The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

by Kauffman, Donna; Angell, Kate; Kincaid, Kimberly

  She inwardly sighed. What had she expected? That she’d take up residence here like she was family? She hadn’t known Lander that long and she’d only just met his mother and sister. She’d be leaving when the tour guide ushered everyone toward the front door.

  Abby took notice that the crowd had thinned out around them. Only one person continued to admire the tree. The enticement of two special desserts and a Yule punch had drawn everyone to the parlor. She wondered if she should excuse herself and join the others? When all she wanted was to remain by Lander’s side. To feel his heat and strength. To know he still desired her.

  “I have a gift for you,” he said, interrupting her thoughts with a pleasant surprise. Releasing her hand, he bent down, shifting several presents around the base of the Christmas tree, until he located a small rectangular box wrapped in silver foil with a red satin bow. Straightening, he handed it to her. “Merry Christmas, Abby,” he said.

  She took the gift, and her hands shook slightly. She wanted to cherish the moment. The box was almost too pretty to unwrap.

  “We’ll leave you two alone,” Catherine said, stepping back and allowing them their privacy. “Angela and I should be good hostesses and circulate with our guests.”

  Angela nodded, agreeing with her mother. “We’ll chat again soon,” she said to Abby, laying a hand on her arm in friendship. The two women then walked toward the parlor.

  Lander gently nudged her with his elbow. There was a sparkle in his eye when he said, “Open your gift, Abby.”

  She was all thumbs as she removed the bow and decorative foil. She knew in her heart his gift would be something special. Her eyes watered and her vision blurred as she lifted the lid on the white lacquered box. She could barely see the delicate angel through her tears.

  “She’s exquisite,” she said, her voice shaky, as she carefully unwrapped the new top ornament meant for her tree.

  “It’s an antique angel,” Lander said, wiping her tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. He then gave her the history behind his gift. “From the eighteenth century, and formed of plaster, the angel was made in France. The paper robes are covered in brass foil. The head is painted porcelain and her wings are pleated gauze. The halo is made of hair-thin curved glass rods.”

  Abby couldn’t take her eyes off her present. “I love your gift, your sentiment, and tradition.” She grew quiet and felt a moment of awkwardness. This was the last thing she’d expected. “I don’t have anything for you, Lander.”

  He wrapped his arm about her shoulders and drew her close to him. She shifted the gift box so as not to squash the angel between them. “You’re here, Abby. You’re all I want for Christmas.”

  Her throat grew so tight she couldn’t speak. She could only rest her head against his shoulder and breathe him in. Lander seemed to understand. He drew her so close, they nearly became one person. She swore she could feel his heart beating within her.

  The sound of departing footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors of the entrance hall. “This way, please.” She heard Winston Moore direct his tour down the hallway and toward the front door. “The next mansion on our tour is known as Lavender House. You will find the home decorated in shades of purple. In the summer months, the owners take the color scheme to the garden and grounds with hybrid chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, and deep purple lilac trees.”

  The guide stood back until all the guests had scooted out the door. Everyone but Abby. “Miss?” Winston prodded her along. “The Reynolds family is ready to lock up now.”

  There was a moment when her heart squeezed with the fear she’d have to leave, but the pressure eased when Lander said, “Abby is family. Her tour stops here.”

  Winston raised a brow. “Sir, this is highly unusual. Are you certain?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Lander told him.

  “Very well, then.” The guide cast them both a second look, giving Lander a moment to change his mind, before he slipped out the door.

  “I’m family?” Abby liked saying the words out loud.

  “I think you’ll fit in perfectly,” he said. “We need to spend more time together. I want our relationship to work.”

  So did she. With all her heart. She was going to do her best to show him that they were meant for each other. She truly believed that something other than fate had brought them together.

  She listened as he suggestively whispered near her ear. “Stay here tonight, Abby.”

  “I’d need to cancel my hotel room.” Which she’d be happy to do. “I’ll also call Bernice and have her extend her stay with Tennyson.”

