Page 43 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

“I think we’re a fan favorite.” Bea began working on all the embellishments for the cabin itself. “You do the landscaping, okay?”

“Okay. Hey, when this is over, whether we win or lose, I know what we should do.” Curtis carefully placed some of their confections around the porch.

Bea smirked. “I agree, but we need to stop by the pharmacy first. I think we used your last one this morning.”

“Not that! Well, I mean that, too. No, we should go on a date. I’ll take you to the River House. We could see a movie, too?”

“Just dinner is fine. Andyoufor dessert.”

To Curtis, the twenty-minute judging window was the worst. They had to stay by their table until the panel of three judges was done inspecting. They couldn’t even go and get a peep at Jasmine and Neal’s creation. The panel consisted of Chef Ferguson from the River House, Claire Fenclan from the coffee shop and bakery in town, and Ingrid Anatole, a gingerbread enthusiast and local home baker.

“Why are you so calm?” he whispered.

“Because I can’t change anything now.”

“I want to eat the entire pot au creme. Am I allowed?” Ingrid asked her fellow judges.

“I want the recipe,” Chef Ferguson said, frosted blonde hair and ice blue eyes making it clear that the answer had better be yes.

“Yes!” Beatrice clapped her hands. “I’m so glad you like them! Did you try the toadstools yet?”

“They’re my favorite,” Claire Fenclan cried. “And I love this. I only moved to Pine Ridge last year, but this cabin… it has the right vibe. A little spooky, a lot beautiful. Mysterious. Majestic.”

“The creativity is what gets me,” Ingrid leaned forward to peer at the pizzelle moon. “You’ve gone above and beyond to use gingerbread in a lot of unique ways.”

When the panel moved on, Beatrice sagged against him. “I think they liked us.”

“I think you’re right.”

When the judges were done with their rounds, they were allowed time to deliberate, and the crowds of people previously held back by festive “caution tape” were set free to admire and ask questions. Curtis had so much fun watching Bea interact with people. She was not only a natural cook, she was a natural connector. Her food was love.

And she loves me. How lucky am I?

“Contestants! Everyone! The judges have reached their decision!” Mr. Minegold waved the crowd to silence from a little platform in front of the bleachers. “We will begin with the junior division first!”

Beatrice groaned and bit her lip. “This is killing me.”

“Eat a toadstool?” Curtis suggested, and that made her snort with laughter. “Want the moon instead?” he whispered, hand stretched out as if to pull it from the display. “I’d give you the moon, Bea. I’d give you the world if I could.”

“Stop. You’re going to make me cry,” Bea murmured, looking up at him with glimmering eyes.

“I have dish towels for that.”

While they were whispering, the judges had moved from the juniors to the solo competitors, and were now moving to the teams of two. “In third place, Manny and Rhea Finklestein with their piece entitledRomantic Getaway!”

Curtis and Bea applauded as the crowd went wild. “I know him. I bought my car from his dealership,” Bea whispered, trying not to panic.We didn’t win third. That’s okay. Maybe we won second. Or first.

“Second place goes to Bill and Carrie Brown for their piece,Santa’s Cabin!”

“I remember her, too. She always gave out cookies on Halloween instead of mini candy bars,” Bea muttered from the corner of her mouth, fingers twisting.Neal and Jasmine won.They beat us after all. My first ideas were so good, so cute.She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of their gingerbread cabin with its cozy Christmas motif. She noticed Neal was already raising his fist in the air, pumping it in triumph. Jasmine was plastered to his side, her hand possessively on his chest as she hopped up and down beside him.

“And the first prize for the partner category is also the winner of the grand prize this year. The judges felt the creativity of their cabin not only represented great gingerbread skills but also captured the essence of Pine Ridge. Congratulations to Beatrice Miller and Curtis West for their piece,Finding Home!”

No, they didn’t say that.

Couldn’t have.

Hysterical wishful thinking because Neal is a giant turd with a six-pack.

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