“When did this become a “we”?” I demanded, crossing my arms and staring down at him. He had to crane his neck to look up at me, his eyes filled with joyous mischief that set them on fire. His pink lips were turned up in a gleeful smirk. “I don’t need your help.”
“Trust me, you do. I just tried that gingerbread and it’s a no.” He pointed to the reindeer barn that was nearly finished, just waiting for me to decorate. “No matter how well you put together a building and decorate, you will lose.” He rubbed his hands together, like an evil movie villain.
“But this year,” he waved a finger at me, “this year, you’re going to have it all. Structure, decoration, and taste. I’ve been watching my mom and Keegan my entire life prepare gingerbread. I have tasted more gingerbread than you can possibly imagine. I have listened to them drone on and on about different recipes, and their secret ingredients. I have seen them build hundreds of structures.”
“Okay, so?”
“So...” he tapped the side of his bright red head. “I have tons of knowledge up here. Why do you think Keegan asks me to judge every year? Because he knows I know what makes a goodgingerbread house, and a good gingerbread. I’ve been the official Mallory taste tester since I can remember.”
He might just be on to something. Keegan was an amazing gingerbread artist in his own right, as was their mom, Diana. It was why Keegan had chosen her to be one of the judges from the very first contest he had put together. Now his choice of Kendrick–which I had never understood–made more sense.
Kendrick started flipping through my sketchpad next to the reindeer barn, turning to me with a look I couldn’t decipher. “Bal, these are amazing. Did you draw these?”
“These are just rough ideas.” My cheeks felt warm beneath his steady gaze. “Nothing fancy.”
He stared at me, before turning back to the sketches, his voice soft. “They’re beautiful. It’s going to be a stunning piece when we’re done.”
“It’s big,” I stood behind him now, feeling his warmth, able to smell his scent. Strawberry shampoo, clean skin, and the rich subtle spices that were uniquely Kendrick. When had I started noticing his scent? About the time I had tasted his lips. “Bigger than anything I’ve ever attempted.”
He turned, bumping into me, his hands flat on my chest to catch himself, burning through my shirt. Looking up at me from beneath his lashes, his breath hitched in his chest. “It’s going to take first prize.”
“You think so? But only if it tastes good too, right?” My lips curved into a sardonic smile.
“Right,” he whispered.
I wanted to kiss him again, with every cell in my being. Wanted to taste him. Wanted to have his scent wrapped around my body like a warm blanket. But there was no reason to, here in my kitchen, just the two of us, away from anyone we might be trying to put on a show for. Might be pretending for.
Kendrick stepped back, breaking the spell. Fishing his phone from his pocket, I swore his fingers trembled slightly as they slid over the screen, and he held the device to his ear. But I didn’t imagine his eyes staring into mine, wide, unblinking, the pupils just a little blown. Didn’t imagine the bloom of pink that covered his pale, freckled skin.
“I can’t judge this year,” his voice was firm as he spoke to someone–Keegan, I assumed. “Because I can’t…Bal and I are entering a piece this year…I said what I said, you heard me…I don’t know…that’s not my problem…we’ll call it payback for you canceling my reservation…that’s not your decision to make….that’s none of your business, do I ask about your and Nik’s sex life?...sorry not sorry.”
He hung up with a sharp poke of his finger against the screen, sighing hard enough to move his chest and shoulders at once. “Keegan’s mad. But, I really don’t care. I’m mad at him, so fair is fair.”
“I don’t want this coming between you two.” Kendrick and Keegan had a relationship and bond I sometimes envied, and I was being honest when I said I didn’t want this to cause friction between them.
“Oh, this won’t,” he assured me. “But I’m not going to just let him get away with meddling in my life the way he did with the whole reservation thing, either. He doesn’t get a pass for that. I get that around here he’s a big deal, married to The Santa, giving birth to the next generation of Kringles and all that jazz, but he’s still my little brother. Still annoying as fuck at times. We’ll get past this, but not before he knows how truly pissed at him I am and how far he crossed the line. I did kinda fuck up the judging though,” he held out his thumb and finger about an inch apart. “Mom can’t really judge now either, at least it wouldn’t be right with me entering. And Dad can’t fill in for the same reason.So he’s gonna have to find two impartial judges, with enough experience in gingerbread to be able to judge on short notice.”
“He could always just let Harry judge the whole thing by himself.” I never understood why three judges were needed either. Of course, I hadn’t realized the reason I kept losing was because my gingerbread needed to taste good, so what did I know? “Okay, where do we start?”
Because suddenly the idea of working with Kendrick filled me with excitement.
“Well first,” he waved his arms around to encompass the kitchen, “all this gingerbread needs to be trashed. We need to start from scratch.”
My face fell and my shoulders slumped in defeat. “All of it?”
“All of it.
“The contest is in a week and a half,” I could hear the slight hysteria rising in my voice. “And I still have my regular duties at the workshop, which are tripled this time of year.”
“All of it,” he grinned at me, then made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go back to the workshop. I’ve got some gingerbread to get started on, and we have a blue ribbon to win.”
Balfour
Past…
Nemesis:Are you coming to the gingerbread contest?
Me:Why would I do that? No. I’m busy.
