Page 157 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“Thank you,” I say to him. I glance over my shoulder to where Taran is writing in her notebook while simultaneously showing something to Aunt Cindy on her notepad. So I whisper to him, “I’ll pay you back later tonight.”
“Looking forward to it.” And then he jogs back to his station where Max is lining up their colors and making a striped blanket like we learned. Kind of wish Taran would jump in and help, but she doesn’t want Aunt Cindy to need anything and we’re both distracted. So I’m doing this on my own.
I spend the next twenty minutes putting my base together, stretching it out, which again is hard and tiring, and my forearms are on fire, but once I start cutting and shaping, I can see my product come to life and I love it.
They look like real candy canes.
Even if they’re simple and not original, I still love what I was able to do, with a little help from Cole, of course.
To the right, there’s a giant clock that’s counting down our time, and I finish up my last candy cane just as the clock runs out. We were supposedto make two dozen identical candy canes, and honestly, I feel really good about what I did.
I look down the line and observe everyone’s different take on the classic sugary confection.
Jimmy did a green-and-yellow candy cane.
Cole and Max went with red, green, and white. Wow, okay. Theirs look pretty cool.
Ursula made…are those hearts? Uh-oh, not sure that was a smart move given how cranky and exacting Jefferson Chadwick seems when it comes to tradition.
And then at the very end, Beatrice Pedigree seems to have created pink-and-red candy canes. I wonder if those are strawberry-flavored. Possibly cherry. Or could be peppermint as well.
Who knows?
All I know is that Jefferson Chadwick is stepping up to the tables, not bothering with the fanfare that Bob Krampus usually puts on when it comes to these competitions. He adjusts his glasses on his nose, holds a clipboard close to his chest, and starts with Beatrice.
I watch as he picks up one of her candy canes, examines it, taps it on the counter, and then lines up each candy cane she made and goes down the line, comparing all of them.
I glance at my batch and feel inferior as I pick out all the flaws that I didn’t notice when I was making them. The curves aren’t all the same. The heights aren’t matching up. And did I twist the colors enough?
I gnaw on the corner of my lip as I look up and catch him moving down the line, clearly disgusted with Ursula’s heart candy canes. That was a very bold choice that I knew wasn’t going to pay off, from just one look at Jefferson Chadwick.
Now standing in front of Cole and Atlas who…are they linking arms? I hold back my smile as Atlas bounces in place, looking far too excited, while Cole sticks his hands in his pockets, his expressionneutral. While Chadwick studies their candy canes, I find myself studying Cole.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his impressive forearms that bounce and bulge as he moves. His shoulders are broad, but not too bulky like a weightlifter, longer and leaner. His jaw is covered in the thick scruff that I’ve felt scrape deliciously over my body. His lips are perfect, the bottom one being a touch fuller than the top—I know this because I’ve pulled on it with my teeth. And those eyes, they’re hooded by thick brows and highlighted by long, dark lashes. Growing up, I always thought he was cute, but seeing him as a man now, he’s practically irresistible.
He glances over in my direction, pulling his attention from Old Man Chadwick, and when he catches me checking him out, the sexiest grin tugs on the corners of his mouth. I feel my cheeks heat up as I glance back down at my candy canes, unable to maintain eye contact because I fear what Taran might notice.
The situation is difficult to navigate. We have to act like we hate each other while pretending to date, even though we are actually sort of seeing each other. It’s complicated and hard to process, especially when Taran and Aunt Cindy are around, because I don’t want them to think that I’m giving up on the competition. I still very much want to win.
Jefferson Chadwick moves over to Jimmy’s table where Jimmy stands with pride, hands clasped behind his back, looking extremely confident. His candy canes look rather good from where I stand, very thick, about the diameter of a quarter, but the color is an odd choice, and when I catch Chadwick take a taste, his eyebrows shoot up and then bunch together as he makes a note on his clipboard.
Oof, that doesn’t seem like it will bode well for Jimmy.
Chadwick makes a few more notes and then steps up to me. I feel my legs tremble with nerves as he examines each candy cane, picking them up and looking at the way the sugar has hardened. He brings the end ofone of the candy canes to his mouth and takes a taste, before setting it back down. He jots down some things and then without a word walks over to Bob Krampus and hands him the clipboard.
Sheesh.
For someone who owns a candy shop, you’d think he would be—no pun intended—sweeter, but he’s just a big grump with no hair, apart from bushy eyebrows that seem to curl and stand out of their own volition.
Bob Krampus in all his Santa glory takes a microphone from Mrs. Claus and then holds it up to his mouth as he roars out a hearty ho-ho-ho.
You have to give the man credit for his dedication to the character—never breaking, never showing anyone an ounce of identity besides Santa.
“Mr. Chadwick has spoken, and we have a winner for the best candy cane this Kringle season.” He looks at the paper and then smiles. “In fifth place, we have Ursula Kronk—with a note from Mr. Chadwick saying he didn’t like the heart shape.”
Yup, called that one.
The crowd politely applauds and Ursula leans against her table, looking none too pleased.
