Page 41 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

“You can’t. But you’re sick. I think they’ll make an exception.”

Neal’s sickly voice suddenly grew stronger. “I don’t think so. It says on the rules that all members must be present to compete.”

“Well. I guess I’ll just have to take my chances then.”

There was a pause.

If Neal expected hysterics and anger, he didn’t get it. “Uh. Okay. Bye?”

“Bye! Feel better.” Bea hung up. “See you tomorrow, loser,” she snickered, putting the phone back in her pocket. Bea fixed Curtis with a guilty smirk. “Am I as bad as he is?”

“Well, let’s see. Did you lie about being his partner?”

“No.”

“Did you lie about being sick?”

“No.”

“Are you using him just to get prize money while secretly having no respect for the fine and sacred art of gingerbreading?” Curtis took her by the shoulders and gave her a severe glare.

“No, Chef.”

“That’s what I thought.” He swatted her rear end. “Now. Back to making pizzelle batter. Not everyone can have a full moon made of white chocolate-covered gingerbread pizzelles.”

Bea nodded, then paused. “This idea might be too out there for some of the judges,” she sighed. “What if we don’t win? The money for the cupcake truck?—”

“Will come to us some other way, sweetie. I already won.” Curtis kissed her forehead. “I gotyou, didn’t I?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Please, please, please can I punch him?”

Bea put down one box of gingerbread pieces. “Nope. Then you’ll get thrown out.”

“What about in the parking lot afterward?” Curtis snarled.

Bea turned to watch Neal and Jasmine enter through the large double doors of the school gym. “Jasmine looks like she might beat you to it.”

Curtis kissed her cheek. “I’ll go get the next box. You watch our platform. I don’t trust them.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Her sweet, silly best friend had a protective watchdog streak in him that made her toes tingle and her middle start to clench. “I’ll watch the table. You watch your back. Neal has an extensive workout, and I don’t want him to add punching my boyfriend to his routine.”

“Miss Miller, Mr. West?”

Bea immediately recognized the voice addressing her. “You’re the guy I talked to on the phone!”

“Indeed, I am. Mr. Minegold, very nice to see you in person. I’m here to sign you in. I couldn’t help but overhear the last bit of your conversation.” The older man addressing them had an elegant, Old World style of charm and silvery hair. He smiled,and his blue eyes twinkled. “I will let the judges and volunteers know that you’re worried about the team at table three.”

“Not so much about the team, just him,” Bea gave Neal a poisonous glare—and that turned out to be a mistake.

Neal put down the box he was carrying and straightened up, jaw popping open. “I… hey!” His voice cut through the building crowd, and his tanned face crinkled in annoyance.

“Neal! You’re feeling better.” Bea crossed her arms and gave him a fake smile. Curtis mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Not for long.”

“I… You don’t have a partner!”

“She does. In every sense of the word,” Curtis put a possessive arm around her shoulders.

---