by Alina Jacobs
Davy screamed even louder, and we all winced.
“Give him to me,” Owen said. “I got it.”
“Do you?” I said skeptically. “He's purple.”
Owen glared at me.
“Fine. He can blast your eardrums,” I said, handing Davy over. As soon as Davy was in Owen's arms, though, he stopped crying. The purple subsided, and he hiccupped.
“I know,” Owen said, his voice low, almost a purr. “Baking is rough, isn't it? I bet you'd rather execute a corporate takeover or monopolize a market.” He bounced the kid in his arms. I felt my ovaries pop. There was something about a powerful man in a suit cuddling a little kid that made me lose my Pfeffernüsse.
Owen snuggled Davy in his arms then lightly pressed his nose to Davy's small one, grinning at him. Davy giggled. A nuclear bomb went off in my womb. In the distance, sirens.
“That's it. I need a baby right now,” I said under my breath.
“I know, right?” Fiona said, laughing.
“You should take one of my brothers,” Isaac offered.
24
Owen
I had been planning on returning to work, but I ended up remaining in the studio the rest of the day. As soon as I tried to put Davy down, he threatened to scream. He also didn't want to come up to my office and color. He wanted to watch Holly cook; nothing else was acceptable. Therefore I was also going to be watching Holly cook.
With Davy out of the way, Holly seemed like she had the cake a little more under control. She was very patient with Andy and Henry, which was impressive, because the Svenssons did not inspire patience.
“That looks like a very intense cake,” I told her as she meticulously fitted a layer of baked cheesecake over a firm, red-colored custard.
“I might have been a little ambitious,” Holly admitted as she helped Henry pour in the next layer of cream cheese and whipped cream over the top. She jiggled the tall cake pan, her chest bouncing with the motion, and carefully carried each cake to the fridge.
“We're making the candied pomegranates, cranberries, and orange peels to go on top for decoration,” she explained to the boys. “Then I'll make ganache, and that's it! We'll have two beautiful cakes.”
I set Davy back on the counter, and he sort of helped dissolve the sugar in water while Holly sliced several oranges. Henry and Andy seeded a pomegranate as Holly boiled the orange peel.
“We have to boil it off and change the water a few times to remove the bitterness and cook the peel,” she explained, “before we actually candy it.”
The candied fruit was done by the time the last layer on the cakes had set. Holly poured the glossy chocolate ganache over the top of the cakes, and Davy helped sprinkle the candied fruit on top.
“We'll let this set in the fridge,” Holly said. “Now, let's clean up! It's important to make sure your station is nice and tidy and the baking equipment is clean.”
Watching Holly with the boys was stirring something in my cold heart. She was so wholesome and adorable with them.
You're going soft.
“The cakes should be ready now,” she said, glancing at the clock. The station was clean, and the boys were waiting excitedly for the cake reveal. Holly brought them separately from the fridge.
“That's a big cake,” I remarked as she set the second one carefully on a crystal cake platter.
“It's a whole ten inches,” she said, sticking her tongue out.
“Impressive.”
“How are you going to take it out?” Henry asked.
“Very carefully,” she said, running a dish towel under hot water and wringing it out. She pressed it quickly to the sides of the round metal cake mold.
“Everyone, cross your fingers,” she said and slowly slid the mold up.
“Wow!” the kids exclaimed. Davy applauded. The cake was impressive. It resembled a rock formation worn away by a river that revealed the layers of sediment. I didn't know how she had done it, but on several layers, there were cutouts of various fruits. For example, the orange custard layer had little orange fruit candy canes pressed against the side, and the grapefruit layer had thin slices of grapefruit stars.
“Just in time too,” she said as she put the finishing touches of sprigs of mint and other edible greenery around the cake.
Davy had enjoyed watching the cake being made, and he did not want to retire to the greenroom with the rest of the contestants. He sat in my lap as each of the contestants, with their groups of Svensson brothers, presented their desserts. Fiona's group had made a seven-layer Christmas cake. Somehow she had engineered it so that when she cut into it, there was a whole Christmas scene of Santa, Rudolph, and the elves.
Holly's, I felt, was the most impressive.
“I was a little worried when you said icebox cake,” Nick said as he took a forkful of the cake. “But this is so fruity and refreshing. I love the detail you put into it.”
Anu addressed the children. “Did you all have fun making it?” They nodded silently, a bit overwhelmed at being the center of attention. “This does seem like something you could actually do with children of all ages, not just something you could give them to eat.”
“Have you guys tried it?” Nick asked. They took a bite. I gave Davy a bite of mine.
“It's really good,” Henry said. “We should make this every day.” We all laughed.
“I think it's a special-occasion thing,” Holly told him, ruffling his hair.
“It's definitely a good activity if it's day five of Christmas vacation and it's sleeting outside,” Anu said. “You could keep kids occupied for hours!”
“And?” Nick asked when the last contestant had presented. “Who do we like as the winner?”
“I think the guy who made the little pudding cups is definitely out,” Anu said. “Not only did they look like alien eggs, they also tasted mealy.”
