LICKING HER CHRISTMAS COOKIES

I was looking for a fun Christmas romance and was extremely happy about picking this one up! –Patty, Amazon

There was so much of this story that I loved that I can’t pick a favorite part! –Rose, Goodreads

All the details of these characters, the town and every single inhabitants, people and animals is endearing. –MC, Amazon

This is the perfect rom- com for the holiday. –Casvec, Goodreads

This book is EVERYTHING you want in a Christmas holiday romance. –Ellie, Amazon

If you like a good Christmas romance, some crazy fun loving women, hard headed billionaires, and some steamy hot scenes they you will enjoy this story of Merrie and Matt. –Socal, Goodreads

Chapter 1

Merrie

There are two types of people in the world: those who believe in Hallmark holiday romance fantasies and those who know it’s a terrible fucking idea to move to a small town to live out your Christmas dreams.

Actually, there is a third person—the type that is dumb enough to burn all their life savings in an attempt to make that dream a reality.

In other words, me.

“I think you have some customers!” Olivia jumped up and down beside me.

The small town of Harrogate had gone all out for Christmas—Main Street was closed for foot traffic only, wreaths hung from the lampposts, and stalls selling artisanal goods lined the streets near the historic city hall building. All the shops were bedazzled in holiday decoration, and tourists and local residents alike wandered out in the quaint small town, soaking up the Christmas cheer. 

But the people outside kept on walking past my shop door.

I sagged. “If I can’t even make a sale on Black Friday, the rest of the Christmas season is not looking bright.”

“Most people are Black Friday shopping for Christmas gifts, not holiday decorations,” my bestie promised. “This weekend you’ll totally sell a ton of Christmas tree ornaments.”

I started to panic. “I think this was a bad idea! I’m a failure, and I’m going to spend next Christmas in a box!”

“No, you won’t,” Olivia assured me. “It’s illegal in this town to sleep in a box. You’ll have to live in a drainpipe.”

“I can’t survive in the wild!” I started hyperventilating. “I’m a city mouse who likes to pretend to be a country mouse from the comfort of her heated shop.”

Olivia shoved one of the freshly baked Christmas cookies in my mouth.

I chewed furiously.

“It’s the holiday season. You eat, sleep, and breathe Christmas. You got this. Selling ornaments? That was what you were put on this earth to do. You’re in a charming small town in an Instagram-worthy shop. Your store is going to be this year’s hottest item, and you’re going to have your big Christmas romance with the small-town hunk of your dreams.” She shoved another cookie in my mouth along with a generous spoonful of frosting. 

The timer dinged.

The seventies-era portable oven I had borrowed from Great-Aunt Bettina made a wheezing noise as I opened the door. I felt like people were more likely to spend money on handmade Christmas ornaments if the shop selling them smelled like cookies. Also, cookies.

Of course, that meant I actually, you know, needed people in my shop.

I took a sip of my bourbon hot chocolate with extra bourbon. Did I mention I was coming off an emotional hangover from a Thanksgiving spent with my large, blended family? And I had no money? I needed this bourbon, dammit.

I looked around at the carefully curated displays. I had spent months and all my savings creating the perfect Christmas shop, and it showed. Walking into Merry & Bright was like walking into an elf’s workshop. The shop was my dream come true—even if it wasn’t bringing in a lot of customers. 

“Maybe I need another Christmas tree,” I said, adjusting a Charlie Brown Christmas ornament on the twelve-foot-tall Frasier fir tree strung with large, colorful retro lights. Olivia’s cat Louis poked his head out of the tree for a scratch.

“You do not have money for a second Christmas tree,” Olivia said flatly.

“Just a small one!” I protested. “I’m running an ornament shop. I need multiple Christmas trees. It’s a business expense.”

“Your whole business plan is nothing but business expenses at this point.” She balanced her wrist on the reclaimed wood counter and painted green frosting on a sugar cookie wreath. “At least they can’t throw you in debtors’ prison like this is Victorian England and Ebenezer Scrooge is calling for your head.”

“No, but they can take my business, ruin my credit, and make it so I can never qualify for so much as a gift card ever again,” I replied, ticking off on my fingers.

“That’s when your magical small-town Hallmark hunk shows up and saves the day,” Olivia joked.

“Ye of little faith. We are in a picturesque small town,” I said, holding up a finger. “It is totally within the realm of possibility that by Christmas Eve I will be in a log cabin in the woods, snow will be falling, and a handsome bearded flannel-wearing hunk named Marcus who has a job building Christmas parade floats or holiday wreaths will be proposing marriage to me in front of a fire stoked with wood he chopped himself.”

“Aren’t you mildly allergic to flannel?” Olivia asked as I took the next batch of cookies out of the oven.

“I would spike my hot chocolate with allergy meds if I could have Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Small-Town Handsome as my one true love,” I replied, smearing frosting on one of the still-hot cookies.

The bells over the shop door chimed as the door opened and silhouetted a man against the twinkling lights from the Christmas market. He stepped into my shop, the winter wind following him and making me shiver as it blew away all the Christmas warmth.

This guy was emphatically not my knight in cozy flannel straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie. Instead of a warm small-town hunk, he was an icy Prince of Winter. This guy was in a very expensive suit, with cold blue eyes that screamed corporate sociopath and platinum white hair that would not have been out of place on a Bond villain.