  “We have a guest wing upstairs on the second floor, or you can stay in my master suite on the third,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll return to Pine Mountain and Tennyson and spend Christmas Day at the cabin.”

  She’d seen the wide staircase at the back of the mansion when she’d entered his home earlier. Garlands wrapped the polished wooden railings. An inside balcony overlooked the entrance hall. She wanted to climb those stairs. To spend the night with this man. Her man.

  “I’ll join you in your suite,” she said without hesitation.

  “My second Christmas wish just came true.”

  His arm was still around her, and they bumped shoulders and hips as they headed toward the staircase. She clutched the antique angel and lacquer box to her chest. With each step, the air warmed, shimmered, and she sensed her grandmother’s presence.

  “Thank you, Gram, for bringing us together,” she said softly beneath her breath.

  “Thank you, Dad, for Abby,” she heard Lander murmur beside her.

  Abby knew then that she and Lander Reynolds would climb these stairs for years to come. They would spend a lifetime of Christmases together.

  Happy tears filled her eyes.

  Her heart felt great joy.

  Today’s special moments would be tomorrow’s loving memories.

  Kate Angell says these Gingerbread Men are orgasmic: decorate to taste, and try them for yourself!

  OLD-FASHIONED GINGERBREAD MAN COOKIES

  5 to 5½ cups all-purpose flour

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  ¾ teaspoon salt

  2 teaspoons ground ginger

  1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

  ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg

  ½ teaspoon ground cloves

  1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature

  1 cup packed light brown sugar

  1 large egg, at room temperature

  1 cup unsulfured molasses

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  Combine the flour, baking soda, salt, and spices in a large bowl; set aside. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter, brown sugar, and egg on medium until smooth. Add the molasses and beat until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the vanilla. Stir in the flour mixture 1 cup at a time, blending until smooth. The dough should gather into a semi-firm mass. (If it’s not firm, add another ¼ to ½ cup flour, but not enough to make it crumbly.)

  Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Divide in half. Flatten into disks and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate at least 2 hours or up to 1 week.

  After dough has set, preheat oven to 350°F.

  On a floured surface, roll each disk to inch thick. Use gingerbread-man cutters to make shapes. Transfer them to a large, parchment-lined baking sheet, spacing them about 1 inch apart. Bake until firm to the touch, about 12 minutes. Cool slightly before transferring to a rack.

  Decorate in as sweet or as erotic a style as desired!

  Makes approximately 2 dozen cookies.

  Sugar and Spice

  KIMBERLY KINCAID

  Chapter 1

  November 9

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you making frosting on a Friday night will make you go blind?”

  Lily Callahan pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, marking her spot in the tattered recipe book with an index card even though she could make the cake on the page while in a coma.
Her gaze traveled from the careworn notebook to the doorframe of her kitchen, where her friend Clara stood grinning.

  “First of all, it’s fondant, not frosting. And secondly, I’m pretty sure that’s an urban legend.” Lily lifted a brow and smiled before bending down to grab her mixer’s hook attachment from one of the kitchen’s three overstuffed cabinets. If she stood in the dead center of the room and extended her arms, both sets of fingertips would easily kiss the lemon-yellow walls on either side. A galley kitchen was right up there with fickle oven temperatures and overmixed cookie dough in Lily’s nightmare department, but affordable space was at a premium on a baker’s budget, even in tiny Pine Mountain. She’d long since learned to make do.

  Clara ditched her easygoing expression in favor of something more serious and pushed off from the doorframe that barely encompassed her thin shoulders. “If it wasn’t, you’d have been completely sightless five years ago. It’s okay to leave work behind every once in a while, you know,” she said, sidestepping the stack of Tupperware bins housing Lily’s vintage cookie cutters and cake molds.

  “Not when I’ve got thirty-six hours and counting to make a three-tiered princess birthday cake, complete with edible glitter and handmade fondant tiaras.” Lily deposited the dough hook and the spotless seven-quart bowl belonging to her trusty Viking mixer into her friend’s outstretched hands.

