Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance

by Krista Sandor

  “Don’t you like fighting with me?” he answered, handing her the pile of clothing.

  She channeled her make-believe vixen. “I’d like it if you got on board with this wedding.”

  “What have I actually done to hamper this wedding?” he threw back.

  That was easy.

  She narrowed her gaze. “Hookers.”

  His lips curled into an amused, surly expression. “They were dancers. What besides that?”

  She racked her brain. “Nothing I can think of off the top of my head. And that’s how it’s going to stay because—”

  “Because you’re not letting me out of your sight,” he finished.

  She dressed, then left the bathroom to find her boots. “Exactly.”

  “You look nice,” he said, then crossed his arms then looked away as if he regretted paying her a compliment.

  She tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling exposed—no, not exposed, seen.

  “Thank you.”

  Whatever this was, it boomeranged between loathing, tenderness, and straight-up animal attraction. The buzz from going toe to toe with him made her head spin. It gave her a feisty sharpness as if she really were a vixen.

  But she wasn’t. A lifetime of settling and playing it safe proved that.

  She had to endure him for a few days, and then what? There wasn’t a future for them.

  A knock on their suite door knocked her back into reality.

  She put on her coat and grabbed her bag as Soren opened the door. He glanced back at her, then hurried into the hall to speak to whoever was there.

  She followed him out. “What’s going on?”

  “Hey, bird lady, I wanted to check on you and apologize about the gummies.”

  Ah, Tanner, the drug dealer.

  “You can’t leave those things lying around like that. What if one of the children found them?” she chided.

  He hung his head with a sad, puppy dog nod. “You’re right.”

  “Who eats those things around here anyway?” she asked as the trio walked down the hall and entered the main room.

  “The retired Santas and Mrs. Clauses,” he announced proudly.

  “They do?”

  “Totally! Imagine spending like forty years of your life being a Santa and Mrs. Claus at a mall in Sheboygan. You’d want to chill out in retirement, too.”

  Soren met her gaze. “The kid’s got a point.”

  “So, Kringle is now a town with a bunch of stoned Mr. and Mrs. Clauses?” she queried.

  “No, they don’t get blitzed and go all mental like you did. They eat one or two to take the edge off.”

  Blitzed like you? How about unintentionally drugged?

  She rubbed her temples. The shower had helped quell her pounding head, but talking to Tanner reignited her throbbing frontal lobe.

  “Is there something you needed? We’re on our way out,” Soren said as he put on his coat.

  “I was coming to tidy up and pick up your plate.”

  Bridget reached for the doorknob, then froze. “Did you make my breakfast, Tanner?”

  “Sure did,” the guy answered, back to all grins.

  “You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” She turned to Soren. “Am I going to be stoned all day? I have way too much to do to be talking to eggs and stealing baked goods.”

  Tanner put up his hands defensively. “Don’t worry, bird lady! I didn’t add any special ingredients to your food.”

  Soren’s smirk was back. “Looks like you get to spend the day with me stone-cold sober,” he teased as they left the mountain house and headed toward the truck.

  This man! Full disclosure. If he wasn’t such a wedding wrecking prick, she would have laughed. He was a curmudgeon, but he wasn’t totally without a sense of humor.

  He opened her door, and she got in the truck. It was a sweet gesture, old-fashioned chivalry like something her grandpa Dasher used to do.

  Did she like it?

  It didn’t matter.

  She pulled her planner and a pen from her bag as Soren started the truck, and they headed toward the village.

  To Do:

  Finish the wedding cake

  That was a must! Her plan was to recreate their parents’ three-tiered red velvet cake with buttercream frosting. It wasn’t a technically difficult recipe. She’d created far more intricate designs at the pâtisserie. But she had to get it right. She and Lori had made red velvet cake dozens of times with their grandmother in the two years after their parents had died. Baking had become a way to remember the good times. The simple act of mixing, combining, and creating had allowed her to funnel her despair, anger, and sadness into something sweet, beautiful, and delicious.

  She might have been very much alone since Lori went to college, but she was never lonely when she baked.

  “We’re here,” Soren said, cutting the ignition.

  “Already?” she asked, sliding the planner into her bag.