He was also my first customer.

Who cares if he’s going to steal the Hope Diamond? All I need him to do is buy an ornament.

I grabbed the platter of cookies.

“Looking for something special for someone special?” I chirped, skipping to stand beside him. He was super tall, and I had to crane my neck to look up into his handsome face.

He’s like a perfect ice sculpture.

“No,” the man practically spat.

I needed this sale.

Don’t act desperate!

“How about a cookie?” I offered, holding out the plate.

The man gazed down at me, his expression cold. “I don’t like cookies.”

Yup, definitely an ice prince. Also a cookie-hating Grinch.

“Do you want to buy a Christmas ornament?” I put one hand on my hip. I was not letting him make me feel small.

“Do you sell only Christmas ornaments?” His lip curled up in disgust as he looked around the shop.

“We offer a wide variety of Christmas ornaments,” I said defiantly. “They are handmade from artisans all over the country.”

“And she does not have a viable business,” the ice prince said aloud, turning on one of his imported Italian shoes to walk around the perimeter of the shop. I trotted to keep up with him.

“This is a viable business!”

He stopped abruptly and gestured with a knife hand to the nearest display.

“You’re selling Christmas tree ornaments in a small town,” he growled. “It’s not viable; I can’t believe some idiot at the bank approved you for a small business loan.”

“They didn’t give me a loan,” I said primly. “I spent all my life savings on this shop.”

He blinked. Blue eyes widened slightly.

“You are appalling,” he said finally.

“Funny because I find you extremely offensive. Now buy an ornament, eat a freaking cookie, or get the hell out of my shop.”

“Your shop? This is my shop,” he snarled. “My investment firm owns this building.”

Ugh, he was so totally one of those slimy Manhattan investors—slick, zero empathy, watching that cost more than most people’s houses.

“I have a lease,” I countered. The Prince of Winter was not going to ruin my Christmas dreams. Even if they were crumbling around me.

“That you are in violation of,” he snapped. “You haven’t paid rent in four months.”

“I already spoke with the property manager, and she was fine with me not paying until after Christmas, when I’ll make the bulk of my profit,” my voice screeched.

“The property manager,” the ice prince said, enunciating the words, “has been fired.”

“You fired someone right before Christmas?” I was furious. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“I have no holiday spirit. I hate Christmas,” he said, perfect mouth twisting into a scowl. “They should cancel this whole holiday.”

“What a Scrooge McDuck.”

“What did you call me?”

I forced myself not to back away as he advanced on me, filling the shop. I tipped my head to glare up at him. I had moved to the small town of Harrogate with its picturesque Christmas market, town-wide holiday decorations, and small-town charm to escape Manhattan and especially to escape the men like the one in front of me. Now my worst nightmare seemed to have materialized in a fit of bad magic.

“You’re not even an Ebenezer Scrooge; I’ve demoted you to the duck version.”

I ate one of the cookies, just to prove to the ice prince that he didn’t intimidate me. Not one bit.

“I’m evicting you,” he said.

“What?” I screeched, cookie crumbs flying out of my mouth. “You can’t just evict someone without notice!”

He flicked a speck of frosting off his suit.

“According to the lease you signed, I can if you’re late on rent,” he replied, taking a tri-folded contract out of his suit breast pocket.

“But since it’s Christmas,” he continued in a mocking tone. “I’ll be charitable. You have thirty days to either pay your rent plus fifteen percent interest, or remove yourself, your ornaments, and all your cookies off my property.”

“You can’t! That’s Christmas Eve!” I ran after him, but he had disappeared out into the snowy night.

“Fuck. This is not the small-town Christmas I wanted.”

Chapter 2

Matt

“I had a number of better offers on that shop,” I fumed.

Eli threw an arm around my shoulders

“You can’t sweat the small stuff, Matt. We’re billionaires now!”

“Yes, and I didn’t get that way by giving away free rent at expensive real estate,” I argued.

Eli opened his mouth.

“And don’t say I told you so,” I snapped. “I know I never should have hired one of Hensley’s friends.”

“You need a drink,” my friend and business partner said, dragging me down Main Street.

I blew out a breath; it hung in a white cloud in front of my face.

I hated Christmas. In Manhattan, it would have been bearable. But here in idyllic Harrogate, where the townsfolk put the Whos in Whoville to shame? I wouldn’t survive it.

“Your strongest drink for my friend,” Eli said, rapping his knuckles on the wood counter of a stall that dripped with Christmas paraphernalia.

The stall looked like an elf murder scene. I was getting a headache, and all the pine boughs were making my eyes water.

Ida, one of the local senior citizens, was running the stall. She looked at me critically.

“We have another thirty days until Christmas, boyo. Buck your jingle balls up.”

She slid two red and gold tankards across the bar top.

I took one.

“This will help you find your holiday cheer,” Ida assured me.

I took a swig and grimaced. “What is that? It’s disgusting.”

“It’s elf juice,” Eli said, taking a long sip of his drink. “It’s all the leftover Christmas-flavored vodka that no one bought from last year and topped with frosting. That’s what gives it the foam.”

“I am not okay with any of this.”

“It’s going to be fifty dollars,” Ida said, holding out her card reader.

