But in a practical, everyday sense, when you whip egg whites and sugar into stiff peaks, you create billions of tiny air bubbles trapped inside protein strands. That was chemistry. That was science.
So his mother didn’t own a bakery as much as a lab, which was why Sugarfall was one of his favorite places on Earth.
And today, the Friday after Thanksgiving, it was even better because he was here with his best friend, the only person who’d want to work on a joint science project over a four-day weekend.
He took a look at that friend as he bit into the cupcake. Never in a million years would he have expected Olivia Hampton—the girl who beat him at last year’s dog talent show, the girl whose dad opened a business that could take customers from Mom, the girl who showed up at school as the “new kid” and outscored him on the first science test—would be his closest friend.
But Olivia was the only kid his age whogothim, who cared about school and winning things and figuring out the galaxy and doing hard math problems and playing chess like he did.
Which was precisely why the two of them had taken over the back corner table at Sugarfall. They’d stacked every inch with notebooks, diagrams, and a precarious tower of cookie samples to work on a science project that most kids wouldn’t even think about until January.
Well, Benny McBride and Olivia Hampton weren’tmostkids and they both agreed that was just fine.
He chewed happily, comfortable with the smell of chocolate croissants and cinnamon rolls that wrapped around them like a sugary blanket in his mom’s shop. Outside, snow drifted and all the tourists hustled by—some of them stopping to go into Craving Clean, the “anti-bakery” that Olivia’s dad owned across the street.
“Our levitating cookie display is going to win the science fair,” Benny declared, tapping his pencil against a page of complicated sketches. “Judges won’t even know what hit them. It’s revolutionary.”
Across from him, Olivia twirled her pencil like a baton and stared at the snowy street. Her eyes got this glazed, sparkly look when she was daydreaming, like she was watching unicorns gallop through the clouds.
“Olivia,” Benny said, not for the first time. “Focus. Your head’s in the stratosphere today.”
She blinked, then smiled in that mischievous way she always did when she was about to say something completely off topic, flipping back her braided hair.
“Do you think your mom and my dad would get married here in the bakery or over at the lodge?” she asked.
Benny dropped his pencil and didn’t move when it rolled off the table, staring at her for dramatic impact.
“Olivia. Science fair. Not wedding fair.”
“But it would be amazing,” she whispered, leaning forward like they were plotting world domination. “Miss Gracie could be my stepmom. I’d get cake every single day. You’d get to hang out with Dad and learn all his football plays. It’s literally the perfect equation.”
Bending to retrieve the pencil, he dug deep for the same kind of patience Grandpa Red had to display when Benny cooked up a wild scheme. But this was not new information, and it was not in the realm of possibility.
Yes, he and Olivia had discussed this hypothesis months ago, when she made him watch one of the dumbest movies ever—The Parent Trap—and announced they had to get her father to marry his mother.
The problem? Their parents were mortal enemies and had been since the day Craving Clean opened and all the “healthy” people in town decided they’d rather have a coconut energy bite than a cream puff.
Well, they were nice enough to each other. But Benny, who’d perfected the art of eavesdropping, had heard Mom grumble plenty to people in the family about Marshall Hampton.
She was losing business to “health nuts” and it wasn’t fair to compete with a former NFL player who was practically a celebrity. Plus, she whined that he made her whole body ache every time she looked at him.
He had no clue why his mom’s cousin, Nicole, laughed so hard at that. Mom shouldn’t ache!
“Look,” Benny said, pointing to the page covered in arrows and magnetic field lines. “Magnetic levitation. Cookies floating in mid-air. We just need to stabilize the polarity so the chocolate chip doesn’t crash into the oatmeal raisin.That’sour plan for the experiment.”
“Mistletoe,” she answered.
“What? There’s no mistletoe in magnetic levitation.”
Her eyes, the same color as the night sky through his telescope, flashed. “Oh, but there might be, Benedict McBride. Because magnets are all about…attraction.”
“You gotta lay off the ridiculous movies,” he said, knowing he sounded more like his great-grandfather than a sixth grader.
“Benny! Mistletoe is for kissing.”
He rolled his eyes so hard they probably went to the back of his skull. “Just forget about it,” he said. “She’s still mad about The Great Ashleigh Disaster.”
Olivia cringed. “Yeah. That was bad. But my dad fired that marketing lady and he told your mom he was sorry she printed up those cards and put them all over town.”
