Page 35 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

She jerked her head towards his, startled to find him so close to her, his wide, wounded eyes and mop of brown curls inches away. “Nothing! No, sorry… I was thinking. About the contest. And the show. They’re going to announce the winner in a second.” She pointed toward the television screen.

“Shhh. Here they go!” Curtis gripped her hand as they both leaned forward.

It felt… comfortable. Perfect.

“Bea! This will be you on Friday night,” Curtis whispered.

“Yeah… If Neal can get his act together.”

There was silence.

“Is he…? What’s he doing, exactly?”

“I can’t tell.” She leaned against Curtis suddenly. “But you were right. We don’t know each other that well. He and I. Not you and I.”

“Huh. Well… That’s not good. Want me to go with you to talk to him?”

“I don’t need you to come fight my battles, but you can help. Help me figure out if I’m being crazy. Let me tell you about some of the— Hold on, this might be him.” Beatrice pulled her phone from her back pocket as it jangled. A frown crossed her lips as she read the screen.

PRCC.

“What’s PRCC?” she hissed.

“Is it billing?”

“Geez, I hope not. Hello?”

“Hello, is this Miss Beatrice Miller?”

“Yes?”

“Ah! This is Jakob Minegold, a volunteer from the Pine Ridge Chamber of Commerce. I’m calling because there’s a paperwork discrepancy with your entry for this Friday’s Gingerbread Extravaganza.”

“But—I got a confirmation email. I have the rules and my requirements,” Bea’s voice immediately climbed the octave.

“What’s up?” Curtis hissed.

She held up a finger.

“Oh, your information is all correct, but you’ve listed that you’re partnering with a Mr. Neal Ambrose.”

The uneasy feeling in her stomach turned into a full-blown tsunami. “I am.”

“But he’s already registered in the partner category, and his form says his partner is Jasmine Winesap. Ms. Winesap’s application also lists his name. I called her and confirmed he’s her partner. I’m assuming there was some sort of mix-up as you list him, but he doesn't list you. I called to get the name of your actual partner.”

“Oh. Oh, right. Could you hold on a moment?”

“Of course.”

Bea hit the mute button on her screen and sat down hard on Curtis’ wobbly kitchen chair, heart hammering.

“Bea? Is it your mom? Did they get in an accident? Is their flight delayed?”

“Neal is Jasmine’s partner. Neal isJasmine’spartner. He registered as her partner, not mine. He… He got the contest email at midnight—but not as my partner, as Jasmine’s partner!” her voice was rising to a screech, air escaping too fast.

Curtis blinked at her, his long, narrow face slack in shock, then tight in anger. “What’s his dorm number? Where’s my cast iron pan?”

“Stop! What am I going to do? He has all our ideas—my ideas—and all the plans for the cabin, my ideas for what kind of side confections and other edible elements we’re going to make. He took pictures! Why would he even…”

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