Page 101 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
I push off my workstation, walk over to an annoyed Storee, and pull her into a tight embrace. And just for added measure, I kiss the top of her head. “Good luck, babe.”
“Babe!” Tanya squeals. “Oh, I can’t take it.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “I need to tell Martha and Mae about this.” She hurries off, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she moves toward the back corner of the gym.
Storee pushes away from me, a look of disgust on her face. “Babe?”
“Thought it was a nice touch.” I smirk.
“If you get anything higher than third place in this Fruitcake Festivus, this entire system is rigged.”
“Why do you say that? You haven’t even tasted my fruitcake.”
“I don’t need to taste it to know it’s going to be terrible. I smelled burning cake from over the fence when you were apparently practicing.”
“That was on Max and him setting the timer wrong, nothing to do with our recipe.”
Also, we overfilled the pan, used a pan far too small, and the batter was dripping over the sides when we pushed down the toppings, but she doesn’t need to know about that.
“Either way, you have rigged this competition by playing with Tanya’s romantic heart. You should be eliminated.”
“Says the person whose aunt is being rolled in on a wheelchair right now, looking rather paler than she was the other night.”
Storee glances over her shoulder, catching sight of Cindy and Taran approaching. When she turns back around, she whispers, “This could be her last Christmas.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “Cindy has many more Christmases left in her. So don’t be throwing rocks at glass houses, Storee. If you’re not playing fair, neither am I. So…good luck,babe.” I wink, which causes her to huff and push me out of her workspace.
Her workspace that’s right next to mine.
“Kind of wishing you had a door to slam to separate us?” I ask.
“No, because with the way you’ve been working, you would probably hang mistletoe in the doorframe.”
“Ah, thinking about that kiss still?” I tsk at her. “I knew you would. I could tell from the hungry look in your eyes when we parted. If you want another one, you can just ask.”
Defiantly, she replies, “You know, I really hope you burn your finger.”
“Ah, and I hope you use salt instead of sugar.”
“Here’s to you tripping with your fruitcake in hand.”
“And cheers to you sprinkling your hair in your batter.”
Her anger spikes as she leans over the table and whispers, “I hate you.”
“Feeling is mutual…babe.”
Storee
“You look worried,” I say to Cole. He’s standing next to me, waiting to be judged by Tanya, who is currently taking a bite out of Jimmy’s burnt monstrosity. Just based off what it looks like, I will be shocked if Jimmy doesn’t get last place.
“I’m not worried,” Cole says as he rocks on his heels next to me. “Confident. You should be worried. Who puts mashed potatoes in their fruitcake?”
“The winner from last year does,” I say, still smirking over the look on Cole’s face when we pulled out the mashed potatoes.
It was an epic showdown of culinary skills, all five contestants in the kitchen, attempting to make the perfect fruitcake that people actually love to eat. From what I could see, Ursula went with candied everything—dates, walnuts, fruit. I fear she’s going to give someone a cavity with her fruitcake, which resembles more of a candy bar than an actual cake. Jimmy, well, we know where he went wrong. Dr. Pedigree went with a more…organic approach with all fresh ingredients, which could lack flavor but help with density. We shall see.
And then there were Cole and Atlas who were running around their kitchen space, sniping at each other, trying to figure out how much pineapple was too much pineapple. If I wasn’t so focused on what I was doing, I’d have sat back and enjoyed the show, because from what I could hear, it was hilarious.
I think at one point I heard Cole mutter to Atlas to stop being a little bitch about the pineapple but can’t be too sure.