“This Christmas market is such a fucking rip-off,” I muttered when we were far, far away from the stall. Ida was a very well-concocted senior citizen, and I still needed approval from the city for the expansion of my vertical farm. I couldn’t afford to piss off any of the locals.

“Tourists love it, though,” Eli said. “Besides, it’s Christmas!” He toasted me with the disgusting drink.

Christmas in Harrogate was extreme. The Christmas market stretched down the entire length of Main Street plus several side streets. Traffic was a mess, even early in the morning.

At least it was snowing. I had been in Harrogate since that summer, and I hated the heat. The cold was more my style.

“You buy your raffle ticket?” Eli asked me as we walked down Main Street, dodging tourists who wandered around in a zigzag pattern or walked five abreast so no one could use the sidewalk. It really put the Christmas market over the edge. Not to mention all the people that would randomly stop suddenly in the middle of Main Street to take selfies.

I strangled a curse as I almost tripped over a small dog in a white sweater that blended in with the falling snow while his owner posed for a picture.

“You’re ruining my shot!” the woman yelled at me, waving her phone around.

“Get out of the street,” I retorted.

“And a Merry Christmas to you,” she said nastily.

“You have to lighten up,” Eli told me. “This is Harrogate, a quaint small town. There’s a slower way of life here. Think of your blood pressure. Take a deep breath and drink your elf juice.”

“I’m calm,” I growled.

“I know you just had a very traumatic experience,” Eli began delicately.

“You know what I despise the most about the Christmas market,” I said loudly before Eli could start a topic of conversation that I wanted to stay buried.

“All these stalls sell the same stuff. That’s the third apple cider stall we’ve passed in five blocks, and how many stalls does one small-town festival need that sells Christmas candles?”

“Who doesn’t like a Christmas candle?” Eli said, picking up one and shoving it under my nose.

I sneezed. “It smells like a Christmas tree.” I sneezed again. “It’s terrible.”

The woman at the stall snapped her gum and motioned angrily to Eli.

“You need to get your friend out of here. He’s scaring away my customers.”

“Come on, Mr. Grinch. The raffle drawing is going to start soon. I need to buy a ticket. I think they might be giving away a giant inflatable Santa Claus. I want to sneak it into my brother’s house and surprise him.”

“He’s going to kill you,” I reminded Eli.

“It will be worth it.”

Eli herded me through the crowd toward the town square. I balked when I saw the grandstand and stage that were being erected.

“I think I’d rather just go back to the office,” I said.

Eli patted me on the back sympathetically.

I shoved him off. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”

“Maybe Belle won’t make you participate,” he said.

“My sister can’t make me do anything,” I boasted to Eli, straightening my jacket. “I’m a billionaire.”

“You just go and tell her that?”

“I will.”

My sister Belle was talking to several audio techs and Dana Holbrook. They both ran a medium-sized investment firm that owned the production company Romance Creative, producer of such outstanding (not!) programming such as Marriage in a Minute, Seeking Sister Wives, and of course The Great Christmas Bake-Off.

“I’m not participating,” I interrupted Belle.

Eli sucked in a breath.

“Excuse me,” my sister said, her tone so icy that it made the Christmas market feel like a warm Hawaiian beach in comparison.

“I’ll just, um, wait over here,” I said hastily.

Eli silently shook his head.

“You really are living on the edge lately,” he whispered.

My older sister had basically raised my brothers and me. To keep order with five boys, you had to rule with an iron fist, and my sister had not been soft.

I shifted my weight on my feet.

Even though I was a few inches taller than my six-foot sister, she could still be intimidating.

“I think Mr. Frost has something important to say,” Dana Holbrook finally drawled after the audio guys had left.

Belle gave me a warning look. “If you’re trying to drop out of the bake-off—”

“I have a replacement,” I said in a rush. “Eli can do it.”

“What the hell?” My friend was shocked.

My sister gave me a critical look. “You need to face your fears.”

“I’m not afraid,” I insisted.

“He’s not,” Eli agreed. “It’s an awkward situation, and you know how Matt is. You can’t take him anywhere. He’s going to ruin your show.”

“This is a growth experience for you, Matt,” Belle said.

“Also,” Dana added, “we already have a big marketing campaign around your participation.”

“Now I know this is a hard time of year for you,” Belle said, “so I got you an early Christmas present. Close your eyes.”

I scowled.

Belle grabbed my hand and placed a slip of red paper in it.

“Good luck at the Christmas raffle. I hear tonight’s prize is a kit for DIY elf juice!”

“I fucking hate this holiday.”

Chapter 3

Merrie

“I’m sure the purple ornament would look lovely with that color scheme,” I said, trying my best to still seem preppy and full of Christmas cheer. Really, I wanted to shove a candy cane in my eye. I had been helping this woman for the last forty-five minutes in her quest to decide on which ornament she was going to buy.

You cannot lose this sale. This is your first real customer of the Christmas season. Not counting the ice prince.

Because I wanted my ornament shop to provide high-end boutique-level service, I had given the woman two cups of hot chocolate and three cookies. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t buying a single thing.

It will get better after this.

It has to get better after this.

The customer gave a great big sigh. “I’m just going to have to ask my tarot card reader. Can you put this ornament on hold for me?” She handed me the small purple snowman.

I took it with a pained smile.