  “You know I have no idea how to use this, right?” Clara examined the dough hook with an equal mix of curiosity and doubt. “I mean, other than as a back scratcher.”

  “Don’t even think about it, or I won’t make your offering for the Christmas cookie swap next month.”

  “That’s not funny, Lily! You know I can’t even boil water. And if Abby makes my cookies, she’s liable to spike them with some kind of aphrodisiac or something!”

  Lily couldn’t suppress the tiny chuckle brewing on her lips, both at Clara’s reaction and the mention of their other best friend’s mail-order erotic sweets business. “Not if she wants to keep her business a secret, she won’t. Anyway, you know I would never really leave you high and dry. Just keep me company while I make this cake, okay?”

  Lily maneuvered around the case of confectioner’s sugar sitting in front of her pantry. Good thing she used so much of the stuff—it made trying to cram the boxes into the already overflowing space a nonissue. God, she hated working out of her apartment. But making the rent on this place was hard enough. Affording an actual storefront was about as feasible as climbing Mount McKinley. In hot pants. During a blizzard.

  “It’s five o’clock on a Friday evening and you’re about to be up to your elbows in powdered sugar and corn syrup,” Clara pointed out, her tone carrying more mischief than heat. “Admit it. You’re having a love affair with your job.”

  Lily shrugged. “It could be worse. At least my job doesn’t use movie quotes as its primary means of communication, conveniently ‘forget’ its wallet four dates in a row, or think dinosaurs are just one big conspiracy theory.” That last one had been her personal favorite. If she didn’t know better than to believe in hokey superstitions, she’d swear she was cursed in the dating department.

  Clara bit her lip, but her giggle filled the cozy kitchen work space regardless. “I forgot about the T-Rex guy. What did that last, three dates?”

  “Two and a half,” Lily corrected, balancing a giant bottle of corn syrup in the crook of her elbow while she looked for the shortening. “I politely feigned a raging headache after he tried to convince me to pitch my iPhone into the nearest garbage can to avoid falling prey to The Man.”

  “Okay, so that guy was a little whack-a-doo.” Clara put the bowl and dough hook on Lily’s only available counter space and turned to give her a thoughtful look. “Still, a relationship with powdered sugar and pastry dough can’t be good for you, either.”

  “It’s better than the alternative.” At least Lily knew where she stood with the pastry dough. “And anyway, I don’t see you out on some hot date tonight.”

  “Please. We’re swimming in the same dating pool, remember?” Clara rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I have something important for you. Even though it’ll only make you work harder,” she said, moving back to the spot by the entryway where she’d left her bag.

  Lily’s curiosity slowed her hands over the perfect O of the mixing bowl beneath them. “According to you, that’s impossible, remember?”

  “If anything will make you push the boundaries of impossible, it’s this.” Clara whipped a sheet of printer paper from her bag. “We’re running this in tomorrow’s paper. Apparently, the resort just made the announcement.”

  Lily’s gaze snagged on the elegant logo emblazoned across the top of the page, her heart kicking against her ribcage. As a columnist at the Pine Mountain Gazette, Clara was privy to all sorts of juicy news. “Is that from Pine Mountain Ski Resort?”

  “I thought that might get your attention.”

  Hoo-boy, Clara wasn’t messing around. The resort was Pine Mountain’s lifeblood, not to mention one of the most gorgeous places on earth. The fact that the lush, wintry setting was only ninety minutes from Philadelphia made it one of the most popular ski spots in the entire Blue Ridge.

  Lily’s curiosity lifted to a full simmer. “More buzz about their plans to revitalize?” Although Pine Mountain Resort had a reputation for being upscale yet not overly formal, their culinary services—including the restaurant on site—garnered lackluster reviews at best. It was no secret in the cozy town that a complete revitalization was in the works.

