Mangos and Mistletoe
Adriana Herrera
Published by Adriana Herrera, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MANGOS AND MISTLETOE
First edition. March 14, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Adriana Herrera.
ISBN: 978-1393339175
Written by Adriana Herrera.
Table of Contents
Praise for Adriana Herrera
Also by Adriana Herrera
Copyright
Contents
Dedication
Mangos & Mistletoe
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Adriana Herrera
American Dreamer
American Fairytale
American Love Story
American Sweethearts
About the Author
Praise for Adriana Herrera
“Compulsively Readable.”
—Publisher's Weekly
“Adriana Herrera writes romance with teeth—you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll be refreshed and inspired to fight even harder to create the vibrant, welcoming America in which her books are set.”
—Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling Author
“Adriana Herrera writes family—all kinds of family—better than anyone else writing today.”
—Cat Sebastian, bestselling author of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
“I had so much fun reading Mangos and Mistletoe and now I want everyone else to read it too. This is Adriana Herrera's first f/f romance and I hope it's not her last...”
—The Lesbian Review
“Get your sweet and sexy high-concept contemporary fix right here!... If you've heard the buzz about American Dreamer and wanted to try the author out, or if f/f is more your thing than m/m, here is the perfect bite-size morsel.”
—The Seattle Review of Books on Mangos and Mistletoe
“Herrera brings her knack for mouthwatering storytelling to the tried-and-true holiday tale of a baking competition, offering readers a female-female love story that's hotter than a roaring holiday fire. We wish all Christmas snacks were this delicious.”
—Entertainment Weekly on Mangos and Mistletoe
Also by Adriana Herrera
American Dreamer
American Fairytale
American Love Story
American Sweethearts (March 2020)
He’s Come Undone (May 2020)
Finding Joy (June 2020)
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Mangos and Mistletoe
Written and published by Adriana Herrera
Cover by Cate Ashewood
Edited by Tessera Editorial
Copyright © 2019 by Adriana Herrera
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Mangos & Mistletoe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Adriana Herrera
American Dreamer
American Fairytale
American Love Story
American Sweethearts
About the Author
To all the Dominicanas scattered around the world finding ways to thrive.
Mangos & Mistletoe
Kiskeya Burgos left the tropical beaches of the Dominican Republic with a lot to prove. As a pastry chef on the come up, when she arrives in Scotland, she has one goal in mind: win the Holiday Baking Challenge. Winning is her opportunity to prove to her family, her former boss, and most importantly herself, she can make it in the culinary world. Kiskeya will stop at nothing to win , that is, if she can keep her eyes on the prize and off her infuriating teammate’s perfect lips.
Sully Morales, home cooking hustler, and self-proclaimed baking brujita lands in Scotland on a quest to find her purpose after spending years as her family’s caregiver. But now, with her home life back on track, it’s time for Sully to get reacquainted with her greatest love, baking. Winning the Holiday Baking Challenge is a no brainer if she can convince her grumpy AF baking partner that they make a great team both in and out of the kitchen before an unexpected betrayal ends their chance to attain culinary competition glory.
Mangos & Mistletoe
Adriana Herrera
Edited by
Tessera Editorial
Chapter 1
Edinburgh, Scotland
Two weeks until Christmas Eve
Kiskeya
“Third time better be a charm, carajo.”
I repeated those words to myself for the hundredth time since waking up jetlagged and dangerously close to giddy this morning, in my Edin-freaking-burgh hotel room. After three years of trying, I’d finally gotten into the Holiday Baking Challenge competition, and this year the location was no other than one of my bucket-list countries—Scotland. I was literally living my best professional life in a place that was one of my personal life goals to visit, and now, I was running late.
I got into the elevator as I straightened my bomber jacket and looked down at myself, fretting about not being dressed appropriately. I’d gone for dapper, which was pretty much my version of dressing up. Blue Oxford shirt, under a heather gray sweater. Check. Slim fit Hunter green slacks and navy Oxford shoes. Check. This was as dressy as they were going to get me.
I was not into dresses, or skirts although...I did appreciate them.
Which was a good reminder for me to keep my eye on the prize. I was not here to thirst after Scottish women or to act a fool. I was here to work.
To win.
To take my career to the next level, and maybe secure my ability to stay in the States a little longer. I wasn’t here to socialize. I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to land a job for the foreseeable future, and hopefully secure a work visa extension in the process. For the next week, I was Kiskeya Burgos, aspiring pastry chef and motherfucking machine, who lived and breathed to bake. Full stop.