“I’ll be back.” She took a cookie to go.

She will not be back.

“Merry Christmas!” I sang out as the bells over the door jingled, mocking me.

I slumped down behind the counter after the woman had left. We had been open for the last four hours. She had been my only customer.

I am so screwed.

The bells jingled, and I perked up then deflated.

“Don’t act so unhappy to see me,” Olivia said. “Especially since I brought you some dinner.” She set the carryout contained on the counter.

“The line was insane,” she said. “I can’t believe it took me an hour. How’s business going?”

“Terrible!” I wailed. “I’m going to be out of business by the end of the week.”

I poured myself the last of the hot chocolate and drained the cup.

“It’s a Friday night,” Olivia reminded me. “You only just opened. You need to give it a little bit of time. Do some advertising. Maybe dress up as an elf and walk around the Christmas market and tell tourists to come to your shop.”

“I need a job,” I said, panicking. “I see the writing in royal icing. I’m screwed. I’m going to have to collect the Christmas tree carcasses when this is all over and build a hovel down by the river.”

“Okay, wow,” Olivia said, opening up the takeout container. “Someone has had too much sugar and alcohol. You need some fat and protein.” She scooped up a forkful of the cheesy pasta and shoved it in my mouth.

“Yummm. Bourbon bacon and white cheddar mac ‘n’ cheese.” I scooped up another steaming spoonful. “Amazing,” I mumbled around the piping hot pasta and bacon. “Perfect Christmas food.”

The oven dinged. I pulled out a tray of cookies.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Do you think you need to get a health department letter to bake cookies in the shop?” 

“Of course she can bake cookies!” My great-aunt Bettina swept into the shop and held her arms out to wrap me in a hug.

I was concerned. “Olivia’s an architect. She knows the codes…”

“Nonsense,” Bettina replied. She brushed the snow off her green, white, and red velour tracksuit. “My Merrie’s not selling the cookies. A girl can bake cookies in her own shop.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m shut down,” I said dejectedly. “I don’t have any customers; I need to find a job.”

“That’s too bad because I’m here to buy a Christmas ornament,” Bettina said, “a big one. And to ask you to lend your Christmas prowess to the decorating committee for the upcoming town hall meeting.”

I smiled at her gratefully.

“Of course! Also, customers get a free cookie.”

“Even better,” she said, taking a snowman.

***

After Bettina had left with not just one ornament but a whole box of them, I leaned against the counter and took out my phone.

“She’s well known in town,” Olivia reminded me. “She’ll spread the word about your shop.”

“I can’t pay rent with a good word,” I replied. “Nor can I buy sugar and flour. My stock is running low, and I’m only going to survive this Christmas season with cookies. Look! There are tons of jobs listed. I just need to find one with morning hours so I can keep the shop open at night.”

“Funny you should say that…”

“I’m just so annoyed that this whole situation is ruining Christmas for me,” I complained as I scrolled through the job listing on the TradeMe app.

“There’s a great solution…”

I frowned at my phone. “Ugh. I don’t want to spend Christmas being a substitute teacher or a receptionist. Next.”

Olivia was practically jumping up and down.

“Ask and the Christmas market shall grant your wish!” She handed me a flyer.

“A bake-off?”

“Not just a bake-off but THE Great Christmas Bake-Off.”

My eyes bugged out. “But you have to audition for that months in advance.”

That was what had spurred my delusions into starting the business in the first place. I had wanted to audition for The Great Christmas Bake-Off, but my terrible boss would not give me time off. I had finally rage quit—in hindsight a bad idea because I couldn’t collect unemployment.

“This is meant to be! It’s in Harrogate this year,” Olivia said, pointing at the flyer excitedly. “They have one wildcard spot open for locals. With your sugar cookie recipe, you will for sure win. Plus, they film in the mornings for the daylight. You can work in the shop at night.”

I skimmed the flyer. Olivia flipped it over in my hand

“Look at that.” She pointed to the line that stated: Grand prize, two hundred thousand dollars.

“That’s what you get if you win.”

“I don’t know if I can win this competition,” I said, chewing on my lip. I had watched the previous seasons religiously, and I knew what caliber of desserts the judges were expecting. Sure, I used baking as an unhealthy coping method when I was stressed, which lately was always. But a bake-off? In front of not just a live audience but also broadcast on TV?

“Sounds like a recipe for disaster. I should focus on my shop.”

“It’s just a little insurance,” Olivia coaxed.

I looked around my shop. It was in an old historic building. The high ceilings were finished with stamped tin. With the exposed brick walls and the custom wood display boards that held the glittering Christmas ornaments I had spent the last few months carefully curating and splurged way too much money on, the shop was my dream come true. It looked like an old-world ornament shop, like Santa could come out of the back at any moment.

Did any of it matter now?

You’re not giving up. This is just a little side hustle. Besides, you probably won’t make it through.

I blew out a breath.

“Okay, I’ll enter.”

My friend squealed. “Good, because I already put your name in the hat.” She hugged me. “You’re going to win. I know it!”

“Oh my gosh, what am I going to do with all that money?” I said, already daydreaming about my winnings. I did a few quick calculations. My dreams didn’t go far.

“Once I pay off all my debts, I’ll have a little left over to move to South Dakota.”

