few minutes measuring each ingredient out as meticulously as possible, then place it in front of its packaging. That way, I can grab each one and have it already prepared.
Time flies by and when I glance up to check the time I'm shocked that it's already been an hour. I look over to Freya who seems to be struggling with the mixer, and I wish she would have had more time with Grams in the kitchen. I know this isn't something she's ever gotten to do, especially with her childhood.
Fuck.
She looks as beautiful as ever with flour all over her apron, in her hair
—and is that a chocolate chip stuck to her cheek? Her normally put together appearance is completely disheveled, and she looks frustrated.
I pull my attention from her and try and focus on the bowl of cookie dough I've managed to put together in the mixer in front of me. I use the scooper provided and measure each cookie out individually, placing them on the baking sheet in front of me. Once finished, I put the sheet into the oven and then... I wait. I watch Freya struggle with her mess. I almost fucking just quit, and go over to help her. I can't stand to see her so down and defeated. Nothing like the woman I've come to know.
But, I don't. Because if I do, it means losing the inn. Breaking my grandparents’ heart. So I stand here, and I wait for one minute before the timer dings to remove the cookies.
Grams said the secret to her recipe is not just a secret ingredient, but it's following the receipt down to a T. And I did. I followed each and every direction. Now, pulling the cookies out of the oven, I know that I nailed it. The aroma wafting from the oven is fucking delicious and I'm thankful that I get to try my hard work because damn, these smell so good.
They are perfect. A golden brown, perfectly round shaped. After giving them a few minutes to cool, I use the spatula and remove each one, placing them on the golden platter. Finally, I pick the last one up and take a giant fucking bite. I almost moan out loud because they are that good.
Perfect. Melt in your mouth delicious.
Not ten minutes later, the bell rings, signaling our time is up. Freya managed to finish her cookies in time, but...they don't exactly look like cookies? More like a cookie cake, all melded together in an unusual shape.
She looks like she's going to burst into tears at any minute.
Shit.
"Alright everyone, time is up, and we have two batches of what I know will be delicious cookies!" Cornelius comes over to stand between our stations, and signals us to come over together.
Freya throws her apron down on the counter, and bites her lip, holding back tears. My competitive girl.
"Let's give the judges fifteen minutes to deliberate and we'll announce our Jingle Wars winner!" He smiles for the camera, then exits the stage left. Two stage hands grab our platters of cookies and bring them to the judges table. I use the break to talk to Freya.
"Hey, what's going on?" I ask, careful not to get too close since I'm sure the camera's are still rolling. The last thing we need is more unwanted attention from the press.
"Uh...my dad. He got here early. He's here in the crowd and I'm just nervous. Overwhelmed," she says, not meeting my eyes.
Something is off, and it isn't just her dad. But, now isn't the time I guess.
"Okay, well you did great, baby, I'd eat the shit out of your cookies." I grin and a small smile tugs at the corners of her lush lips.
"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm just ready for it to be over." She sighs.
"I know, but hey, how about later we watch a Christmas movie? Snuggle up with some hot chocolate."
She nods.
"I'd like that. Thanks, Finn." She flashes me another fake smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Cornelius joins us back on the stage with the signature red envelope and gold seal, the one that holds our fate.
I'm nervous as fuck. Worried about what's going to happen once we step foot off this stage.
"It has truly been a pleasure to come here to Hollyridge and host Jingle Wars. I am already looking forward to next year! Without further adieu, the winner of the Jingle Wars competition is..." He trails off when the drumroll begins.
I look over at Freya who's completely rigid with nerves, and I know she's feeling just what I am. Saying fuck what everyone has to think, I take her hand in mine and squeeze. I hope she can feel what I’m not able to put into words, right now.
"Hollyridge's very own, Finn Mayberry!"
The crowd goes wild, the cameras cut to me, and the only thing I can do is look at Freya. She gives me a small smile and walks off stage without a backwards glance.
Fuck, it’s hard to enjoy this knowing she’s hurting, whether over this or her dad.
"Finn, how do you feel right now?" Cornelius asks with the mic pointed right at my face.
"I... I'm shocked. to say the least. Appreciative. Thanks for coming out everyone." I give him a shy smile. I hate all of the attention placed on me. Always have.
I spot West in the crowd whooping and hollering and I allow myself, even just for a moment, to be happy and fucking proud of what I accomplished. I can’t believe I won the damn competition. I just hope that once this is over, Freya will say yes to being mine.
I…lost.
I lost the competition.
Cornelius Frost congratulates Finn, dancing around the stage in his green velvet suit. The applause from the crowd is deafening, but the noise reaches me in that distorted, murky way like it’s muffled by water. Must be the blood rushing in my ears.
