“Holly!” Tabby yells, breaking free of my hand and darting towards the counter.
“Tabby! You’re here!” Holly grins, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes meet mine again, sparkling with that familiar, challenging warmth. “Ready for Operation Gingerbread Castle?”
“As ready as one can be for structural engineering with cookie dough,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.
She laughs again, that bright, infectious sound. “That’s the spirit! Come on back! We’re all prepped!” She gestures towards the kitchen doorway, calling out instructions to Charlie, who’s manning the espresso machine.
Tabby grabs my hand again, pulling me forward. “C’mon, Daddy! The castle won’t build itself!”
We navigate the crowded shop floor. I feel eyes on me – curious, amused. The giant hockey player grumpy dad dragged along by his excited kid. By the time we push through the swinging door into the kitchen, my carefully constructed composure already feels frayed at the edges.
In the kitchen, every available surface is covered. Giant sheets of deep brown gingerbread dough, already baked into what look like massive, uneven rectangles – the castle walls? Towers constructed from stacked cookies cemented together with thick white icing teeter precariously. Bowls of vibrantly colored icing – red, green, white, blue, gold – litter the central prep table like spilled paint. Sprinkles in every conceivable shape and color are scattered like rainbow shrapnel. And glitter. So much glitter.
Holly is already in the thick of it, tying a miniature red apron around Tabby. She’s talking a mile a minute, her hands gesturing wildly. “…so these big pieces are the main walls, okay? We need to ‘glue’ them together with the thick icing – that’s the mortar! Then we attach the towers… carefully! And then…” She beams, holding up a piping bag filled with white icing. “The super fun part! Decorating!”
“Yes!” Tabby claps her hands.
Holly looks up at me, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes bright with the reflected glow of the lights and Tabby’s excitement. “Ready to get started?” She holds out a plain white apron.
I stare at it, then at the impending sugary disaster zone. Mom’s voice echoes:Enjoy the chaos.My own internal playbook screams:Defensive formation! Minimize exposure!
I slip the apron over my head, fumbling with the ties behind my back. It feels even more absurd than last time. Like a flagof surrender to the inevitable mess. Tabby giggles. “Daddy looks funny!”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, finally managing a clumsy knot.
Holly points to a large bowl filled with thick, snow-white icing. “Mortar duty. We need a good, thick layer along the edges of this big wall piece.” She indicates one of the massive gingerbread rectangles. “Then we brace it against this one…” She gestures to another piece leaning precariously against a stack of mixing bowls. “…and hold it steady while the mortar sets.”
I approach the bowl of icing. It looks like industrial-grade adhesive. Tabby is already wielding a smaller spatula, attempting to spread icing along the edge of her designated piece, creating more of a wave than a neat line.
“Okay,” Holly says, bracing her hands against the gingerbread slab. “Ready? Denton, thick line of mortar here, on this long edge. Tabby, you keep working on your side, sweetie. Then, on three, we lift this guy and smoosh it against Denton’s mortared edge. Got it?”
“Smoosh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that the technical term?”
“Theonlyterm that matters in gingerbread architecture,” she retorts, her eyes sparkling. “Ready? One… two…”
I dip a wide metal spatula into the bowl of icing. It’s cool and thick, clinging heavily. I focus on applying a precise, even line along the designated edge of the gingerbread slab Holly indicated. Control. Precision. Tabby is humming off-key nearby, her spatula making enthusiastic splatting sounds.
“Three!” Holly calls.
We lift. The gingerbread slab is heavier than it looks, surprisingly dense. Holly grunts slightly with the effort. I focus on keeping my edge steady as we maneuver it towards the waiting, mortared edge of the other large piece. Tabby cheers.
“Easy… easy…” Holly murmurs, guiding her end. “Okay… now… contact! Apply gentle pressure!”
The two frosted edges meet with a soft, stickythwump. I press firmly, feeling the icing ooze slightly from the seam. Holly adjusts the angle minutely. “Good! Hold it! Hold it steady! Tabby, can you grab those tomato cans? We need supports!”
Tabby darts off, returning with two hefty cans of tomatoes. Holly positions them carefully against the base of the newly joined wall. “Okay… holding… Denton, you can ease up a bit, just keep it braced.” She leans back, blowing out a breath that sends a wisp of hair fluttering. A smudge of white icing decorates her cheekbone. “Phase one complete! Walls are up!” She beams at Tabby. “Ready for the towers, sweet pea?”
“Yes! The tallest one!”
Holly laughs. “Tallest one it is! But it needs a good foundation.” She picks up a sturdy-looking cookie tower, already decorated with piped brickwork. “More mortar please, Denton. A big dollop at the base. We’ll plant it right… here.” She points to a spot near the corner of the joined walls.
I scoop another generous amount of icing onto my spatula. Holly positions the tower base over the spot. “Ready? Lower it gently… right into the icing… perfect!” She guides the tower down. The thick icing acts like glue, holding it surprisingly firm. “Okay, now… we need to brace this guy too. He’s a bit wobbly.” She looks around. “Hmm… maybe that rolling pin? Propped at an angle?”
I reach for the rolling pin lying nearby at the same moment Holly bends to grab a wooden spoon that’s fallen on the floor. Her hand, reaching for the spoon, brushes against the back of mine.
It’s fleeting. Barely a whisper of contact but it ignites something shockingly hot.
My breath catches, strangles in my throat. My fingers spasm, and the spatula clatters onto the counter, splattering thick white icing across the gingerbread and the polished steel surface.