Chapter 4

Matt

“In conclusion,” I said, ending my presentation, “that is why we are asking you to contribute to this Series A funding round.”

“No,” Greg Svensson said.

“Seriously?” Eli jumped up and turned to his brothers. “This is a huge investment opportunity.”

“We just gave you tens of millions of dollars six months ago,” Hunter Svensson said. His baby daughter sat in his lap. She chewed on his expensive watch while he laid into Eli.

“You all have been working on this vertical farming initiative for months. You have three greenhouse towers built and millions of dollars’ worth of robotics in there, and all you’ve managed to produce is lettuce and berries.”

“Berries are a high-margin item,” Eli argued. “We have a lot of interest from restaurants who don’t want those mealy berries you get from South America but still want to serve fruit in the winter.”

The baby on Hunter’s lap cooed.

“I know it’s shameful, isn’t it, Anabelle?” Hunter said to the baby.

My heart lurched.

That could have been me. I could have had the family, the wife, if only…

No. Focus. We’re trying to secure funding. None of that matters now.

Except it did.

“It’s unclear whether the town is even going to approve your expansion plan of three more towers,” Hunter continued. “And we’re not giving you any more money until that happens. Not to mention, you need to present a more detailed business plan with how you will immediately turn a profit on the new towers.”

“We told you: Avocados and almonds then profit,” Eli said.

“That’s not a plan,” Greg said with a scowl.

I glared at the Svensson brother seated around the conference table. They were the worst. We needed that money. My business had a high valuation, but to stay that way, I needed to show growth and to do that, I needed more capital investment. The Svenssons were being awful just because they could. But I had a secret weapon.

I smoothed out my features.

“It’s fine if they don’t want to invest,” I told Eli. “I’m sure my sister will.”

Greg immediately bristled.

“You can’t manipulate me into investing in your company just to keep Belle from investing.” He practically spat my sister’s name.

My older brothers had said the two of them had something that had imploded.

“Shocking how quickly these relationships go south,” Hunter said snidely to his brother.

“Get out of my office,” Greg said coldly.

“This is my office,” Hunter countered. “In a building I own.”

Eli and I left his older brothers to argue.

“Is Belle really going to invest?” Eli asked me as we walked out of the historic building into the Christmas chaos of Main Street. It wasn’t even lunchtime, and people were already out, opening their stalls and freshening up the boughs of pine and holly that were hung everywhere. Carolers were in the town square warming up for their marathon sessions of singing the same five songs.

“I hate this holiday,” I said too loudly.

That earned me dirty looks from the townspeople who were lining up for a seat to watch The Great Christmas Bake-Off.

“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 on The 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 on The 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. Would she be there?

Of course she was.

Hensley, my ex-fiancée, was in the middle of the group of other bake-off contestants, bragging loudly about the new handbag I had bought her. I had surprised her with it right before I discovered the racy texts on her phone from the guy she had been cheating on me with.

I stood back and glared at her. We were supposed to get married this Christmas. Hensley seemed to think that her cheating was no big deal. She had the audacity to be mad at me that I had called off the wedding like it was my fault she cheated because I was quote, “too busy.”

I was fuming just thinking about it.

I need to get the hell out of the bake-off. Hensley had signed us up for it because she said it was a nice bonding experience.

The first event I’m out, I vowed. I just had to survive until then.

And avoid Hensley.

It can’t be hard to avoid one person in this bake-off shitshow.

Except it wasn’t just one person I had to avoid—it was two.

A man, tall, dark, and handsome, wearing jeans and way too much flannel, came over to Hensley, giving her a smoldering look that screamed dirty Christmas romance.

Brody. Or at least that was the name Hensley had for him in her phone. He had sent Hensley a whole album of not-safe-for-work photos of him with no clothes against a backdrop of flannel.

I ground my teeth.

The other female contestants giggled and flirted with him while he preened.

Don’t punch him in the face. You’re never going to get funding if you go to jail for assault.

But he and Hensley had ruined my life, had ruined all my dreams for the future. She and I had been college sweethearts. We had talked about what we were going to name our kids. Then she left me for that flannel puppet.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the cold air, letting it chill my lungs.

You can survive this. Two events then you’re out. Just pretend they don’t exist. They aren’t even going to have the gall to talk to you, so just ignore them. Be ice. Be the snow. Be the cold. Be—

“You don’t have enough Christmas cheer to be in the bake-off!”

I opened my eyes.

Then looked down.

“Absolutely not.”

Chapter 5

Merrie

“Oh my god!” Olivia squealed as we approached the bake-off stage. “There he is! Your Hallmark Christmas romance hunk.”

We gazed in awe at the glory of the man on the stage. He was magnificent. Dark wavy hair, tight jeans, a jaw with a cleft so deep I could stick a finger in it. And he was wearing flannel.

“It’s like the Brawny Paper Towel mascot just appeared in your kitchen.”

I sneezed.

“Keep it together,” Olivia said, massaging my shoulders as we stood in line. “Get in the baking zone. You’re going to win this.”

I looked around at all the other local baking hopefuls. Two girls in Christmas yoga wear were doing stretches.

“I would tear something important if I tried that,” I muttered to Olivia.

“Don’t let them psych you out. It’s all about the technique. Baking is all about planning and precise execution, just like architecture.”

