Page 26 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

Still never. Neal wasn’t her boyfriend—officially.

“So, we should be together at midnight. To brainstorm. Look.” Neal shook a clear glass bottle filled with something that looked like mud and swirled with sediment in the bottom. “My special blend of mushroom coffee, dandelion syrup, and bone broth. It’ll give us energy for hours.”

Hours of late-night energy with Neal? Her heart fluttered—and she thought that only happened in books. “Sure. Sure, we can be together at midnight. I think I’ll pass on the coffee blend, though.”

“It’ll really help boost your metabolism. Have you had it tested, by the way?”

“What tested?”

“Your metabolism. Or your thyroid? Autoimmune diseases? They can cause weight gain.”

He’s not criticizing my body. He’s into healthy living. He’s concerned about your health. That’s all.“I’ve got a clean bill of health, and I feel great. Very energetic,” Bea said in a voice that she hoped was flirtatious.

“Uh-huh. I hear the prize is double what it was last year. And you were in second place?”

“Right, in the solo division. We registered for the partner division this year. You’re stuck with me—once we open our emails, we can’t switch to a solo entry.”

Neal flashed her a smile made up of dazzling white teeth (caused by natural charcoal toothpaste, as he would tell anyone who’d listen). “Sounds good, babe. Hey, you’re local, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, I’ve lived in Pine Ridge my whole life.”

“So, you probably have an idea of what the theme will be? What tricks we can use to put us in the top spot? There’s only one grand prize winner, right, from all of the divisions?”

“Mhm, that’s right. Just onebigwinner and they get the big money, too. I don’t know about the theme, though. I think we should just focus on showing as many advanced techniques as possible. Theme is important, but I think we really need to show off our skills. I had this idea about using gingerbread pizzelles— crap!”

“Beatrice? Something you want to tell the class before we tackle ourcroquembouche?” Chef Wilton paused at the front of the kitchen, a frown on his face.

“No, chef!”

“Then we can begin.”

As Chef Wilton gave instructions about that evening’s project—the final project before break—Neal leaned over, his broad chest, tattooed forearms, and six-foot frame making her feel on the petite side for the first time in her life. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered that I promised to spend tonight with Curtis—catching up on some episodes onChefStream.”

“Oh.” Neal’s voice was flat. Maybe faintly annoyed.

He wants me to come over there. He wants to be alone with me tonight!

“D-Do you watchChristmas Cookie Magic?”

Neal coughed. Or maybe it was a snort. No, it had to be a cough. “I’m not really into baking shows. But that won’t take until midnight, right?”

“Probably not, but I also asked him to help me with my gingerbread pizzelle idea. Maybe we could both hang at his place?”

“Uh… We should stay fresh. You want to meet me at my dorm a little before midnight?”

He doesn't want to have a third wheel. His dorm. I’ll probably sleep over. This is it… Maybe. The heart flutters were escalating.

Maybe she needed to sit down. Trying to sound calm, Bea answered, “Sure. I’ll be there at midnight.”

“Annnd break!” Chef Wilton clapped his hands and sent everyone scurrying for mixing bowls and ingredients. Bea made her way to Curtis. Like clockwork, her much taller friend handed her one of the mixing bowls from the top shelf. “I can come over, but I gotta leave at 11:30.”

“You’re too old to have a curfew—and you sleep over at my place sometimes.”

“Neal invited me over to his dorm. You know what that means.” Bea licked her lips and winked, trying to pretend butterflies weren’t attacking her middle. “Tonight’s the night.”

Curtis turned the color of skim milk under his shaggy brown hair. “But—you’re not even his girlfriend. You said so!” he whispered, following her around the huge kitchen.

---