“Holly should win,” Davy piped up. We were now on hour seven of him being glued to me. There was not an adult Svensson in sight.
“That works for me,” Anu said. “I loved the flavors in her cake. And the height was impressive. It had structural integrity. Also it seemed fun for kids without being condescending.”
Holly and the boys jumped up and down and high-fived when we told them they'd won. I forced myself to keep my eyes on her face and not on her tits when they threatened to spill out of the low-cut bodice.
I tried calling Walker then several of his brothers while interviews were being done. None of them answered their phones. The filming was done, and the Svensson brothers were milling around in the studio when Walker finally responded.
Walker: Just take them to your apartment. Someone will come get them in a little bit.
Owen: I've been babysitting them all day.
Walker: Think of this as a test for when you and Holly have a million kids.
Owen: Two, maybe three max.
Walker: Have you even asked her out yet?
Owen: She's a contestant. I shouldn't.
Walker: Ah yes because we don't want to corrupt the integrity of The Great Christmas Bake-Off, now do we?
Holly was laughing with the Svensson brothers. They were all sampling the cakes.
“I'm hungry,” Henry complained when I walked over.
“But there's all this cake!” Holly exclaimed.
“I want macaroni and cheese.”
“Your brothers aren't ready to come pick you guys up,” I told them, “so you're going to hang with me.”
“They're not?” Holly said, shocked.
I shrugged. “The Svenssons leaving their little brothers just lying around is pretty standard.”
“But it's dinnertime,” Andy complained.
“Can we order pizza?” Isaac asked me.
“I know Mace doesn't want you eating garbage for dinner.”
“Are you going to cook?” he asked incredulously.
I looked around helplessly. I could barely cook for myself, let alone twenty kids.
Holly was clear
ly struggling not to laugh. “Why don't I come up and cook?”
25
Holly
“I can't believe you, you hussy,” Amber spat at me.
“Relax. I'm just being helpful,” I said as I rode up in the elevator with the other contestants. I wished Amber had been sent home, but at least it hadn't been me.
Once at the penthouse, I collected my spices then added the box of leftover cookies from the last competition. Hopefully Owen had more in his condo than energy drinks and frozen dinners.
I felt slightly nervous when I went downstairs. It was freaking me out that I was going into Owen’s home. Well, technically, I'd already been in his home and been sleeping in his bed, but he wasn't in it. This was where he currently lived, his personal space. Would it smell like him?
I stood at the front door then heard Owen bellow. “Get down off of there! Don't climb the curtains!”
I knocked tentatively. Several small feet pounded toward the door.
“Hi!” Andy said as the door opened a crack.
“You shouldn't just open the door to strangers,” Owen said.
“You sound like such a dad,” I teased him as he opened the door the rest of the way. His jacket and tie were off. He gestured to my container of cooking supplies.
“Honestly, you don't have to cook. We can order something. Not pizza,” he said before Henry could open his mouth.
“I thought you said you were being forced to stay in the smaller condo?” I asked him as I walked in.
“I am. This is tiny,” he insisted, taking the boxes from me. The muscles under his shirt rippled with the motion.
“It's two stories,” I said skeptically. There was a staircase off in the corner.
“I know,” Owen said seriously. “Tiny. My penthouse is three stories. This is like one and a half. I only have six bedrooms.”
“What could you possibly need with all that space?” I said, trying not to drool as I thought about completely clearing out whatever he had in there and setting up a craft room. Plus, I could have a whole room—no, two whole rooms—dedicated entirely to Christmas stuff. I could turn one into a second kitchen…
Owen shrugged. “It's nice to have extra space.” He set my boxes down on the counter in the huge kitchen.
“Why is it so cold?” I explained. The double French doors to the balcony were open, letting in the frigid winter air.
“Seriously?” Owen said. “It's incredibly warm in here.”
I rubbed my hands together and blew on them. “We need to heat things up in this kitchen.” I unpacked my boxes then turned to Owen's cabinets. “What do we have to cook with?”
“You brought cookies?” Owen asked from his spot at the giant kitchen counter.
“Yes,” I said, opening his fridge. “I had some left over. They aren't going to last, so we might as well eat them.” If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought I saw him quickly reach into the bag and take one out. Must have been my imagination, though.
The fridge contained more than I was expecting.
“You have greens for salad,” I said, surveying the contents, “and you have chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. Why do you have so much chicken?”
“It's good protein,” he said. “Makes you buff.” He flexed his biceps. My brain chose that moment to beat me over the head with the image of Owen standing before me shirtless.
Yum. Muscular man.
I wiped my mouth.
“Do you have flour?” I said, opening all his cabinets. “And you do! Perfect. We will be making Holly's famous chicken tenders, a favorite of men of all ages from very small to…” I snuck another glance at Owen looking positively edible as he leaned casually against the counter. “Very large.”
I pulled my apron over my head. Owen was right there, untangling my hair from the clip in the back.
“Thanks,” I said. His hand brushed the back of my neck, making me shiver.
“Why don't you all play hide-and-seek?” he said to the Svensson brothers. “I'll help Holly cook.”
