Page 24 of Rebel Without a Claus
She clicks her tongue, and folds the paper in half so I can’t see it. “Nuh-uh. There’s a thousand bucks on the line. You’re on your own.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She has an early lead with all four walls up and she’s already starting to frost shingles onto her roof like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Not to mention, it actually looks decent.Reallydecent.
Damn it.
Fighting a smile, I glance at her house. It’s actually good—symmetrical, charming, with tiny frosted windowpanes and a roofline so perfect it could pass code.
“Ohhhhh,” I say with exaggerated confidence. “It’s a premade house, isn’t it?” People blink and look our way. One of my aunt’s friends, Lettie who owns the local yarn store, even gasps.
But Eve doesn’t even crack a grin. She whips around to face me, her hand clamping to her hip. “Don’t you dare accuse me of cheating, Luke! My mother baked this gingerbread herself and I’m pretty sure she’d smack you upside the head if she were here tonight! My dad and I spent hours on these blueprints. Structural engineering of cookie walls. Strategic sprinkle placement. It’s serious business.”
I’m reminded, yet again, how seriously Eve is taking this festival. How badly she seems to need this win for reasons I’m still not sure of. Even though Eve was always a perfectionist, this still feels a bit out of character.
“Wow. You really need that thousand bucks, huh?”
She doesn’t answer me, but turns back to shingling her roof.
“You shouldwantme to win. It would go right into your pocket, after all for the damn cost of your reindeer and all the extra trees and garland we bought.”
Before I can respond to that, Mrs. Cranley, one of tonight’s judges is standing in front of our tables, clapping her hands gleefully. “Oh, would you look at this,” she says, practically vibrating with matchmaking glee. “Eve and Luke at neighboring tables! Isn’t thatadorable?”
Eve nearly chokes on her cocoa. I glare at Mrs. Cranley with the full force of “don’t you dare” energy I can muster, but it only encourages her.
“I heard you two do your little duet last night,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Everyone in the bar wasswooningwhen you two sang together.”
Eve shifts on her feet, trying to play it cool, but her cheeks are pink. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just one song.”
“It was beautiful,” Mrs. Cranley insists. “I haven’t seen that kind of chemistry since the high school production ofGreasein 2009. You should consider doing a song at the New Year’s Eve concert!”
Eve’s mouth opens in horror.
“Oh, unfortunately, Eve will be long gone by then. Isn’t that right?”
Eve looks at me, confusion twisting her mouth into a frown. “What?”
“You usually leave the day after Christmas. That’s if you come at all. I assumed this year was the same.”
She chews on her bottom lip and gives her jellybean chimney way more focus than it needs. “Well… this year’s different.”
Mrs. Cranley claps her hands. “Then we can count you in for the concert?”
Eve cracks a little smile. “Not so fast. I’m pretty sureonepublic humiliation per holiday is enough.”
Twenty minutes later, Eve’s house looks like something out of a Thomas Kincaid painting. Mine, on the other hand, looks like it was built during an earthquake. I’ve already broken one wall and am trying to glue it back together with frosting that’s somehow way too liquidy to be effective anymore.
I grunt as it leaks out the tip of my piping bag.
“You’re handling the piping bag too much,” Eve offers me.
“Huh?”
“The frosting… it’s melting because you’re handling the bag too much. Put it in your mini fridge for a few minutes.”
“This feels rigged,” I mutter as I bend to toss the nearly empty piping bag into the mini fridge beneath our tables.
“Well, it’s not too late to forfeit,” she teases.
I don’t answer. Just pick up a gumdrop and stick it on the roof with unnecessary force and groan as another crack splits across the gingerbread.