“Speaking of,” I asked my friend. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

She shrugged. “The big architecture project I was working on got canceled, so I have extra time. The couple broke up.”

“Oh no!” I cried. “What’s going to happen to the historic Wynter Estate? It’s so beautiful.”

“You should have been an architect,” Olivia teased. “You care more about the building than the end of someone’s relationship.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You said the client wanted all the original stained antique wood trim to be painted gray because his fiancée had no taste and wanted the house to look like some HGTV monstrosity. As far as I’m concerned, the poor man dodged a bullet.”

“Fair,” Olivia said. 

“Only contestants beyond this point,” a man with a clipboard and headset announced, waving me forward.

“Good luck!” Olivia shot me a thumbs-up then disappeared into the crowd. A grandstand was set up with spectators bundled up in winter coats and sipping mugs of hot chocolate. My stomach churned as one of the production assistants fitted me with a microphone.

I wished I was in the stands.

What if I sucked? What if the judges were mean? I looked around at the other bake-off contestants who had been chosen from the casting call. They all seemed confident and ready.

Except for one man.

“What is Scrooge McDuck doing here?”

The ice prince was not amused to see me. And I was ticked off that he was at the bake-off, ruining yet another Christmas event for me.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to get my rent money together?” he sneered, looking down at me.

“Shouldn’t you be off making someone’s holiday season miserable?”

He smirked. “It looks like from the way you’re puffed up that I’m making your Christmas miserable.”

He leaned forward. His breath caressed my cheek as he snarled, “And I’m going to make it even worse if you don’t pay me or vacate my property.”

“Matt!” a woman called. She had similar coloring to him.

He gave me one last glare then stalked off, leaving behind only a faint whiff of mountain woods.

Olivia: OMG, was that…

Merrie: Yes, it was the Christmas-hating Grinch himself.

Olivia: He’s a bit too handsome to be a Grinch!

“Welcome to the fourth season of The Great Christmas Bake-Off,” Anastasia, the host I recognized from the last three seasons, greeted us.

“We’re doing things a little differently this year. In addition to our carefully selected group of bakers from around the New York area, we have a wild card round with local small-town bakers vying for a spot in the competition.”

Carefully selected? Ha! I looked over at my landlord. Matt was glowering. I could practically see the Christmas hatred seeping out of him.

Just need to add a few horns.

Matt clearly didn’t want to be there. He wasn’t even listening to Anastasia.

“For this round,” she was saying, “we don’t have formal judges. Instead, your fellow contestants will be voting on who they want to be in the competition with them.”

I was going to be judged on my competence as a Christmas baker by a man who hated Christmas?

Just freaking great.

This competition was a long shot anyway, I reminded myself as I went to my assigned baking station.

“Contestants, for this challenge, you will be baking a dessert that represents you and your town.” Anastasia smiled at us. “Good luck!”

I knew exactly what I was going to make. Olivia and I had been strategizing last night while waiting for nonexistent customers to show up.

I was making my famous sugar cookies. Well, they weren’t exactly famous, but I was giving them away in my shop and posting them on Instagram to my anemic number of followers, so close enough. A lot of people like thin crispy sugar cookies. Not me. I like them like I liked my men. Thick.

I glanced over at the small-town hunk. He and the other contestants were walking slowly around the stations interacting with the contestants. He had unbuttoned the top few buttons on his flannel to reveal an ungodly amount of chest hair.

Olivia: I’ll buy you a peppermint martini if you stroke it.

Merrie: I’m trying to concentrate!!!

Olivia: You could bake those sugar cookies in your sleep.

I creamed the butter and sugar in the red stand mixer at my station. Christmas tunes played in the background to amuse the crowd. I bopped along to the poppy Christmas jazz rendition of “It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” With the snow flurries blowing around and the twinkling lights decorating the historic city hall on the other side of the town square where the bake-off was set up, I was getting all the small-town Christmas vibes. The smell of vanilla and spices filled the air, and stand mixers whirred as all the bake-off contestants made their confections.

“I love Christmas,” I said giddily as I took it all in. The camera guys zoomed around me as I adjusted the Santa hat I was wearing. It was the crown on my over-the-top Christmas outfit complete with red stockings, a green skirt that floofed when I turned, and a happy Christmas sweater that blinked. I also had stickers on my cheeks that Olivia had insisted on shellacking to my face with hair spray so they didn’t fall in the food.

“‘Tis the season for Christmas baking!” I told the cameras and made a victory sign.

Behind them near the edge of the stage, Matt glowered. 

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he gave me a horrified look.

I smirked. I was in my element. Christmas was my season. I was never a sporty kid, but I could bake!

I concentrated on carefully cracking my eggs then adding them and the sifted dry ingredients to the light-yellow creamed butter and sugar mixture. I scraped down the sides of the bowl, mixed it once more, and then turned the dough onto parchment paper to roll out. It was so cold outside that I didn’t have to worry about the dough getting too warm.

Once the dough was rolled out, I lined up my selection of vintage Christmas cookie cutters.

Maybe I should have opened a baking store instead of a Christmas ornament store.

Maybe I never should have left Manhattan.

No negative thoughts, I reminded myself. Only happy thoughts around the cookies.

