“Ithink you’re being way too ambitious,” I told Merrie, pouring myself another cognac. “You’re baking six different jelly roll cakes. And two of them have all these little pictures on them. I mean, seriously, Kermit the Frog?”
“This is a Christmas tree and a sprig of holly. I am also adding red for the Santas. Why don’t you just go stir the cranberry sauce?”
“My hand.”
Merrie raised up the piping bag of frosting in a threatening manner.
“I just think you need to be realistic,” I continued as I stirred the pots of caramel, cranberry sauce, custard, and chocolate ganache on the stove.
It’s truly absurd.
“You need to get these cakes in the oven.” I grabbed two of the long shallow jelly roll pans.
“Gently,” she insisted as I slammed open the oven door and slid the trays inside.
I’d like to slide in her.
Merrie had a streak of batter on her nose. Her frizzy red hair was tied back in a messy bun, the tendrils of curls escaping. I wanted to kiss the back of her neck. Instead, I poured myself another cognac and looked up at the clock. We had an hour and fifteen minutes.
“I don’t think you’re going to make it,” I said as she started carefully piping the colored cake batter into a pan in the pattern of a Christmas sweater.
“Then do something useful,” she snapped.
I picked up her phone from where she had it on the table.
“And no, stealing my phone is not useful.”
“Relax, I’m just going to post some video of you for your fans since they saved you last time.”
“Use your own phone.” She tried to grab at it.
I held it aloft while I sipped my cognac and laughed at her. “Oh no, she’s just too short.”
“You are the worst.”
I shook my head. “And after everything I did for you. Let’s see, Merrie’s password is something Christmas related. 1224? Nope.”
“Don’t lock me out of my phone!” she shrieked.
“1225? Yep. I’m in.” I tapped the camera app and started filming. “And here is Merrie going above and beyond. She just tries so hard.”
“And there is Matt not helping.”
I held out my injured hand in front of the camera. “I have already made quite the sacrifice for this bake-off. And I really think you need to sacrifice one of these cakes,” I said, looking at the clock again.
Merrie ignored me.
The timer went off.
“Timer, Merrie. Merrie, the timer!”
She whirled around, curls snarled and a giant knife in her hands.
I had a sudden urge to grab my balls protectively. “I’ll just take those cakes out of the oven.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
The cakes did look good. I flipped them out on the waiting cooling racks as Merrie put the last set of cakes in the oven.
