Page 20 of Stuck in Christmas

My eyes widened in surprise. “My dad was a Marine pilot in Desert Storm.”

“What a small world. Where is your dad now? I bet Joe would love to trade war stories with him,” she replied.

My heart clenched in my chest. “He died in a helicopter crash during the war.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry to hear about that.” Bonnie placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. Her kind eyes took on a sadness far from the pitiful looks I got from many people. It’s as if she empathized with my pain. It had been so long since I received comfort that I leaned into her touch.

“He died serving his country, and I couldn’t be prouder of him for that.”

“I know he’s got to be pretty proud of you right now,” Bonnie said softly.

A smile returned to my lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “Well, I certainly hope so.” I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “Now, talk to me about these cookies because they sound vital for the carnival.”

Bonnie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Yes.They are. And to make sure we do them right, I will open my secret files.”

“Secret files?” I could barely contain my excitement—another story.

“My secret recipes for the cookies,” she replied.

“That is serious.” I tried to give her my most serious face, but it was useless. She and I were in on a caper, and I was here for it.

“Yes. Come with me.” Bonnie turned toward the kitchen and gestured for me to follow. Together, we moved toward her hidden treasure trove of holiday delights and the hot former Marines of our hearts.

Ten

Eli moved through the kitchen with a whirlwind of energy, pulling ingredients from shelves with an almost militant focus. The mingling scents of vanilla and cocoa danced in the air, teasing my senses with the promise of sweet treats soon to emerge from the oven.

I felt terrible bothering the master at work, but I had promised Bonnie. Plus, I wondered if helping out would get me one step closer to breaking out of my own personalGroundhog Day.

“Eli, Renee is going to help you with the cookies,” Bonnie announced as we eased deeper into the kitchen.

Eli looked up from a mixing bowl, smirking. “You mean supervise. I can do this by myself, Bonnie.” His confidence radiated in the kitchen—his realm, where he was undeniably the master chef.

If I thought he was hot as a part-time lumberjack, watching him as the master of his domain was something else altogether. Every move was made with precision. No ingredients were wasted. And he didn’t refer to a recipe once. It combined to makemy skin tingle, although that could be from not breathing. I might be making myself dizzy watching him.

I stepped toward the central island. “Bonnie is afraid you’ll turn this into a Marine chef competition to see what you can make up with mystery ingredients.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

“It’s an honor to be the Armed Forces Chef of the Year three years in a row.”

He paused for a moment to consider me, then smirked. “Fine. It is an honor. But it also means you’ll be put to work if you stay. Wash your hands first.”

“Yes, Chef.” I saluted him, then went to the handwashing sink to wash and dry my hands like I was about to perform surgery. I spied a Christmas apron hanging on a hook by the door.My Baking Skills Sleigh. I slipped it over my head and tied it around my waist. “Okay. I’m ready—where do we start?”

Eli smirked at my apron and then nodded toward the flour container. “I need you to get me three cups of sifted flour.”

His Head Chef mode was hot. It didn’t take much to envision him commanding the bustling kitchen of his Michelin-starred restaurant in the heart of New Orleans. I closed my eyes and imagined the air thick with mouth-watering aroma. Maybe it was the savory spices mingling with the sweetness of caramelized onions, or perhaps it was just him.

I slowly opened my eyes to watch him move throughout Bonnie’s kitchen with the grace of adancer. I imagined Eli expertly orchestrating his team as they crafted exquisite dishes that reflected both the city's rich culinary heritage and his innovative flair. With a confident yet approachable demeanor, he guided his culinary brigade, sharing wisdom from years of honing his craft in this kitchen and others courtesy of the Marine Corps.

It was easy to see why he garnered accolades. He turned the act of cooking into a mesmerizing performance, each plate a masterpiece that beckoned to be savored.

“Renee?” Eli’s worried tone broke me out of my reverie.

I swayed a bit as the enticing scent of sugar and Eli wafted back toward me. “Got it. Flour.”

Bonnie’s kitchen was much warmer than the biting cold of a Christmas tree farm. And the cozy scene reminded me of something. Something familiar. It was like an itch at the back of my brain.

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