Page 116 of Christmas with the Denton Billionaires

Mara lingered at the doorway. She shouldn’t stay to listen; she didn’t want to risk being spotted, or worse, being taken for curious about anything having to do with Chris’s fabulous life.

Even though she was curious. Far too curious for a woman who’d been recently “let go” from her lover. Sure, she’d been on board with the decision, but it also felt right to lick her wounds a little, too. She needed to mourn, and eavesdrop, and stew, and then finally let go of it all with a warrior cry and a well-timed wine night.

That was the process she figured might have the best chance of curing her, at least.

“This new show promises to bereallybig,” the reporter was saying. “I mean, mega. America has been hungry for something like this since Anthony Bourdain, may he rest in peace. Are you prepared to fill the shoes of a legend like him?”

Chris chuckled, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I’ll never be Anthony Bourdain. That’s for damn sure. But I’ll always be Chris Denton. That’s all I can really give to people, you know? I’m just…the man that I am. People have seen me for years on television. That’s what they’re going to continue to get. I see this new show being a little rougher around the edges, though. Anthony liked to spectate. I’m planning on getting right up in these kitchens next to the chefs and being their prep cook. Really, we should name the showGlobal Prep Cook. That’s what I’ll be doing. Assisting other chefs around the world.”

Mara listened in until her stomach started grumbling too loudly to ignore. She skulked off toward the lounge, anxiety streaking under her skin. The New Show Train was officially in motion. Chris would probably forget about this little competition as soon as they announced the winner. Probably forget all abouther.

Dark thoughts tormented her through lunch as she glumly ate a turkey sandwich and Caesar salad. She needed to be prepared for the end of this show, because it would mean the definitive end to this back-and-forth with Chris. Soon, he’d not only move on, he’d move across the world. Mara would become a blip in his romantic past. And she’d be here, baking cookies and wondering what could have been.

She sniffed, cleaning up her lunch waste before straightening her back. Enough of this pity party. The spurned-lover shit ended today.

Once the lunch break was over, she marched into the multipurpose room, ready for the judging. Along the far wall, they’d assembled the judges’ table, where three celebrity judges would be assessing and considering their work. They needed three, despite outnumbering the contestants, to prevent a tie. Plus the judges’ comments and debates would feature heavily in the last episode, which was set to air the week before Christmas.

Mara paced her workspace, her team assembled along the countertops. The gingerbread village was done, and perfectly so. The church bell glistened with sparkles. The gingerbread rolling hills were topped with white frosting. The Christmas tree in the center of the town—not gingerbread, but actually a tiny decorated plastic tree—made her smile every time she looked at it. She’d never created something so elaborate. This had taken a full two weeks to complete, and every bit of her and her team’s hard work showed.

As did Chris’s, of course. She swallowed hard as she glanced over at his monstrosity for what she told herself would be the last time that afternoon. Partly because she didn’t want to be seen gawking…but also because every time she looked at his gingerbread masterpiece, she also sawChrishimself. And it was better to avoid seeing him until this could all be over and she’d go back to her regular life here in Glenford.

Single, baking, and masturbating alone in her bedroom.

She sighed loudly, checking the wall clock. Every second trudged past. This waiting was intolerable.

She tried to keep herself occupied, mostly by compulsively checking her email on her phone, and talking to her team about anything and everything. The judges eventually stepped into their places and spent a lot of time poring over each gingerbread creation. She wrung her hands, standing safely to the side, as they pointed out aspects of her village and murmured quietly among themselves.

When they called her up to join them, the cameras rolling, they had some additional questions for her. Why the village? Why not a gingerbread tree? Was the city layout a direct representation of Glenford? She answered the questions as best she could, being sure to play up the small-town love aspect, since it didn’t hurt to hit the viewers in the feels at the end. She even pointed out where her favorite fictional bakery would be—not mentioning she planned it to be hers one day—as well as Lover’s Lane and the schoolyard where she’d played as a child.

The judges nodded and smiled and moved on. She exhaled loudly once they’d moved on to Chris’s station, shaking out her hands like she’d just given a TED talk. There was nothing else to do but wait.

She tried not to eavesdrop as the judges assessed Chris’s creation, but it was hard to ignore the raucous laughter coming from all of them. Of course Chris was making them laugh. Working the crowd. Connecting with hiscelebrity brethren.She huffed, crossing her arms. It was probably better that they didn’t end up working out, because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand seeing him act like that all the time.

She made the mistake of glancing over at them, and she caught the tail end of Chris’s sparkling gaze. Her stomach shrank. He might as well have come right over to her and punched her in the face with that searing look. It just served to remind her that no matter how much of a schmoozer he was, he excelled because he was genuinely good at what he did. Cooking. Networking. Keeping people engaged.

There was a reason he was at the top. Why he was one of the most well-known chefs in America. And dammit, his cookbooks were good. The recipes were original, and the stories he included about some of the different recipes were charming additions. And there was no way she would ever tell him she owned them all. In hardback.

Mara sipped water and checked her phone until the judges made their way back over to their table for the final testing. They also needed to taste the actual flavor of the gingerbread—to compare quality and subtleties. Both Chris and Mara were invited to face the judges’ table as they went one by one tasting the cute little cookies she and Chris had prepared that morning, more of an afterthought than anything. Only she and Chris knew the shapes that they personally had made. It was a blind tasting for the judges, but knowing whose cookies elicited more satisfied hums and fluttering eyes felt like a silent victory for Mara.

The cameras recorded everything from all possible angles. After what seemed like an eternity of deliberation and plenty of redos of filming as the cameras sought the perfect shot of the judges, both she and Chris were called up to the red carpeted space facing the judges’ table.

“Chris. Mara.” The lead judge, a perky singer named Tarina who was famous for her high-pitched vocalsanda fascinating array of reality TV endeavors, beckoned them to step closer to the table. She was flanked by the other two judges, a famous pastry chef and a former pro football player turned amateur chef. “You both have created stunning work. And inspecting both creations has been one of the most interesting moments of my year so far.”

All the judges sounded off about what they loved about each contestant’s work. Tarina loved Mara’s choice of the village, whereas both of the other judges cooed endlessly about the gingerbread skyscraper and its ingenuity while chuckling over King Kong. The pastry chef was enchanted with Mara’s use of accent flavors in her gingerbread recipe, offering so much praise that even Chris looked visibly uncomfortable. After a harrowing hour of conversations with the judges, filmed and re-filmed for maximum footage, they were finally down to the wire.

“And the winner is…” Tarina grinned at both of them, receiving an envelope from the director. She took her time opening it and then stared at the postcard with a blank face for what felt likefar too longfor Mara’s tastes.

Finally, her eyes snapped up, and she looked at each of them in turn before her perfect ruby lips curved into a smile.

“Chris Denton.”

15

CHRIS

The day ended with a triumphant flurry. Another press conference. More interviews. Camera crews everywhere. Chris had been given the greenlight to formally announce his upcoming globetrotting cooking show, which he mentioned with aplomb.

But once he realized Mara had scurried off and the fanfare began fizzling, the truth settled around him…less like snow flurries and more like a lead blanket.

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