Page 41 of Moody's Grumpy Holiday

“Baking is a science. Not difficult, necessarily, but it requires patience and…and…you have no idea how cutthroat this competition gets. This isn’t Christmas Town’s version ofTheGreat British Baking Show. This is war.”

I snorted derisively. “Really?”

He fiddled with his glasses again. “Well, not war, but…a very serious contest that requires a team of bakers. Katie partners with her mom, Vicki signs me up on Team Vixen, knowing full well that I’ll politely bow out, and?—”

“Why? I know you have a strong anti-holiday stance, but does it have to be a Christmassy gingerbread creation? We could just make a house. Or better yet, a ranch.” I picked up a couple of the empty boxes I’d stacked in the corner. “Me and you…could be fun. Like a baking date.”

“A baking date?” Moody repeated.

I pointed at his chest. “Exactly. Your kitchen is bigger, so?—”

“No gingerbread in my house.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Okay, we’ll do it at my place. Send me a list of ingredients, and I’ll do the shopping. Sound good?”

I braced for a grumbly Moody brush-off, and let’s be real, I kind of deserved it. He’d clearly stated that he had no intention of participating and once again, I’d inserted myself. Sue me. I liked this man, and I wanted to see him smile the way he had a few months ago, unfettered and free.

But really…a gingerbread-baking date?

Ingredients for a gingerbread house:flour, baking powder, salt, brown sugar, ground ginger, cinnamon, allspice…

I scoured the Santa Ynez supermarket spice section and came up empty. They had basil, bay leaves, cardamom seed powder, cayenne, and thirty more with tiny labels and even smaller font, but no allspice. Maybe that wasn’t important.

I pulled out my cell and texted Moody.

Where the fuck and what the fuck is allspice?

I hit Send just as a new message popped up from my family chat. It was a group selfie of my mom, my brother, a slew of cousins, their significant others, and my aunt and uncle taken at Sunday dinner. The caption read:We miss you, Hud! Come home for Christmas.

“Well, fancy running into you here!”

I spun, jostling my cell and nearly dropping it. “Whoa.”

Vicki cupped her hand beneath mine to catch it, wiping her brow in mock relief when that proved unnecessary. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay. I was texting and got distracted.”

“Happens to the best of us,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair into her loose bun and pointing a red manicured finger at my screen. “Is that your family?”

“Uh…yeah.” I turned my phone toward her and gave a brief rundown of the Calhoun and Babineaux clan.

“That’s a big crew,” she commented, sidling around me to grab two jars of cloves.

“There are even more of us during the holidays. Cousins I haven’t seen or sometimes even heard of come out of the woodwork.” I checked to be sure I hadn’t missed a new message from Moody before pocketing my cell. “It’s chaos…the fun kind. My mom’s convinced I need that in my life, so she’s enlisted the whole gang to coax me home for Christmas.”

Vicki cocked her head, her hand frozen over a package of powdered sugar. “You’re staying in town?”

“That’s my plan.” I turned back to the spice section.

“Ah…well, that’s good. I noticed that you and Moody have become…close, but knowing Moody, he won’t offer the appropriate holiday invite, so if you happen to be available for dinner on Christmas Eve, you’re welcome to join us at my house. Believe it or not, there will be no soup on the menu.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“My pleasure. And good luck with your gingerbread house. You’re going to need it,” she chided playfully. “I’ve got my husband’s secret recipe.”

“Gingerbread smack talk? That’s a new one.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it. My late husband was very serious about gingerbread flavor, and Moody was all about construction and design. They were very close, and together, they were a great team. But…things have changed,” she commented, her voice suddenly wistful.