The next hour passes in a blur of frosting, candy, and increasingly ridiculous architecture. Eva and Reed work with scientific precision, measuring angles and testing structural integrity before placing each gingerbread shingle. From what I can see, Eva is mostly taking photos for her online accounts while Reed acts like he’s in his hydroponic lab. Koa and I go for artistic flair over engineering, which means our house looks charming but leans at an alarming angle.
“Your roof is going to collapse,” Eva observes, carefully piping icing along the perfectly straight roofline Reed constructed.
“Your house has no personality,” I counter, adding another gumball to our whimsical chimney.
Reed, I notice, seems to relax as he absorbs in the competition. He and Eva develop an easy rapport, with him calculating load-bearing walls while she provides color commentary that has everyone laughing.
“Reed, you’re like a gingerbread engineer,” Eden says, watching him reinforce a corner with mathematical precision. She and Nate made a gingerbread beehive, predictable and boring, and are now mostly eating and heckling.
“I prefer ‘confectionery architect,’” he says solemnly, which gets a genuine laugh from the room.
This is the Reed I’ve gotten to know—funny, smart, a little obsessive about details but in an endearing way. So why did he arrive looking like someone had kicked his dog? I realize he could have heard me bitching about his family right before his arrival, and a mess of emotion knots in my stomach. I didn’t say anything I wasn’t thinking, but I also would probably offer Reed more context if he and I were sparring over hydroponic fluid.
“Time!” Esther calls, and we all step back to admire our creations.
Eva and Reed’s house looks magazine-ready—perfect proportions, elegant decoration, structurally sound. It’s the sort of place I imagine Reed grew up in. Koa’s and my house looks like a cottage designed by someone on hallucinogens, but it has character. Eden’s beehive is boring as hell, and Esther makes sure to point that out as she and Ben feed their collapsed structure to his dog, Maurice.
“We win on technical merit,” Eva says smugly.
“We win on artistic vision,” I counter.
“You win on most likely to be condemned by the building inspector,” Ben adds helpfully.
As everyone argues about judging criteria, I catch Reed watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. There’s something sad about it, like he’s memorizing this moment for later.
“What?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just enjoying the chaos.” He munches a cookie. “I never asked what the winner gets. Is there a prize?”
I arch a brow. “Prize?”
He recoils a bit, like he’s said something dumb. “Don’t contests usually have prizes?” He looks around for validation, but everyone is busy squabbling.
“Reed.” I sigh and pat his arm. “The prize is the gloating. Knowing you’ve dominated. Queen of the Storms.”
My sisters and their significant others come to a surly agreement, and Esther bangs a spoon on her glass of nog. “All right, everyone. We have chosen a winner.”
Eden smiles. “I hope nobody acts mean this year. We all made really nice structures.” She pats her hive lovingly, and I squint, noticing it doesn’t budge under her touch. Did she cheat and use real glue?
Koa points a thick finger in Reed’s direction and raises a glass in his direction. “Eva and our new contender are the winners.” The room echoes with a collective gasp. “Cheers, mate.” Koa claps Reed on the back as he visibly works to hold in a gloating celebration. Eva does nothing to contain herself, whooping and hip-checking Reed until he howls and bumps into the table, toppling their so-called winning construction as everyone devolves into laughter.
The party winds down gradually, with everyone taking cardboard boxes full of cookies. There’s a moment of exasperated hooting when Reed realizes Eila is the brewer behind his favorite new IPA.
Reed smacks himself on the forehead. “Eye of the Storm. Perfect Storm. I should have guessed once I met Eliza.”
Eila beams. “You’re a beer guy, eh? Eliza made it sound like you only drink iced Chilean chardonnay.”
Reed’s smile fades, and Eila winces, tugging Ben out the door with promises to bring Reed a sample of the honey ale.
Eva loads the dishwasher while Esther wraps leftovers, leaving Reed and me to tackle the gingerbread debris covering her dining room table.
“Your family is awesome,” Reed says, carefully scraping hardened frosting off the tablecloth.
“They’re loud,” I say.
“They care about each other. It shows.” He’s quiet for a moment.
“Reed…” I start, but Esther appears with a garbage bag.