“You don't know how to cook,” Davy insisted before Isaac picked him up.
“See, this is why I need a large condo,” Owen said matter-of-factly after the boys and Rudolph scampered off.
I snorted and took the chicken from the fridge. I was very aware of Owen in the kitchen with me. Usually I was not an anxious person. I liked to think that my time in the restaurant trenches had made me impervious. Owen, however, was making me slightly nervous. He watched me intently as I moved around the kitchen. I was starting to rethink the decision to offer to cook.
“I was thinking,” I said, starting to ramble to fill the intense silence. “I'm going to make fried chicken strips and a big salad, but I should probably make some carbs, or they're going to be hungry again in an hour. I guess you don't have any pasta? But at least you have cheese. That's something.” I opened the fridge and bent over, pawing through the cheese drawer. There were blocks of various kinds of cheese. I found some sausage as well.
A strangled cough came from Owen's direction.
“You can spare some cheese,” I said, picking up several large pieces. “Hopefully you don't mind me using all of it?”
“Not at all. It was left over from the premiere of The Great Christmas Bake-Off last night,” he explained as I dumped the ingredients on the counter.
I'd spent the last several years living in tiny shared apartments. I'd never had this much counter space all to myself. I wanted to just sprawl on the marble, but that might be weird.
“I can have pasta brought here if you need it,” Owen offered.
“Like, Santa brings it?”
He smirked. “Like I can ask the concierge to go purchase some.”
“That seems excessive. You have eggs, flour, and salt, so I can make it,” I assured him as I cleared off the counter. “Why do you have so much flour, by the way?”
“Part of an experiment,” he said gruffly.
“Uh-huh.” I narrowed my eyes at him, but he didn't crack.
“I’m going to make spätzle, a German pasta,” I told him, dumping cups of flour on the counter. I made a well in the flour and added the wet ingredients. “I just have to brown it in a skillet and add cheese sauce. Everyone loves it.”
“Do you need help?” Owen offered, undoing the cuff links on his shirt and rolling up his sleeves.
“Um, sure.” I swallowed. The tendons and muscles on his forearms rippled as he began mixing the flour, eggs, salt, milk, and white pepper together.
“Am I doing it right?” he asked, noticing me watching.
“Yeah, just use your hands to really work it,” I said, lightly placing my hand over his much larger one. “Don't be afraid to be forceful. This isn't pastry dough. It likes it rough.”
“It does, does it?” he murmured, his breath drifting across the back of my neck.
I turned my head and was caught in his gaze. I took a breath, inhaling that clean masculine scent like basil and fresh snow. “I'm going to make the—” I gestured helplessly to the stove.
I started making the cheese sauce while Owen made the dough. While I cubed the cheddar, Gruyère, and other cheeses he had in his fridge, I also heated the oil to fry the chicken tenders. Some wise soul had built a literal deep fryer into the counter. As a self-proclaimed fried food junkie, I was in heaven.
While I worked, I snuck glances behind me. Watching Owen knead the dough with his hands, the way his broad shoulders tapered down to his waist, was doing… things to me.
“Is this going to be enough?” he asked, gesturing to the balls of dough stacked on the counter.
“Sure! Plus you have some meat that I'm adding. You have a really nice, thick sausage, which is just what I like!” I said cheerfully.
26
Owen
I couldn't quite tell how Holly felt toward me. If the kids hadn’t been there, I probably would have pushed her against the counter and slid my hands up that impossibly sexy dress. While that would let
me know immediately one way or the other how she felt, I forced myself to remain in control.
“The nice thing about spätzle,” Holly said, demonstrating how to make the small noodles, “is that you don't have to use a special machine to make the shapes, you simply roll it out. It should be rustic and handmade.”
“Like your cookies,” I said with a small smile.
“Yes!” she practically shouted. “Exactly like my cookies.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at me. “I'm still a little mad that you didn't fall to your knees in front of me.”
I mean, I sort of want to right now…
“Everyone has a religious experience with those cookies,” she said and returned to whacking the chicken into strips with a cleaver.
Now's your chance. Ask her to make them.
But I hated admitting I couldn't solve a problem myself. My whole company was centered around solving complex data problems. I was a billionaire. Magazine articles had been written about my brilliance with cryptocurrency. I should be able to make cookies; it was just embarrassing otherwise.
“I'm not a person who like sweet things,” I replied.
“Even after a taste of my Christmas best, you're telling me you don't want to put your mouth on my cookies ever again?” she said with an overly dramatic pout, looking up at me from under her lashes.
“I—” I clamped my mouth shut. Holly looked too kissable.
And fuckable.
But maybe she wasn't actually flirting. Maybe she was just being friendly. Belle would kill me if I scared Holly. But she'd come up here willingly…
“What should I do with all these little spätzle noodles?” I asked her after I had a huge pile of them.
“We're going to brown the spätzle in the pan with the sausage,” she said, banging her spoon on the rim of a cast iron skillet.
I scooped the little noodles off the cutting board. They spattered when they hit the pan.