  “Not quite.” Clara placed the single sheet in Lily’s sticky hands. At about the third paragraph, it started to flutter beneath her grip.

  “Oh my God. They’re running a Christmas cookie contest.”

  “That they are,” Clara agreed. “I heard they’re looking to bump up their reputation to attract a top-notch chef to run the new restaurant. Showing that they can bring in the crowds won’t hurt, and a contest is a great tie-in to the food itself. Gotta admit, it’s pretty brilliant marketing.”

  No way. No way. “Top prize is ten thousand dollars, Clara. As in, ten thousand tickets out of this kitchen and into my very own storefront!”

  While Lily’s cake catering business had been steadily growing, she was limited in what she could do from her own kitchen, both in scope and home-business catering regulations. With the right placement and a great business plan, owning her own bakery could vault her from small-time to the big leagues in about two seconds flat.

  And if she won this contest, it wouldn’t be just a pipe dream, because she’d have enough money to put down as collateral on a loan.

  Lily’s brain spun like egg whites just shy of meringue status, and she swung her gaze back to the printout in her hand. “The first round is in thirty-four days. Oh, God, I need to go through my recipes and brainstorm so I can make an outline. I have so much work to do!”

  “I knew you were going to dive into this headfirst.” A smile poked at the corners of Clara’s mouth, dissolving any sternness her voice might have carried. “Just remember, if you work yourself to death, you won’t be around to cut the ribbon at your own grand opening.”

  But Lily wasn’t having it. “If there’s anything I know, it’s that hard work and careful planning equal big strides.” It had been her creed the minute the first cake came out of her Easy-Bake Oven twenty years ago. “I’ve got to be in it to win it. One hundred percent.”

  Clara rolled up her sleeves. “All righty then. Where do you want to start?”

  The grin on Lily’s face felt delicious. “With the rules, of course.” She’d be damned if she’d risk her shot by not knowing every last one of the stipulations by heart. “By the time I’m done tonight, I’m going to have a surefire plan to walk away with that prize.”

  “I know you’ve got balls of solid rock, man, but breaking into La Luna’s wine cellar at one in the morning is pushing it, even for you.”

  Pete Mancuso ignored the doubt in his buddy’s voice a
nd cursed as he tried—and failed—to jimmy the lock on the restaurant’s wine-cellar door with his grocery-store bonus card.

  Maybe it was the grueling eleven-hour shift he’d just put behind him, or the thought of the impending ninety-minute drive back home to Pine Mountain, but picking a lock wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Realizing he’d be captain of a sinking ship if he kept it up, not to mention having some explaining to do at Joe’s Grocery for his shredded bonus card, he took a step back to assess the situation.

  “It’s not breaking and entering. We work here, and we’re already in the kitchen,” he pointed out to his fellow chef, Jake Donovan. “We’re just bending the rules to get a special ingredient after hours, that’s all.”

  Jake laughed, the sound echoing off the pristinely scrubbed blue-tiled walls of the kitchen behind them. “Maneuvering around the lock with a credit card is more like fracturing the rules, don’t you think?”

  “Potato, potahto. Amazing how much gray area there is in bucking authority, isn’t it?” Pete reset his card, holding it perpendicular to the door before sliding it into the hairbreadth of space between the locking mechanism and the wooden jamb.

  He leaned against the door, applying just enough pressure before continuing. “Anyway, the dessert that’s prompting this little recon mission will be worth every bite.” Provided he could actually pop the lock and get on with it, anyway. Damn, he was losing his touch.

  “Uh-huh. So why did you wait until Martine left for the night to sneak in, rather than just asking for the key at a normal hour?” Jake tossed a nervous look over one huge, white-jacketed shoulder, as if speaking their boss’s name out loud would conjure the old battle-axe from nothing more than two syllables and bad karma.

  Pete maneuvered his way around the question, but wasn’t as lucky with the finicky lock. “One in the morning is a normal hour. And don’t worry about Martine. She won’t be complaining when she can plate this dessert for fifteen bucks a pop.”