Page 131 of A Very Merry Mistake

“It’s our tradition,” Jake explains. “We skip the parade, have a huge breakfast, and then start drinking and baking until the sun sets. Then we eat roast and potatoes and finish it off with a hot toddy. It’s always just been the two of us because my brother is always busy, and Dad has to do the parade and then private parties. Lucas and Mom are occupied helping Dad. So me and Mawmaw started doing this years ago.”

“Years? Sweetie, we’ve been doin’ this since you turned twenty-one.”

“That long?” he questions. “Damn. Well, that means fifteen years. Either way, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I wouldn’t let ya,” his mawmaw says with a wink, placing the cookies in the oven. “And you’re now required to join us, too, Claire.”

I snicker. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on your quality time.”

She chuckles. “Honey, you’re practically family now. Our tradition is your tradition. So you better be here next year with us. We eat breakfast at seven sharp, then start bakin’ soon after. Learned a long time ago that if I didn’t eat a big meal to start, I’d be jingle belled out before lunch.”

“It’s a secret, though. Can’t tell anyone how much fun we have or they’ll all want to join us.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” I say. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll be here next year.”

“That a promise?” Jake asks with a brow popped.

I bump him with my hip. “Yes, and you know I’m good at keeping them.”

Jake rubs his hands together. “You are. Now, let’s get started. We’ve got exactly fourteen minutes to get this pie crust prepped so we can use the oven next, since we take turns.”

He gives me the measurements, and I dump the flour, salt, and sugar into the plastic reservoir.

“Now pulse it,” he says, moving to the fridge where he pulls cold butter out.

Once he dices the butter into tiny squares, he places it into the food processor with the powder mixture. “Do it some more.”

I don’t know what it is about him, but he has my pulse increasing with each stolen glance. When he walks over with a measuring cup of ice water, I’m confused. “This seems like a lot of steps.”

He puts six tablespoons of ice water inside the mixture. “Now, do it again, but stop when you see little balls of dough.”

“Jakey, you’re such a good teacher,” his grandmother compliments, refilling her eggnog.

“He is,” I agree.

Once it’s to the texture he wants, Jake dumps it out in front of me and pats it together, then splits it into half, moving one side in front of me. “Should look like a block of brie, a disc shape.”

“Like this?” I ask, making sure it looks like his.

He nods. “Good…job.”

I smirk, knowing what he was going to say good girl. Then he wraps the dough in plastic and puts it in the fridge.

“I thought we were making pies!” I say.

He pulls a stack of them out and sets them on the surface in front of me. “Oh, we are, but you should always replace the dough with new batches so you don’t run out. The ones we just made need to sit for an hour.”

“Oh.” I meet his eyes, wishing I could kiss his lips, but I drink some eggnog instead.

“Ever had that before?” He lifts his chin, referring to the nog.

“No, but it’s sweet and thick. The way I like it.” I chew on my bottom lip, and he swallows hard.

“I like it thick, too,” his grandma says, pulling us away from our intense eye contact. We both burst into laughter.

“That’s great, Mawmaw.” He shoots me a wink.

Once we flatten the dough with a rolling pin, Jake glances over at me. “What’s your favorite pie?”

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