After cutting out all the shapes, I slid the first batch of cookies into the oven. In between checking to make sure they weren’t burning and making my buttercream frosting and royal icing, I surveyed the other contestants. Next to the flannel-clad hunk stood a snooty-looking high-society woman. I had dealt with her type during my time in the trenches as a receptionist at a high-end investing firm. Women like her would storm in, throw around the fact that their boyfriends, husbands, or fathers were important clients, and demand that everyone cater to them.

No more. I was in charge of my own destiny! At least until Christmas Eve when I had an astronomical amount of money due.

The woman saw me watching her and gave me a cold look.

I gave her a cheery smile and waved. “Merry Christmas!”

She turned her nose up in the hair and huffed off to go talk to another contestant.

Fine by me.

“Some people just can’t handle their Christmas cheer,” I said as I pulled out my first trays of cookies and set them on a cooling rack.

Unlike my tiny portable oven, the bake-off station had a five-foot-long double oven.  I was able to bake the whole batch of cookies in one go! 

I surveyed my cookies as they cooled. Though I had a whole batch in front of me, the clock was ticking. I was a pretty fast decorator. But even I couldn’t decorate a whole batch in forty-five minutes. I decided to do a more basic piping frosting design and decorate with sugar crystals and edible beads for most of the cookies then include a few cookies with more intricate decorations. The other option was to have a plate with only five cookies on it, and that was not acceptable. Give me a heaping tray of cookies or give me death!

“Deck the halls!” I sang along with the music as I frosted the cookies. I did the more difficult ones first, carefully piping a sweater in red and white frosting on a snowman cookie.

“This is a bomb cookie,” I said happily, taking a picture of the finished dessert for Instagram. “I’m totally winning.”

A shadow passed over my baking station, and the temperature dropped ten degrees.

“This is your big plot to find my rent money?”

I looked up into Matt’s icy blue eyes.

“I have a multipronged approach.”

“You need to get a real job,” he said curtly. “Running a Christmas ornament shop is not a real job, and neither is participating in a bake-off. You’re not winning, and you’re delusional if you think so.”

“Neither are you,” I replied hotly. “They clearly just brought you on as the pretty face. Though why they bothered I’m not sure. Clearly, everyone is going to have eyes for Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Flannel over there.”

“Brody?” Matt snarled.

I laughed.

“Isn’t he amazing?” I continued, needling Matt.

As if he knew we were talking about him, Brody turned to catch me staring. I blew him a kiss, smirking when Matt growled in annoyance then swooning a little bit when Brody flexed his pec muscles at me. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“It’s not even sanitary,” Matt hissed through his teeth.

“Ooh, someone’s jealous!”

“I’m not.” Matt slammed his hands down on my table.

“Watch it!” I yelled. “You’re going to mess up my cookies. I don’t want your Christmas-hating cooties all over my dessert.”

“Too late,” Matt said and picked up the cookie I had just spent ten minutes decorating.

“Don’t you dare touch my cookies!” I shrieked.

“A lot of women want me to touch their cookies,” Matt said, the corner of his mouth quirking.

“Doubtful,” I retorted, grabbing across the table to the cookie.

He held it aloft.

“In fact, they want me to lick them.”

“I swear I will have you gutted and stuffed as a Christmas tree ornament,” I warned.

“So, you don’t want me to lick your cookies?” He gave me a smoldering glare.

Lick my…oh…ohhh…shit.

My face went hot under the stickers, glitter makeup, and hair spray.

No.

Yes.

Maybe?

No, Merrie, jeez!

“I have standards,” I told him.” There’s only one man here who I’d want to lick my cookies, and it’s not you, so give me back that snowman.”

“I’m supposed to be judging,” he retorted, “and I can’t do that without a taste test.”

Then he licked my freaking Christmas cookie! Ten whole minutes of frosting work was gone.

“You… you!” I sputtered. “I spent a million years decorating that.”

He bit the head off the snowman then tossed it back on the platter.

“That was actually pretty good for a Christmas cookie. I think I might have to lick your cookies again.”

“You…” I wanted to curse him out, but we were on live TV, and this was supposed to be a family-friendly program. The cameramen, sensing drama like sharks sensed blood, were hovering around us.

“You…doo-doo head!” Not as satisfying as calling him a fuckface asshole but it would have to do.

Matt snorted. “I think you should stop wasting time on name-calling since you clearly suck at it and get back to baking.”

He clapped his hands at me. “Chop chop.”

Fuck this asshole.

“Chop this!” I hollered, scooping out a handful of bright-red royal icing and throwing it at him.

Matt cursed, for real, with multiple F-bombs because if you were some sort of moneyed Manhattan type, you did not care about ruining the sanctity of The Great Christmas Bake-Off.

“You ruined my suit,” he roared as he stood there in front of me, the icing dripping down his face, running down the front of his suit, and plop plopping to the floor.

“You need to disqualify her,” he shouted to the producers.

They ignored him.

I giggled.

“Thirty minutes,” Anastasia said. “Merrie, I hope you can redo your cookies in time.”

That made me mad all over again.

“Matt,” she told him, “you look tasty enough to eat!”

Chapter 6

Matt

“Bro, it’s in your hair.” Eli swiped at me ineffectively with a half-frozen towel to try to remove the icing.

Fucking Merrie.

“How is she even allowed to continue?” I raged as the contestants put the finishing touches on all their frosting creations. “They need to kick her off.”

