Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

SUGAR AND SPICE AND A GINGERbrEAD MISHAP

Holly

O nce again, I’m late to a Christmas non-date with Jack. I run into the old barn on the hill behind the MacIntoshes’ farmhouse, noting even as I rush how festive Merry and Quinn have managed to make the space. The barn’s interior glows with strands of white lights crisscrossing the exposed beams overhead. Fragrant fresh pine boughs hang from the walls. Twenty folding tables—one for each team—stand in four rows of five. Each table is covered with a snowflake-patterned tablecloth and holds a large tray containing gingerbread pieces, bowls of colorful candy, and piping bags of royal icing in red, green, and white. The air is thick with the warm, spicy scent of fresh gingerbread mingled with the sweet notes of peppermint and vanilla.

“Sorry,” I mouth as I drop into the empty chair next to Jack at our table and he shakes his head at me. “This time, I have a rock-solid excuse,” I whisper.

From the front of the barn, Merry frosts me with a stern look. I give her a sheepish smile. Before she can chide me for being tardy to the gingerbread house competition, two more latecomers slink in through the open barn doors. She turns her glare on Tabitha and Anderson. Whew, at least I’m off the hook. The fact that I took the shortcut past Starlight Lake and got ahead of Tabitha’s Mercedes on the one-lane road to the barn helped.

“So sorry. We had an important legal matter,” Tabitha explains as they slide into seats at the sole empty table.

“Me too,” I say to Jack under my breath. “Important legal matter.”

While Merry reminds us of the rules, I whisper, “The three of us just came from the judge’s chambers. Vicky backed out of the case. She doesn’t want to press charges against you anymore, so Anderson had no choice but to drop the lawsuit.”

He gives me a wide-eyed look, disbelief warring with hope on his face. “Really? It’s … over?”

“It’s over.”

Merry rings the cowbell in the front of the room to signal that it’s time to start building. The room buzzes with energy, competitors chatter excitedly over the clink of candy being sorted into separate dishes.

“So you don’t have to stay in town,” I tell him as he picks up two slabs of thick gingerbread. The thought of him leaving and me returning to my loft makes my chest feel hollow, a bit cold. I cover my reaction by counting out a row of peppermints.

I can feel his eyes on me as he says, “But if I do stay, Rule 1.8 won’t apply anymore, right?”

That hollow in my chest fills as heat flares in my belly. “That’s right,” I murmur.

“In that case, I think I’ll stay.”

I raise my head and meet his eyes, opening my mouth—to say what, I’m not yet sure. Before I can form a sentence, he pops a sugar-covered gumdrop in my mouth.

“We shouldn’t be eating the building materials,” I tell him.

He responds by shoveling a handful of mini marshmallows into his own mouth.

I giggle, then take a look around the room. By the door, Anderson and Tabitha, wearing matching intense frowns, are working furiously. They place candies with surgical precision. The Morgenthals are crafting an elaborate Victorian mansion, with Ryan guarding the candy from his diabetic husband’s sneaky hands. Ariana and her group of stitch and bitch knitters are making an adorable storefront with intricate patterns in the glass-sugar window panes.

I look back at our table and notice a thick squiggle of white goo covering part of the roof of our structure—which is supposed to be the inn. “What’s this?”

“I thought we’d make it accurate. That’s the temporary tarp.”

“Oh, of course. It needs fake snow.” I throw a handful of white glittery sugar on top of the icing.

I’m surprisingly unfazed by the fact that our entry is, by far, the worst looking. It’s embarrassingly bad, but I’m not embarrassed.

I pipe some shingles on the mess of a roof. “So you’re staying?”

“I’d like to. If that’s okay with you.”

“I’d love that.” My hand shakes and the icing squirts wildly down the front wall of the house. I meet his gaze. “But you should know, I’m still going to be really busy.”

“Even though the case has been dropped?”

“Well, Anderson isn’t giving up.”

“I don’t understand.”

I angle my body away from Tabitha and Anderson’s table and lower my voice. “The judge signed the order dismissing the case against you with prejudice.” I sigh. “But Anderson already filed a new case. He’s seeking an injunction to prevent the library from going forward with the Banned Book Bingo.”

“But, how can he do that?” A piece of toffee cracks in half in Jack’s hand. So much for our front door.

“He can’t, not really. He filed on behalf of Citizens Upholding Normal Traditions. But with Vicky’s change of heart, that’s not a real party. He’s obviously working with James Woodlock’s group, which doesn’t have standing to bring a case in state court.”

I examine our inn. The walls are sturdy, if uneven. While I work on striping the roof with alternating rows of green and white spiced gumdrops, Jack creates a passable wraparound porch using pretzel sticks as the railings. It’s actually not half-bad, especially given our shaky start.

I pass him a chunk of green fondant and we start crafting tiny wreaths for the windows. His expression is taut, and I know it’s not because he’s concentrating on the decorations.

“Jack, I’ve been appointed to represent the library. He’s not going to get his injunction.”

Relief flits across his face. “Still, I’m definitely staying now.”

“Because of the lawsuit?” My hand stills.

“Holly, look at me.”

I do, and the air between us heats.

“I’m staying to be with you.” His eyes are dark with an intensity that has nothing to do with gingerbread construction. The familiar warning bells in my head fall silent as I remember there are no more rules keeping us apart. “But even if I didn’t want to stay for intensely personal reasons, there’s no way I’d leave you to fight Anderson and James Woodlock alone. Even if all I can do is rub your feet and carry your law books.”

“How very Darcy of you,” I say, my voice an unfamiliar rasp.

He lowers his head and I lean forward to meet him. As his mouth covers mine, my hand slips off the table, smashing into our gingerbread inn. Peppermints and gumdrops fly off the structure and roll across the plank floor.

I peek up to see heads turning to watch as our creation continues its slow-motion collapse. The porch implodes with the crack of breaking pretzel sticks. Merry raises an eyebrow from the judges’ table, while Anderson and Tabitha exchange knowing smirks. Ariana and the knitters titter behind their hands. But Ryan shoots me a sympathetic wince as he shields the Victorian to protect it from flying pretzel pieces. Josh uses the distraction to steal a red licorice whip from their candy pile.

“I don’t think we’re going to win,” Jack whispers against my mouth.

I dissolve into laughter, gasping for air and kissing him all at the same time.