Page 34 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

Bea plunked down two reusable grocery bags on Curtis’s kitchen counter.

“Not… great. Can I work over here, or are you busy?”

Curtis shrugged. He delivered groceries between classes, but his schedule was flexible. He started unpacking her bags as Bea put her hair up. A smile wormed its way onto his face as ease set in. Bea moving around his place like she belonged there made him relax. He did the same thing when he went over to her home. They were such good friends. Such great working partners. The smile vanished. In a few months, college would be over. They would both find jobs—and those little short-term “make-ends-meet” jobs would last for a few months, or maybe a few years. Maybe they’d never find their way back to each other and their dream of a cupcake truck. Bea moved through his knife block, fingers sure as she gripped a paring knife. “I need to make several other edible confections. What goes well with gingerbread?”

“Um. Anything in the warm spices family? Apples? Pumpkin?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I think some carved apples dipped in homemade caramel. They can be the rockers on my cabin’s porch.”

“That’s amazing! Um. Hey. Bea. Do you still want to start that cupcake truck? Maybe have a bakery somewhere someday?”

Bea stopped unpacking some truly huge apples. “What? Of course I do.”

His throat felt oddly tight. “Remember we used to say that we’d open it together?”

“Remember? As in like two days ago?”

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“Curtis? Did something happen?” Bea came over and looked up at him, gripping his wrist tightly. “Is it your dad? Your mother? Is there bad news?” Her perfect, pale face puckered with worry, lower lip tucking between her teeth.

It was only by a miracle that he didn’t bend down and smack a kiss to those perfect full lips and pull her soft curves against him.Way to ruin a friendship, bonehead.“No, nothing bad! I was just thinking, we graduate soon. M-maybe we should start a joint business savings account or something? So w-we could save up to put a down payment on a cupcake truck?” Curtis blurted. “I was thinking we should do something so we could be back together sooner,” he concluded, trying to keep a smile on his face as his eyes threatened to prickle and spill over.

Bea threw her arms around him and squeezed, her short form packing a surprising amount of strength. “Oh, Curtis! You’re so sweet. You— You worried me, you big buffoon!” Bea backed away, hands on her hips. “I thought something terrible had happened!”

“Us not being together every day seems pretty terrible to me.” He sounded like a whiny toddler, his own arms crossing.

It was too much, the sight of them, physical polar opposites, locked in a petulant staring contest. They burst out laughing.

“C’mon and help me carve fruit and make some caramel for testers? If Neal and I win, I get half the money. That’ll be the downpayment on the truck.”

“Really? Oh, Bea! I love you!” Curtis grabbed her back as soon as he’d released her.

No! No, no. I shouldn’t have said?—

“Love you, too.”

Bea shifted anxiously on Curtis’s dilapidated futon as she watched the final two contestants of Christmas Cookie Magic make elaborately sculpted masterpieces. Her sheets of delicate gingerbread shingles—for the cabin roof—were about to come out of the oven.

Curtis elbowed her as they sat together. Normally, a giant bowl of homemade gourmet popcorn sat between them. Tonight, there was an empty space, but somehow, they’d filled it, almost hip to hip. His pointy elbow speared her shoulder, one of the hazards of being best friends with someone almost two feet taller than you. “What?”

Curtis pointed to the screen where the final contestants were facing off. “Her final piece is way unbalanced. Five bucks says she drops her sculpture.”

“No bet. She’s got nerves of steel.”

Another squirm. Bea licked her lower lip. When she was tense, she wanted to bake. She’d been baking all afternoon. All weekend. Heck, she’d been baking all week, so why wasn’t she calm? Why was the tension rising, instead of falling?

“Idon’t have nerves of steel.” She perched on the edge of the futon. She wanted to rush into the kitchen and make something, anything! She didn’t even need to eat it, she’d be perfectly happy watching someone else take pleasure in her skill. Like Curtis. Curtis always moaned when he took a single bite of her food, his deep brown eyes closed in bliss.

Neal’s face superimposed itself over Curtis’. He would frown and push away her desserts, even her chocolate truffles.

So why does he want to work with you on a baking competition?

Because he’s using you. And he wants the prize money.

“Doesn’t like me.”

“Huh?Are you kidding? I’m crazy about you, you little bundle of bonbons!” Curtis exclaimed, confusion in his voice. “What did I do, Bea?”

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