Page 37 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“Trust me, it was more unpleasant for me. By the way, you have hot chocolate on your upper lip.”
Then she slips into her house while I quickly wipe at my mouth, most likely falling for her trick.
Well…it’s official; she is enemy number one. This only makes me more determined to do everything in my power to make sure she doesn’t earn the Christmas Kringle crown.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Storee
Shots have been fired; the tension is thick.
Bob Krampus is oblivious, just our charming St. Nick.
For preparations begin! The Eggnog Wars are up.
Who will make the best eggy drink in a cup?
Will it be Cole with his hazelnut rendition?
Or will it be Storee with her ginger addition?
Our judges Frank and Thachary will soon let us know,
on this beautiful, stormy day all covered in snow.
“I don’t know, Aunt Cindy,this seems like a lot of ginger to add to a drink.”
“Are you questioning me?” she asks as she sits at the bistro table in her kitchen, watching me like a hawk.
“I am, actually,” I say on a wince, knowing damn well Ishouldn’tbe questioning her and her recipe since it came in second last year—as she has told me several times since we woke up this morning.
But second is second, and we’re not gunning for second; we’re gunning for first. First in every category.
After the other night when Cole said I didn’t deserve to win, something lit within me. How dare he decide that for himself. I might not live here, but I love my aunt Cindy. I love the magic she created for us growing up, and I will do just about anything to prove someone wrong—Cole being that someone.
He thought he was shaming me, but he has no idea what he did. He poked the beast, and my chompers are ready to take him down.
“Perhaps we add some sugar, something to counteract the balance in the flavor,” I say.
Aunt Cindy shakes her head as Taran enters the room, pine garland hanging around her neck. “Where are the scissors?”
“In the drawer under the telephone,” Aunt Cindy says.
“Thanks.” Taran finds the scissors and then takes off.
Taran, when not “cleaning the crevices,” has been decorating the house. And given her determination to make everything perfect, she has spent a great deal of time measuring out the lengths of the garlands, making sure each drape matches the one next to it. Her bows are perfectly centered, the length of each ribbon precisely the same. And don’t get me started on the lights she hung up around the living room windows. They’re all facing inward, which took her a ludicrous amount of time. Hence why only the living room and now the hallway are decorated.
“Now, back to the ginger,” Aunt Cindy says from her perch. “Just listen to me, because I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” I say on a sigh before dumping a tablespoon of ginger into the cup of eggnog.
“Now, give it a good stir and take a taste.”
“You want me to drink this?”
“How else are you supposed to perfect your eggnog without tasting it?”
Maybe with a touch less ginger, that’s how.
