Page 28 of Only for the Season

“Ah. The classic artist spiral. Right before the masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece? If by masterpiece you mean a slightly lopsided gingerbread house held together with desperation and royal icing, sure.”

There’s a long pause. The café is quiet. The only noise is the hum of the coffee machine. I study her face. Her ponytail isstarting to come loose, and a dusting of flour clings to the tips of her bangs.

I reach over without thinking and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She freezes. Her eyes flick up to mine.

“Flour,” I mumble, drawing my hand back. “You had some.”

“Thanks.”

“Want help?”

“With what? Designing gumdrop shutters or deciding if a sour belt can be a doormat?”

“I’m excellent with candy-based architectural dilemmas.”

“I couldn’t let you. You came downstairs in the middle of the night because you needed coffee to fuel your work, and in the meantime, I’ve stolen you away.”

“I’ll get back to work after the gingerbread house is finished.”

“Fine. You can help. But if the roof caves in because you breathe wrong, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” I say, lifting my cup in salute. “But if we win, I’m taking full credit.”

“In your dreams, Holland.”

But her smile lingers as she stands to check the gingerbread structure.

And that might be the sweetest part of the morning.

Chapter 10

“I came to slay with sugar, not get ambushed by guilt.” ~ Parker

Parker

Iroll the gingerbread house into city hall at five minutes to ten. With Jeremy’s help, I was able to finish decorating the house, including adding all the candy waves, sugar pearls, and fondant mermaids on time.

Although, I did have to stop him from trying to pipe icing when a large blob exploded from his piping bag. Good thing the blob landed on his shoes and not on my gingerbread house.

I giggle at the memory. Who thought Jeremy, the billionaire who thinks Smuggler’s Hideaway is a Podunk island, would help out at my bakery? I never expected a billionaire to have blue icing on his shoe. Maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as I thought.

I reach the foyer. “I’m here!”

The area is a hive of activity. There are at least twenty bakers setting up their gingerbread houses. My stomach drops. I didn’t think there would be this many entries.

Son of a barnacle. I knew I should have protested when the city council opened the contest to non-inhabitants of the island.

Lana and Jennifer make their way toward me. “We were worried you wouldn’t make the deadline,” Jennifer says.

She’s not the only one.

Lana frowns. “I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d be here.”

“Where do you want me?”