Page 32 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

Bea crossed her arms. “You make it hard to be mad at you when you’re complimenting me.”

“So don’t be mad at me. Just… Neal doesn’t know you that well. For whatever reason, he’s only just begun working with you. Don’t change yourself for someone who— No. Don’t change yourself for anyone but you.”

Curtis sighed as his arms suddenly filled with his cuddly, half-crying friend.

“Shut up. You big Hallmark card. You’re making me make you soggy.” Bea wiped her eyes on his shirt.

“Say that ten times fast.”

“No.” Bea stuck out her tongue.

She’s even cute when she’s being rude.

Yep. I’m totally in love.

Bea was happy that her parents were going out of town for a few days to visit some of her mother’s relatives in Toronto. That meant that they couldn’t complain about the entire house being turned into gingerbread central. Or interrogate her when Neal finally came over to help work on their creation on Monday. She wasn’t sure who would come down harder on a potential suitor, her Korean mother or her Mississippi father.

“Let’s do this!” Neal said, whipping out his phone.

“What are you doing, exactly?” Bea asked as he started photographing all of the bits and pieces—mainly just big sheets of gingerbread to be used for walls and to have as spares.

“Taking pictures.”

“I see that, but why?”

Neal made a hissing sound of impatience. “Geez, do you want to keep them a secret from your partner or something? I didn’t think you were one of the mean girls, baby.”

“No, of course not. I just don’t want you to post them on your socials until after the contest. It’s not exactly cutthroat, but this year there is a lot more at stake, and it’s the last year we can enter before we’re ‘pros,’ you know?”

Neal clicked away, nodding.

The excitement about spending the day working with Neal dulled immediately.This is going to be work—not fun.

It was always fun before. Last year, she entered alone, but she hadn’t exactly worked alone. Curtis had been her one-man cheering section.

Even brainstorming with Curtis last night was fun, and he wasn’t even entered.

What had Curtis said? Neal and I don’t even know each other that well? Come on. We can do this. We’llgetto know each other.

Bea laughed at all of Neal’s jokes. Some of them were mean. Edgy, she corrected herself. He was edgy. He was a hot, ripped, edgy blonde chef with tattoos who fileted salmon in a way that made her knees buckle. Watching men with knives shouldn’t be so… exciting. Maybe it was a chef thing? She had to admit that watching Curtis break down a rack of ribs just…

No. She shouldn’t think about Curtis like that. Especially not right now. For the first time in her life, a man who could be classified as a “hottie” was interested in her.

There was a pause. Bea laughed again, just in case she had missed something funny. She wished they could talk about something other than Neal’s past, his cooking philosophy, or her recipes and ideas for the gingerbread.

The feeling that she was doing an unfair amount of work—as in all of it—was starting to settle on her shoulders. But, she had quickly seen Neal didn’t like criticism. She had brought up the basil celery smoothie recipe, and Neal went off on a tangent that was… What was a good term? Self-righteous.

Yes, maybe drinking that smoothie on a daily basis would make her drop twenty pounds in two months and make her liver all shiny, but… it wasn’tgood. Adding mint and green apple would at least make it bearable. It needed other flavors to balance out the onslaught of gritty greens, but Neal said messing with his recipe was sacrilegious.

Neal liked that word. He was using it now.

“It’s… it’s totallysacrilegiousthat all the community events around here are only about sweets and baked goods. I never see them doing anything that real chefs should be doing! Venison! Elk! Now, that would be a contest worth entering.”

“Hey, there are lots of contests and community events in Pine Ridge that have nothing to do with food. Besides, bakersarechefs. We’re specialists, just like a pediatrician is still a doctor. And who could build a house out of elk?” She tried to keep the humor in her voice.

Neal squashed it, leaning back in his chair, shirt pulling tight against his abs. “Have you ever tried to grill an elk loin over an open flame?”

“No, but?—”

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