Suddenly the idea of telling the moms that this whole relationship was a joke on them wasn’t appealing.
It was depressing.
Yes, Ava was in trouble when it came to Brayden Young, and she had no idea what to do about it. Especially if he moved away to Texas and never looked back.
ChapterTwelve
Brayden
“You’re eating Fairbanks Fudge, aren’t you?” Brayden accused his mom as she locked her lodge room, unsuccessfully hiding the flavored chunk of fudge she’d stuffed in her mouth, nor the twinkle of delight in her eyes as she savored the bite.
“So what if I am?” she asked while chewing. “It’s good.”
“That came from the Forget Me Not Boutique.”
She pretended to busy herself on her phone, but Brayden could see at a glance that she had no new emails. “I’m well aware.”
He draped his arm around Mom, mostly to annoy her, as they made their way down the hall. She was never one for heavy physical affection, but she didn’t shimmy out of his hold. The past couple of days had no doubt been good for her. He couldn’t recall the last vacation Mom took, and even when she did get out of town, she always brought the office with her.
Pairing the moms together was a risk, considering their highly opposite personalities. But Brayden hoped it had paid off. He couldn’t remember the last time Mom seemed so relaxed instead of on edge.
“I still don’t understand why we have to be in a baking contest,” she said once outside. “I don’t bake.”
“You used to.” Brayden opened the passenger door and offered Mom a hand into the truck. “Don’t you remember?”
“That was a long time ago,” Mom said, fastening her seat belt and leaving Brayden to close the door. He remembered Christmases in the kitchen, baking for days. Not just cookies, but fudge, caramel corn, Chex mix, and dipped pretzels. Dad had been the workaholic in those days. Had his passing robbed her of simple pleasures? Mom was always heavily involved in the company before Dad was gone, but she had managed balance.
Seemed she needed a reminder. “I have three recipes,” Brayden said once in the truck. He reached into the interior chest pocket of his coat and pulled out the cards. “Pick one.”
“Now?”
Brayden rolled to a stop at a four-way intersection, waiting for another car to go. Its wheels spun on the icy street for several seconds before it found traction. It reminded him of Ava, a lifelong Alaskan, driving a car with worn-down snow tires. He wished she’d let him take care of her. But convincing Ava it wasn’t about the money would be harder than convincing Mom he wasn’t the one best suited to run her company. “We have roughly ten minutes to stop at the grocery store to pick up our ingredients. We can’t miss the competition briefing or we get disqualified.”
“I never really cared for those peanut butter ones with the chocolate center.” Mom slipped that card to the bottom of the stack. “And we can’t do snickerdoodles,” she said dismissively. “Mallory’s making those.”
“Santa’s Whiskers it is,” Brayden decided, pulling into a spot outside the store.
Mom peered through the windshield into the cozy grocery store. “Can I wait here?”
“No.” Brayden hopped out of the truck, not giving her time to argue. Mallory had thawed Mom out of her ice-cold shell these past couple of days; anyone with eyes could see that. But it was up to Brayden to do the rest. He wanted her to understand why he couldn’t leave this place without leaving a piece of his heart behind. Inside the store, she’d see how many people greeted him by name and asked about Elsie.
“I’ll have you know I rescheduled a conference call for you,” Mom said, trotting behind him in boots. Either she finally broke down and bought a pair of her own or Mallory outfitted her. At least Brayden didn’t have to worry about frostbite.
He ushered her inside. “You should reschedule a few more.”
As expected, half a dozen people greeted Brayden. He spared enough time to introduce them to his mom. If they weren’t in a hurry to make it to the competition, he would’ve forced Mom to endure some visiting. One of the patrons had purchased a set of his very first nightstands. Small-town folks loved to chat, and theycaredabout one another. Not something he’d ever found in the city.
“You two better hurry,” Aimee at the register said, holding out Brayden’s receipt to him. “You’ll be late for the briefing. You can’t compete if you miss that.”
“How do so many people know you?” Mom asked on the drive to the town hall. “Every single person in that store stopped to talk to you. It’s the most astounding thing I’ve seen in quite a while.”
“I’ve been here almost a year. I’m one of them now. That’s how the whole small-town thing works.” He parked the truck, cut the ignition, and reached into the back seat for their supplies. “We better get inside before they start without us.”
“Are you sure we have to do this?”
“It’ll be fun. Like when Sarra and I were kids, the kitchen was covered in flour, and Christmas music blasted on the loudest setting.” Brayden followed Mom inside the town hall building, decked out in heavy greenery and lights. They checked in at the door and proceeded into the main competition area. A dozen stations were staged throughout the small but well-organized area, each equipped with mixers, measuring cups, and baking sheets. In the middle, rows of chairs were lined up, all facing different sides of the competition space.
“Mallory’s waving at us.” Mom pulled on Brayden’s arm, leading them to an empty station beside Ava and her mom. The whining he was certain he heard in her voice moments ago had given way to something bordering excitement.
