“Get your bets in!” a portly man wearing an elf costume yelled, ringing a large brass bell.
“Do you have an odds sheet?” Eli asked him.
“You can’t bet onThe Great Christmas Bake-Off!”
“Of course I can.” Eli scribbled on his betting ticket and handed the man a hundred-dollar bill. “What’s more Christmas than betting money onThe Great Christmas Bake-Off?”
“Apple cider!” Ida was walking around in a Christmas spandex unitard, hawking little paper cups of steaming cider.
“Is it spiked?” Eli asked
“Of course!” Ida said, clearly offended. “As if you have to ask.”
“It’s ten thirty in the morning,” I complained.
“It’s a small-town bake-off,” Eli countered, handing Ida a twenty-dollar bill. “And you’ve been very high-strung lately, Matt. This cider could do you some good.”
“If we weren’t trying to secure a business deal, I’d be in Finland right now.”
Eli handed me one of the cups of cider. “You mean herding reindeer in the North Pole? And he claims to hate Christmas.”
I took a sip of the cider, and my eyes started watering.
“I don’t taste any apple cider in this.” I coughed, trying to decide whether it would be worth it to scoop up a handful of snow to cool the burning in my throat.
“This is artisanal apple cider made from the best moonshine distilled from local apples,” Eli said. “It’s a Harrogate delicacy. Drink up. Besides, you’re going to need some liquid courage if you’re asking your sister for an investment.”
We pushed through the crowd of onlookers with their festive coats and hats.
My sister was surveying her team, making last-minute adjustments on the stage that had been set up under a clear glass awning. Rows of baking stations with white countertops marched across the stage, ready for Christmas desserts.
“You’re late. You need to go get miked,” she said when she saw me.
Eli cleared his throat and elbowed me.
“I’m too busy to participate in this TV show, Belle,” I said, trying to project the vibe of a powerful billionaire. “I’m working on securing funding for my company.”
Belle was unimpressed.
“I heard Greg didn’t give you any funding.”
My mouth fell open. “How? That was five minutes ago!”
“Small towns.” She shrugged. “News travels fast.”
“So, you’ll invest?”
She snorted.
“No. Now go get your microphone on.”
I balked. “This is just the bake-off event for the small-town wildcard. Why do I have to be in it?”
“The chosen contestants vote on who the wildcard is,” my sister said then smirked. “Hope you’re ready to eat a lot of dessert.”
I slowly made my way over to the other contestants, back tense. Wouldshebe there?
Of course she was.
