Page 114 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
Jimmy’s the first to speak up. “Are you not going to demonstrate?”
“No,” Theodore says. “I’ve heard rumblings that Chadwick is waiting for all of you to fail due to my teachings. Therefore, I will not be teaching,just offering you the opportunity to practice. For those of you who are not part of the Kringle competition, please step in the back with me and I’ll be giving you a private lesson.”
“But…we paid for this,” Jimmy says. “And if you’re in the back, how can we ask you questions?”
“Let one of my assistants know, and they’ll call me if they think the question is important enough.” And then with that, he moves to the back of his kitchen with the non-Kringle-ees.
I turn to Cole. “Well, that’s rude.”
“Rude, but it feels right. Their feud is pretty heavy, so I’m not surprised this is how we’re being treated.” He picks up the recipe. “Well, might as well give this a shot. Okay, we need to grab the water, sugar, and cornstarch, dump it in the pan, turn on the burner, and then stir and let it boil until it’s 320 degrees Fahrenheit.”
“That seems simple enough,” I say. As we work, I ask, “Why didn’t Atlas come with you? Isn’t he your holly jolly sidekick?”
“He is,” Cole says as he starts stirring. “But he had some things he needed to do on the farm today. So he told me to take, in his words, ‘copious notes.’”
“I don’t see a pen and paper,” I say.
Cole taps the side of his head. “All up here.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s going to love that.”
“He’ll bitch, but that’s nothing new.” He hands me the wooden spoon. “Want to stir?”
“Sure,” I say. “How do we know the temperature of the mixture?”
Cole lifts up a thermometer. “I think with this thing. The instructions say to set it on the side of the pan but to make sure it doesn’t touch the bottom.” While I carefully stir, he adjusts the thermometer, and then together, we watch the heat rise. “Huh, this isn’t too bad.”
“Yeah, I was going to say the same thing. Although I think it’s the second part that’s the hardest.”
“You might be right,” he says. “Good thing you have me helping you—you know, since I’m so good at this Kringle stuff.”
That makes me dramatically roll my eyes. “Says the guy who made a Hawaiian fruitcake.”
“Hey, that was on Max, not me. He was heavy-handed with the pineapple, and I tried to tell him, but he insisted he knew best.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t let your sidekick take charge.”
“Ehh, he’s into this maybe more than I am. I have to throw him a bone every once in a while.”
“That’s very holly jolly of you.”
“Hence why I’m the front runner for Christmas Kringle.”
“You’re in third place,” I say. “That is not the front runner.”
“That means nothing. We will get back up there, especially after this candy cane competition.” He takes the spoon from me and stirs. “Look, I’m winning already.”
“You’re so stupid,” I say with a laugh.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cole
The sugar is boiling, the snow has stopped falling,
peppermint is in the air, and cupid’s arrow is calling.
“He’s charming, he’s sweet, and I love his sexy smirk,”
