Page 159 of A Very Merry Enemy
I kill the engine and turn to face her. “I’m going to be right there beside you during every single step. Ready?”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “Let’s do this.”
We get out and unload our supplies. The December morning is cold enough that our breath fogs in the air, but the sun is shining and the sky is clear. It’s going to be a beautiful day. I can already tell.
The community center has been completely transformed. A massive tent has been erected in the parking lot, the kind used for weddings and festivals. Inside, it’s been divided into three distinct areas.
The center area is where twelve baking stations are set up, each one equipped with a full kitchen setup. My eyes scan across the industrial ovens, burners, mixers, and prep space. It’severything we could possibly need and more. A massive Christmas tree stands in one corner, covered in lights and ornaments made by the kids from the elementary school.
White lights are strung everywhere across the tent ceiling, twinkling like stars. Giant snowflakes hang down. Red and gold ornaments spin in the draft. Evergreen garland wraps around every support beam. It looks like Christmas exploded in the best possible way.
To the left is the spectator section with rows of chairs set up theater style. Families are already claiming seats, holding signs, and wearing festive clothing. Cameras are positioned throughout to capture every angle.
To the right is the judging area with a long table draped in red cloth with five chairs, clipboards, and a centerpiece made of pine branches and ornaments. Behind that is a smaller media section with additional cameras and equipment for the live stream.
The whole space is open, so the crowd can see everything happening at the baking stations, and the panel can easily walk between stations during judging.
“I thought there were more people competing?” Holiday looks at me.
“I heard many people dropped out after eating your cookies,” I tell her.
“Really?” she asks, chuckling.
“Yeah? Do you blame them? I’d be intimidated, too.”
“Contestants!” A woman with a clipboard approaches us. She’s wearing a Santa hat and a bright smile. “Names?”
“Lucas Jolly and Holiday Patterson,” I say. “Team Jolly Holiday.”
She checks her list. “Station seven. You’ve got ninety minutes to set up before we start. Bathrooms are in the back, water stations along the wall. Hot chocolate and cookies in the break area if you need a snack. Any questions?”
“We’re good,” Holiday says.
“Here, please wear these hats. We’re asking everyone,” she says, placing a green Santa hat on Holiday’s head and a red one on mine. “Make sure to keep your name badges on, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say as we walk toward station seven. It’s in the middle of the room. That means no more hiding and no backing down. We’re front and center.
Each station has a small Christmas tree on the corner of the prep table and a sprig of mistletoe hanging above. Someone really went all out with the holiday decorations.
Other contestants are already setting up their stations. I recognize some faces from town. Jake’s friend Henry is here with his sister, both looking nervous but excited. A server from the diner is with her boyfriend, and they’re wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters. There are even some teenagers competing, too. One thing I love about this contest is that it brings people of all ages in to participate.
Christmas music drifts through the speakers. “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” transitions into “Jingle Bell Rock.” The energy in the room is festive.
And then I see him.
Dominic Laurent stands near the panel table in full chef’s whites, looking polished and professional. He’s talking to the four other judges—Patty Morrison with her kind eyes and silver hair, Marcus Williams looking relaxed in his chef coat, Mary Carter with her warm smile, and Thomas Reeves with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. They’re all in formal attire, clipboards in hand, looking official and intimidating.
Dominic’s eyes scan the room and land on Holiday. The look on his face, like he’s looking at something that belongs to him, pisses me off.
“Ignore the judges’ table,” I say quietly to Holiday.
She nods, but I can see her hands shaking slightly as she unpacks our supplies. I move close enough that our shoulders touch, a silent reminder that I’m right here.
We spend the next hour organizing everything exactly howwe practiced. Ingredients laid out in order and tools are placed within reach. The timer is right in the center. To the side is the ice cream maker. Every detail matters when given only three hours to create a three-part dessert. What we’re doing is next-level.
By nine o’clock, the twelve stations are set up, and the crowd is filing in. I see my entire family taking seats in the front row. Hudson is with Emma, who’s holding one of the twins, while Hudson holds the other. Jake and Claire are wearing matching Santa hats. My parents are bundled up in their winter coats, looking excited. Mawmaw has a sign that says “Team Jolly Holiday!” with glitter and everything. Even Colby is here, bouncing with excitement and waving a candy cane.
Holiday’s family is there, too. Her parents, Tricia with Bethany, and Sammy wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater with our faces poorly photoshopped onto it. Half of Merryville seems to have shown up to watch, wearing festive clothing and holding signs for us.