Three years after leaving the Dominican Republic on my own, and hustling in LA kitchens hoping for a chance which could finally get me noticed, I’d made it. If I capitalized on this opportunity, doors would open for me. I could not fuck this up.
My focus and determination only lasted me as far as the front desk. Suddenly I was back to those first few months in the States when twenty-three-year-old Kiskeya—who’d never left
the country by herself before—had to stop and take photos all the time because she couldn’t believe she was really there.
The hotel was in the New Town of Edinburgh—which seemed pretty old as far as I could tell—and it was gorgeous. There were fireplaces everywhere and the decorations made everything festive. Lots of garland and even more tartan. It was lovely and warm and so different from what I’d grown up with in the Caribbean. It was almost a comfort to be in a place so different to home. I wouldn’t have to think so much about what I was missing.
Before I could go further into my head, someone calling my name from across the room made me freeze mid-step.
“Ms. Burgos!” I turned to find Isla, one of the showrunners, rushing over to me as she tapped on an iPad. She’d been at the hotel when we’d arrived last night to welcome me and some of the other contestants arriving from the West Coast. But I’d been so out of it, I’d barely noticed what she looked like. She was cute—fair skin, jet-black hair in a messy bun.
From our brief interaction, I’d already liked her. She was friendly, but about her business, and I appreciated that.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, as she examined what looked like a very complex color-coordinated spreadsheet.
I nodded, trying not to geek out on her accent. Because I’d read my share of romances set in Scotland, and I was having a moment.
“I slept great, thanks. Too good,” I confessed. “I’m late.”
She popped her head up at that. “Don’t fret. The first hour’s for mingling. To give the contestants a chance to get to know one another.” She waved a hand in the direction of a set of stairs. “Get some food and drink. Then we’ll announce the teams and details for tomorrow.” My back went up at the mention of the contest, and she grinned at what I was sure was a spooked expression. “Don’t worry, the teams are going to be great.” I must not have been hiding my skepticism, because this time she laughed. “Seriously, it’s a great group this year. Once we’ve gone over everything, you’ll all go on a city tour. You can see the city and spend more time together.”
I perked up at that. It would be nice to get some sightseeing in. “Cool. I’m looking forward to it.”
She smiled clearly trying to get me to relax. “We arranged for a private tour at Edinburgh Castle, you’ll do the high tea which is really posh.”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying something super cheesy, because I’d been hoping for high tea.
Her iWatch beeped and she widened her eyes. “Ack, I have to go take care of something.” She pointed at the marble staircase again.
“That’s the room. I think everyone’s there already. I’ll come up soon. Go get some caffeine!”
I smiled at that and rushed up the stairs to the mezzanine, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. I hated being the last one to arrive at an event. I never knew where to go. Who to say hi to first, where to sit. It took me straight back to the DR where everyone seemed to be gregarious and socially competent, and I could barely manage a family holiday without falling apart. People were hard to figure out. Baking. Kitchens. That’s where I thrived, the language I understood. This type of situation usually ended with me putting my foot in my mouth.
Thankfully, as soon as I got up there, I was immediately greeted by a young woman who seemed to know where I needed to go. She glanced down at a grid of photos on the laminated sheet she was holding, then looked back up at me and stood to open the door. “Welcome, Ms. Burgos. Enjoy.”
It wasn’t a huge room, but it was decorated in the same festive style as the lobby. An easel to the side of the door held up a poster board which had the logo of the competition emblazoned on the top and read: Welcome Holiday Baking Challenge Team.
Just looking at that set off butterflies in my stomach again. This week was going to be a roller coaster. I did a quick scan of the room, hoping I’d spot someone from the airport van last night, and almost sagged with relief when I recognized one of the other West Coast contestants.
I made my way to him, grateful I wouldn’t have to stand with my back pressed to a wall until I got up the courage to introduce myself to someone.
“Hey.” Gustavo, one of the ‘pros,’ stood to give me a kiss on the cheek. He gestured to an Asian woman sitting with him. There were only four tables in the room, and they were all pretty close together. It seemed like we would be getting to know one another whether we wanted to or not. “This is Kaori. She’s also from the Best Coast.” He winked at his own joke, and I smiled.
I extended my hand to her, and she stood, waving me off. “I kiss hello too.” She grinned as she leaned in to peck my cheek. “My ex was Cuban. After almost twenty years around his family, I don’t know if I can even say hello anymore without kissing.” Her smile was a little sad when we pulled apart, and I wondered what the story was there.