“They need to kick your ex off,” Eli said.

Hensley was flirting with Brody. He had his hand on her waist.

“Fuck them. Fuck this competition. Fuck Christmas.”

“Fuck!” Eli cursed and jumped out of the way as a bucket of water was dumped over my head.

I sprung around ready to fight then backpedaled when I saw my sister standing there. She set the bucket down.

“All that red frosting was going to stain your hair. Also, watch your language. There are children and elderly present.”

Several of the younger Svensson sisters waved to her, almost falling over the railing of the grandstand balcony where they were perched. Greg, looking even more displeased than I was at attending The Great Christmas Bake-Off, barked at his sisters and hauled them backward.

I stripped off my suit jacket and shirt to wolf whistles from several of the drunk seniors in the crowd.

“You have my vote!” Ida hollered.

“He does birthday parties and bar mitzvahs!” Eli called to them.

It wasn’t all that cold outside—it wasn’t as if Harrogate was Antarctica—however, icicles were starting to form in my wet hair.

Belle tossed me a T-shirt. It had a picture of a chubby, happy snowman on it and read The Great Christmas Bake-Off in loopy gold text.

“No thanks,” I said, handing it back to her.

“You’re soaking wet.”

“I’d rather freeze than wear that.”

Besides, Brody wasn’t the only one who had a great body.

“I’m your number-one fan!” Ida yelled to me. “I have money on you!”

Don’t bother.

“And time!” Anastasia announced to the bake-off hopefuls.

I stood next to the rest of the ten contestants. I was pleased to see several women swooning over me.

Suck it, Brody.

I watched the bake-off hopefuls assemble at the front of the stage. Merrie was shooting me dirty looks. I licked my bottom lip, and her cheeks went red.

I smirked at her.

Of course she’s aroused by the sight of my bare chest.

Wait…

Merrie pulled out a large chef’s knife and made a threatening gesture.

No, she was definitely red with anger, not lust.

I chanced a glance over at Hensley. She was blatantly staring at me.

I crossed my arms.

“Aren’t you cold?” a girl asked me, eyes wide.

I gave her a magnanimous smile. “Of course not.”

Merrie dry heaved dramatically.

“As mentioned,” Anastasia said, “the contestants will be voting on which bake-off hopeful they think should be in the competition. Everyone please come up and quickly give us a description of your dessert.”

It was a parade of the worst of the worst of small-town bakers. There were the ubiquitous dump cakes, the icebox cakes, the Jell-Os in various festive configurations, which for some bizarre reason, the Svensson sisters cheered for. Then there was Merrie with her cookies. She only had five of them intricately decorated; the rest had only icing. To her credit, the icing had been piped on in little frills and waves, not just slathered on like another middle-aged woman’s cookies that looked like they had been run over by a truck on the way to the judging station.

As soon as this event was over, I was going to chip what was left of the frosting off of me and burn my clothes.

“A big thank you to our bake-off hopefuls. Please drink some well-earned hot cocoa while the contestants vote on who they want to join them in the bake-off!” Anastasia passed out sheets of paper with the bake-off hopefuls’ pictures.

“This is a ranked-choice vote. Everyone gets five candy cane stickers they can allocate for whichever hopeful they want to win and five snowman stickers for who is their least favorite. You can parcel them out however you want.”

Easy. I was giving Merrie all the snowmen. The other stickers I randomly assigned to the other pictures then tossed the form at Anastasia.

“That was fast.”

“I’m a billionaire. I’m decisive.”

The other contestants didn’t take all that long to decide. Brody, the flannel cheater, took the longest.

“I don’t want to dash anyone’s dreams,” he said, handing Anastasia his form.

A producer added Brody’s sticker selections to the total and whispered to Anastasia.

“It looks like we have a clear winner,” she announced.

I looked over at the hopefuls. Merrie didn’t have on a coat, and she was jumping up and down to stay warm, hands tucked around her.

Some people were weak and couldn’t handle the cold. Even Brody, I noticed smugly, had put his shirt on. Not me. I could sit out in the cold all night.

“The person with the most votes is Janet with her peppermint bark dump cake.”

Seriously? That cake looked like a toxic waste dump. Janet had created a slurry from a boxed brownie mix, a blueberry muffin mix, and stale crushed candy canes with some boxed milk and stuffed it in the oven. The smell had been terrible, and the cake had tasted even worse.

“The person with the largest negative score,” Anastasia continued, “is Merrie Ellis.”

I smirked and looked at her to see her reaction. Merrie was devastated. She saw me watching and seemed to wilt.

I frowned. While I had my reasons for giving her all the negative points, compared to the rest of small-town amateur hour, she had technically had the best dessert by default.

“I made sure to give her the worst score,” a girl whispered to her friend. “Cut down on the competition.”

“Because it’s Christmas,” Anastasia said, “we want labels only on presents and don’t want to call anyone the best or the worst. Therefore, both of these bakers will be participating in the bake-off! See you at the next event, ladies!”

“What the hell? No. No way.” I was not going to be in a bake-off with Merrie.

I wasn’t the only one protesting.

“That’s not fair!” the girls complained to the producers.

I glanced back over to Merrie.

Her eyes met mine, and she mouthed, I’m going to end you.