“What just happened?” I whisper to myself before starting the engine and planning how I’m going to win the upcoming competition on my own this year.
Chapter Twenty
Ivy
The clock strikes six.
“Ready, set, go!” Clark yells from the head table, which is wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper and topped with an outlandish bow. Since he presides over our town meetings, I guess it’s fair he’s mediating this event as well.
We take Christmas very seriously in Birch Borough, and this gingerbread competition is just even more proof of that fact. I’m set up at my station, all my materials ready to create the sweetest masterpiece of my life to date. Gingerbread sheets, royal icing, chocolates, marshmallows, pretzels, and a cinnamon cereal for the roof shingles surround me. I’ve prepped for this competition all year. I even have marshmallow fluff waiting in the wings to utilize as a snowscape.
Cheering me on in the corner are Sparrow, Rafe, Lily, and Graham. Since Sparrow and Lily own a bakery, they were banned from participating five years ago because they kept winning. It wasn’t a surprise that they would be, since they do make magic in the kitchen after all. My gram is watching me from the sidelines, chewing on a cookie from the table for the attendees.
At the sound of a click, I look up to see Grey peeking out behind her camera with a smile. Sometimes she takes unofficialphotos for Birch Borough’s social media channels, and it suits her. She always likes being behind the scenes.
I’m used to the stage, but suddenly, I feel lost as to how I can actually win this thing. The prize is a gift card for the local spa, and let’s just say, I’m invested. After the holidays, the prize will be a gift to myself to enjoy when my muscles are tight and I’ve successfully pulled off the after-Christmas performance.
Carefully, I move the pieces of gingerbread together to create a solid foundation, utilizing the icing to act as cement. Several of my students hover nearby, their eyes wide from the hope of a potential sugar rush in about an hour.
When it comes to arts and crafts, or any such thing, I don’t usually win competitions. Dance is my art. But Joan from the bank has won for the past three years, and as much as I don’t want her to miss out on her annual massage, I think it’s about time someone (lovingly) pushed her from her gingerbread throne.
“Okay, think of Christmas, think of Clara, think of the Nutcracker Prince. You’ve got this.”
“Talking to yourself again?” His voice never fails to make me melt.
I turn so fast that one of the walls I was building flops to the side and shatters on the table. “I have got to stop breaking things,” I mutter, lifting my eyes to Jace’s. His strong arms are holding Emmy. She’s perched on her safe space in the way I love to see her, perfectly content to be with her dad. I smile. “Jace, hi. And hi, Emmy. I love your dress.”
She’s wearing a long-sleeved, green, satin-looking dress with a ribbon around the waist. Jace is wearing his classic athleisure, a mix between runway and business casual, though he could also stop in a gym on the way to his next meeting. Seriously, how does he make the style look so good?
“Starlight,” Jace mouths with a wink, “what are you building here?”
I look back at my table and flinch. It’s a mess. Emmy stares at my partially constructed house with fascination.
“Miss Ivy, Daddy builds things, remember?” She says it sweetly, but I hear in the hesitation of her tone that she recognizes it’s not going so well for me on my own.
“Yes, he does.” And Jace is an incredible designer. I’ve seen his talent in every set he’s constructed so far and in every piece of his furniture I’ve seen displayed at a few shops around town. I now recognize his signature mark on the designs. At this rate, we’re ahead of schedule for the performance. There’s only one set left to be built and some final painting, and we’ll be done. The thought makes me sad. I’ve loved having him near me in my dance world, even when we’re doing different things.
“I’m happy to help,” Jace interjects.
“I can’t trouble you with this. Besides, it’s serious business.” I wave toward my collapsing gingerbread house.
“As opposed to what I do on a regular basis, where I actually build real-life things with my hands?” Jace grins and sets Emmy down before crossing his arms, the muscles in his shoulders bulging slightly and causing me to get distracted.
“Five minutes gone!” Clark yells, and I fan my face. Focus, Ivy. “Okay, you can help. Maybe.” I wave Clark over to my table. He’s already eyeing the three of us with interest.
“Yes, Miss Jones?”
I grin at his formal greeting. “Is it okay if I sign these two up to help me finish?”
Clark looks from Jace to Emmy and back to me before looking at the clipboard in his hands that seems to have appeared from nowhere. “Aren’t you the one who didn’t hold the door open for me after leaving the hardware store?” he asks Jace.
I watch Jace’s mouth open and close. “That might have been me.” He clears his throat, and Clark raises a brow. His shoulders sink. “It probably was me. I haven’t been the best citizen since arriving because I’ve been lost in my head. I’m sorry, sir.”
His hand extends in a gesture of goodwill, and Clark eyes it before clasping it with his own. I grin as Emmy giggles.
“Good job, Daddy,” she whisper-yells near his ear, and we all laugh, even Clark.
“Well, I don’t mind that you’re a team, but there’s still only one prize,” he says, clearly softening after Jace’s apology.