Gustavo was looking at Kaori like she was his favorite snack as he extended a hand toward her Vanna White style. “Kaori’s one of the home bakers.”
“It’s great to meet you. I’m Kiskeya.” The Holiday Baking Challenge was different than most baking shows in that they paired up a professional chef with a self-taught home cook. Each of us would be working with a stranger with completely different training than ours and counting on them to win the competition. I took a deep breath as I did whenever I thought about that terrifying detail and tried not to panic.
The thought of getting paired up with someone incompetent, or worse, someone perky and chatty—who thought I was there to make friends—had kept me up at night more than once over the last couple of weeks. But like I’d told myself a hundred times already, I would make it work.
I tuned back in to my fellow contestants, to find Kaori gesturing to the other table where there were four more people sitting. One, I recognized from the airport, but the others I had not seen before. “These are some of the others. Everyone, this is Kiskeya.”
I sighed in gratitude at Kaori’s assistance in introducing me. I went around the table shaking hands. The foursome included Alex and Derek. Derek worked as a pastry chef in a critically acclaimed farm-to-table restaurant in Asheville. He was tall, strapping, and very blond. He also had the seemingly required chef tattoo sleeves, complete with a man bun. When I first saw him in the hotel lobby last night, my judgmental ass had wondered if he was actually any good or if they’d picked him because he’d probably look great on camera. But I’d put Dr. Google to good use in my hotel room and the guy was no chump. He’d be a tough adversary, no matter who he got paired with. He was nice too, but that would not keep me from trying to beat him.
Alex stood when it was his turn to greet me. I couldn’t help the smile that appeared on my lips when he approached.
“Are you a hugger?” he asked with his arms open wide. I wasn’t usually, but he looked like a bear cub with glasses and I sort of needed some human contact. So I stepped in and was promptly wrapped into a warm hug.
As we pulled back, I tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled. “I’m not really a hugger, but I may be more open to them in the future. You’re good at those.” Everyone laughed, well everyone except for the two who I had yet to meet who were each doing something on their phones. I tried to not hate on them without at least knowing what their names were first, and focused on Derek, Alex, Kaori, and Gustavo, who actually seemed interested in getting to know me.
Derek smiled at Alex, and there was a glint in his eye that told me things were going to get interesting with those two. “Alex is also a self-taught baker, when he’s not doing surgery on babies!” Derek’s voice was full of awe and Alex’s light brown skin reddened on his cheeks.
“I’m a pediatric surgeon in Atlanta.” Alex smiled again, and I could already see why Derek was looking gob-smacked. They were almost complete opposites. Derek big and muscular, all in black. Alex short and stocky, with adorable blue-framed glasses and wearing a salmon-colored cashmere sweater. But there was definitely something there.
“I’m very happy to meet you, Alex, and
very impressed with the fact that you find time to bake competitively. I hope you’re on my team because surgeon hands are the kind of nimbleness I’m gonna need to beat all these people.” The foursome laughed again, as if I wasn’t 100 percent serious.
After a moment, Alex stretched a hand to the women who were still sitting and doing their best to ignore us. His smile was not nearly as warm when he spoke to them. “These are the Beccas.” As soon as he mentioned them, their heads popped up, and I instantly got a strikingly similar pair of chilly smiles directed at me.
The first one, dark-haired and blue-eyed, with eyelashes that even I, with my remedial level makeup game, could tell were fake, extended her hand to me and winked. “I’m Rebeka. With a K.” That brought on a giggle from the person next to Rebeka-with-a-K, who seemed oddly identical to her but for the bright auburn curls and brown eyes. She also regaled me with lots of teeth.
“I’m Rehbecca, with an R-E-H...no K.” That last part was said in unison with the other Rebeka.
Extra. Very extra.
I said a silent prayer to the food competition goddess—as I took in their eerily similar outfits of very tight Gucci everything—that I didn’t end up paired up with one of them.
I hoped this week wouldn’t involve mixers and chats either because that would get old fast. “Nice to meet you both.” I was going to ask who the home baker was when Gustavo spoke up again.
“Rebeka-with-a -K’s a pretty big influencer on Instagram. She invented the hashtag”—he actually did air quotes—“‘Cupcake cuties.’”
I did recognize her. I also thought her shit always looked mad dry and mediocre for the amount of followers she had, and I was petty. “Oh no, I don’t think I know that hashtag.”
Rebeka-with-a -K twisted her mouth to the side at my reply. Later I’d probably have to think on why I was out here trying to make enemies—but these women were fucking snobby.
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