Get it together, sis. Still broadcasting live on air. No crazy girl breakdowns on national television.
I take a deep breath and my racing thoughts begin to clear.
As badly as I wanted to win, I’m not as disappointed as I thought I would be.
It’s right that Finn won. This challenge called for us to do something I’ve never had—use a favorite recipe to bake our holiday cookies. Without any family recipes of my own, the best I could do was quickly Google recipes with rave reviews at my station while trying to remember what Grams Mayberry taught me about handling cookie dough. The pressure of doing it in front of an audience, in front of Dad, made it hard to focus and I ended up with…
Well, at least Finn made me feel better about my kitchen disaster by assuring me he’d eat it. I want to disappear with him so we can go snuggle and drink enough hot cocoa to drown out this whole day.
But what stings is that my father’s eyes are boring into me from the in person audience, his investors at his side. They weren’t front and center, but I spotted them just before the challenge timer began. His cold stare rattled me more than it ever has. He got to watch every minute of my defeat. And to Dad? Losing anything means you’re worthless to him.
That truth is what crushes down on me after I step off the stage with my stomach twisting in anxious knots as the broadcast ends. Finn gets pulled into hugs and back slaps as West and the residents of Hollyridge congratulate their favorite son on taking the Jingle Wars crown title.
With the money, he’ll be able to do what he wanted—keep the Mayberry and make his grandparents proud.
My heart constricts with a bout of happiness for him. All I want to do is run over and dive into his arms, inhale the spice of his woodsy cologne, and celebrate with the people who have become like family to me. I want to join them, but I’m standing off to the side, an outsider once more.
“Freya.” I can’t stop my flinch at Dad’s stony bark. It’s so much worse in person than over the phone. “A word.”
Reluctantly, I turn my back on Finn, West, and everyone we know celebrating his win to face my father and his flock of investors. Even the festive decorations of town square I’ve loved since moving here can’t shield me against the way Dad’s tone makes me feel like a silly little girl.
“Dad,” I say lightly, pretending everything is fine. Pretending the only reason he’s here isn’t because of money and business, but because he cares about me. “I hope the trip out was good. You’re here a little earlier than I expected. I was going to meet you in the lobby with these great welcome drinks one of our mixologists does—a twist on hot toddies and mulled wine.”
Ingram Anderson sneers at me, casting a judgmental look at the holiday cheer filling the square. “The closest airfield is almost an hour away. Ridiculous. I should never have to wait so long. My time is valuable.”
I remember that from when I flew into the nearest major airport. I had to take a regional plane, then pick up my rental car and drive the rest of the way.
“It’s part of Hollyridge’s charm,” I say, trying to s
mile with positivity. “We’re tucked away in the mountains. It’s how it’s remained so quaint and untouched. People love it, they’ll come from all over to visit.”
“Not according to the numbers,” says one of the investors flanking Dad. He has a beak-like nose that he glares down. “The Alpine is barely scraping by compared to all of the other resort properties. A severe disappointment compared to the projections before the location was opened. It’s only continued to peter along in performance.”
It’s a jolt to hear. All they care about are the numbers, not about the guests who come to stay. They would never care about the excitement on the little boy’s face who helped me show off the virtual sleigh ride, or about the couple who got engaged at the top of our ski slope last week, or the older man who proudly told me he’s been coming to the Alpine in Hollyridge regularly since it opened because he loves it.
Uncomfortable with having this conversation within hearing distance of people around us who might pick up shifts at the Alpine and worry about the bleak topic, I go into people-pleaser mode. “Are you hungry? We could stop by the bakery across the street. Betsy has great coffee and killer bear claws—seriously, I’m so addicted to them. Then I can give you a full tour and present my marketing plan for the next quarter to keep us adaptive instead of reliant on holiday tourism.”
“Stop wasting my time, Freya,” Dad snaps. “You’ve always been lackadaisical in your approach. Nothing like what Anderson Resorts requires of its team members.”
My words stick in my throat and I drop my hands to my side instead of gesticulating with enthusiasm.
“I already went to the property,” he continues with a disgruntled frown. “Where you should’ve been. I wasn’t impressed at all. And where were you? Here, doing—” He makes a jerking sweep with his arm to indicate the square. Distaste is clear on his face. “—this.”
Maybe it’s because I haven’t been in the office squaring off with him and the other ruthless executives, but I’m not fast enough to defend myself. Not quick enough to make Dad listen. I’ve lost the edge to be ready for anything he throws at me, rusty after growing comfortable in Hollyridge, far away from him.