Page 31 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

“What in theworldare you doing?” Curtis’ Belgian waffle froze before it hit his lips. His best friend, his culinary idol, was pushing away a plate of bacon, eggs, and waffles—and dumping his vegetable and herb drawers in the blender.

“Basil-celery smoothie,” Bea answered, adding water to the bilious-looking concoction spinning in the glass pitcher.

Curtis put down his fork. “No waffles?”

“Um. No.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Is this for a bet?”

Bea shrugged, bright brown eyes daring him to argue from under downcast dark brows. “I’m trying something new. Don’t make a big deal.”

Curtis shrugged. When Bea pierced him with her eyes, he couldn’t argue. It was a miracle he could still speak, what with the arrows in his heart. “Okay. Cheers.” He tapped his mug of coffee to the plastic cup she’d claimed from the dishwasher. “Want some coffee?”

Her mouth twitched once before forming a soft, “Not today, thanks.”

“Like… Should I call someone? You have coffee in your veins.”

“Neal doesn’t think coffee is good for people.”

“Uh-huh. But… What is that again?”

“Basil and celery.” Bea drank it and made a hideous face. “It’s… refreshing.”

“I’m sorry, did you say refreshing or retching?” Curtis rose, tempted to yank the glass away from her. Instead, he returned with the frying pan. “This is that cherrywood smoked bacon that you like.”

“I told youIwould make brunch! You’re the one who got up early and made all this food I can’t eat!” Bea snapped.

“Wait, since when can’t you eat bacon, eggs, and waffles?” Curtis frowned. “And besides, you were my guest. The host cooks.”And you were so sexy, lying there asleep with your little foot kicked out from under the covers. And the way you sleep on your side, and you have a booty that I just want to grab and squeeze until you squeak… And then I want to grab your hips and slide into you until you’re nothing but a jiggly puddle of pleasure.

“My diet. My business.”

“Okay, okay. I just didn’t know. You can’t get mad at me for not knowing.”

“I… It’s okay. I didn’t know myself until this morning. I was thinking about some things that Neal said about my health.”

“You’re ingreathealth. You’re never sick. You move like adorable lightning in the kitchen. You can lift an entire rack of cast irons.”

Bea nibbled on a piece of bacon.

“Not health, exactly. Maybe weight. A lot of comments about bakers being bigger. Moving away from sweets and desserts.”

Curtis’ eyebrows made an enraged bridge across his forehead. “Excuse me? Doesn’t that strike you as odd when he’s been your partner for every pastry assignment, and now hewants to be your partner in a contest where baking cookies is step one?”

“No! It’s not that he’s not a good baker, he’s just smart enough not to overeat.”

“You don’t overeat. You eat exactly enough.” Curtis flexed his fingers on the table. The way Bea was talking made him feel like ants were crawling inside of his skin. He wanted to hit something. Neal. Yes, hitting Neal would be good. “Funny how he never bothered to say anything or be your partner on any assignment until we hit pastry. He was always Jasmine’s partner.”

“So? What’s that mean? You think he liked her because she was prettier?”

“Huh? What the hell, Bea? You’re prettier! I mean, no! I mean, you’rebothpretty, all the women are pretty—oh, God,whydid I open my mouth?” Curtis left the table and began scrubbing the frying pan in the sink.

Bea was silent. In a moment, she was beside him, putting her mostly empty smoothie cup in the sink. “He hasn’t worked with Jasmine since the end of October.”

“Right. When we moved into the final patisserie unit.”

“She’s a good baker!”

“Sure, butnoone is as good as you,” Curtis corrected. “This is my hill. I will die on it.”

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