Page 24 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

GINGERBREAD BREAK-UP

S.C. PRINCIPALE

Pine Ridge, New York, does holidays like nowhere else. Kids have off from school on Halloween. Easter Egg hunts are epic all-night events. Every winter holiday is given almost fanatical devotion by the residents who organize parades, holiday bazaars, cookie exchanges, and more. But it’s the Gingerbread Building Extravaganza Beatrice has in mind. The culinary student at NYU Pine Ridge is determined to win this year and earn an invitation to Foodie TV’s Gingerbread Showdown. Even better, her partner in this year’s contest is the hottest guy in the culinary program, Neal Ambrose. Partnering with Neal is her dream come true—until it becomes a nightmare.

Can Bea’s bestie and fellow culinary student Curtis save her spot in the contest by repairing her broken gingerbread dream—and her broken heart?

CHAPTER ONE

“Bea! Beatrice, did you go into myChefStreamaccount again?” Curtis’s long, loping strides easily allowed him to catch up to the brunette putting on her black chef’s coat.

“Yeah, why?” Bea turned her round face toward him, wide, almost almond-shaped eyes showing her puzzlement.

“I keep telling you not to watchChristmas Cookie Magicwithout me! You made it all the way to the season finale!” Curtis slammed his locker door open and glared down at his much shorter best friend.

“But I didn’twatchit! I’m waiting for you to catch up. I swear.” Her pale pink lips pouted up at him. “Please don’t change the password… and force me to call your mother to ask about the names of your childhood pets again.”

“You are a terrible, untrustworthy hacker.” Curtis snatched her red apron just as it was about to go over her head.

“And you are a terribly selfish, overly tall thief. Give me that!” Bea wrenched the apron back and took his black beanie for good measure, even though she had to jump in order to make the grab. “Stop being freakishly tall, you giant zucchini.”

“You wound me, my adorable miniature cream puff.”

“Come on. Last class before break!”

Curtis didn’t need any urging. He followed after his best friend and fellow NYU Pine Ridge culinary student, reveling in the way her hips swayed, her short, round body like a delectable Christmas plum pudding.

God, I want to cover her in brandy, whipped cream, and put a cherry on top of each of her big, soft?—

Lustful thoughts were stopped with a screech of mental brakes when Beatrice halted in front of him, transfixed by a red and white notice taped to the stairwell door.

If he bumped into her, his hips colliding with an acre of luscious rump, it wasn’t his fault. Right?

We always flirt. Little touches. Little jokes. Cooking is sexual. Food is sensual. How do people not get that?

Curtis thought back to yesterday’s assignment—eclairs. Watching Bea pipe out the perfect phallic shapes, watching them rise with heat, then slathering them in chocolate ganache…

He could sell tickets. He’d be rich. No, he’d be broke, because he would buyallthe tickets. That was one show he wanted to keep to an audience of one.

“Did you see this?” Bea screeched.

He nodded stupidly, pretending that he’d been doing anything other than looking at her hips and thinking about the way she licked chocolate off a whisk.

“Gingerbread Showdownis going to have a special live show on Foodie TV on Christmas Eve! And the winners of the Pine Ridge Gingerbread Building Extravaganza are going to appear on it!Live!”

“Bea. Breathe. You’re going to pass out.”

“There’s a cash prize for first place in each division, and a grand prize for the one voted the best of all three divisions. You know I came in second last year. This is my year—especially with Neal on my team!”

“Neal?” Curtis hoped his voice didn’t sound as harsh to Beatrice’s ears as it did to his.

“Neal! He’s not leaving for winter break until Sunday. Friday night is the Gingerbread House Extravaganza…” Bea stopped and bit her lip. “If we win, he’ll have to spend Christmas Eve in New York City to appear on the show. Not with his family.”

“Well. You two are an item, right? You’re practically family?” Was the hint of sarcasm really just a hint, or did the mistrust of his culinary rival bubble over?

“An item? I don’t think so. Dating, yes, but I’m not his girlfriend.” Bea’s cheeks were usually the color of porcelain and cream. Now, they were mottled pink as she started to march down the hall toward the large practice kitchen of the culinary department.

Curtis’ lips itched like he’d just had an allergic reaction. Neal was one of those body-building health nut types who wanted to create a name in the culinary world through nutrition with flavor. Very admirable. Very respectable.

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