  “Yeah, you hum to yourself when you’re concentrating,” he added.

  For a detached jerk, he noticed quite a bit.

  “I must have gotten lost in my thoughts,” she replied, then glanced out the window at the bakery and gasped.

  “What?” Soren asked.

  “It’s a Cupid Bakery. The one in Dallas closed not too long ago. Gaston was elated.”

  “Who’s Gaston? Another boyfriend?” Soren asked, his words taking on an irritated inflection.

  “No way! He’s my ex-boss—a real pompous jackass. You two would get along great,” she added as butterflies fluttered in her belly, waiting for Soren’s pithy retort. Except he wasn’t biting.

  “If it’s where we’re stuck today, we might as well get to it,” he muttered under his breath.

  A gal could get whiplash reacting to his mood swings.

  She got out of the truck and spied Lori and Tom inside the bakery. Her sister had her arms around Tom’s neck while his encircled her waist. They were the picture of happiness when, as if on cue, Tom leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister’s lips.

  Bridget sighed as a contented warmth spread through her body.

  Tom loved her sister. From the first minute she’d met him, she couldn’t help noticing that he looked at Lori the same adoring way her father used to look at her mother.

  She glanced at Soren and found him glowering in full-on sourpuss mode. If he couldn’t be happy for them, then that was his issue.

  She opened the door to the bakery as a bell on the hinge rang out their arrival.

  The couple pulled apart, their cheeks growing pink.

  “I hope you did a little dancing along with all that kissing for the red velvet cakes,” she teased as she and Soren entered the quaint shop.

  Lori’s blush deepened. “Yes, Birdie, I make Tom dance with me no matter what we bake.”

  “And it always turns out delicious,” Tom added with a kiss to Lori’s temple.

  “Speaking of delicious,” Lori went on. “What did you do to those peanut butter blossoms?”

  Bridget stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re always good. But last night, they were absolutely divine. I’ve never seen people scarf down cookies as fast as they did at Kringle Acres,” Lori continued.

  “My entire family was raving about them,” Tom added.

  Oh no!

  She didn’t add any special gummy bears to the batter, did she?

  “I followed Grandma’s recipe. But I can tell you that there was absolutely no substance that would cause a psychotropic response in those cookies.” She looked to Soren. “Was there?”

  He dropped the jackass vibe. “No, those cookies were plain old cookies.”

  “But you danced when you baked them, right?” Lori pressed.

  Bridget nodded, really hoping the peanut butter wasn’t pot butter if that was even a thing.

  “We did.”

  “We?” her sister questioned.

  “Yeah, me and Soren.”
/>   Tom’s eyes went wide. “You got Scooter to dance?”

  Her gaze bounced between Lori and her fiancé. The last thing she wanted was for them to think anything was going on between her and the worst best man.

  “Yes, we danced. And that’s all we did. Just dancing. Nothing else. No hanky-panky. Nothing even remotely close to hanky-panky.”

  Why was she saying hanky-panky so many times? She pressed her lips together, vowing to never repeat the words again.

  “Why would there be any hanky-panky? And who says that?” Lori replied, sharing a puzzled look with Tom.

  She needed to do some damage control…and fast.

  “Not me, and certainly, not him. Soren, Scooter…whatever you want to call this cantankerous man. He doesn’t use the word or participate in hanky-panky either,” she answered, unable to stop the rush of verbal vomit.

  Soren stared down at her. “Are you okay? Did you get into the gummy bears again?”

  “Birdie, are you feeling better today?” Tom asked, blessedly changing the conversation’s trajectory.

  She plastered on a grin. “I feel much better today. Thanks for asking.”

  “We looked in on you last night, but you were fast asleep,” Lori added, then turned to Soren. “And thank you for keeping an eye on my sister. Did you get the cookies? We left a few for you on a plate.”

  Soren glanced away. “Yeah, I got them.”

  That’s what that plate was doing on the bedside table!

  “You ate my cookies?” she asked Mr. You-Don’t-Get-Abs-Like-These-Eating-Baked-Goods.

  “There wasn’t much else to do,” he mumbled.

  “Scooter pulled up a chair next to the bed and fell asleep watching over you,” Tom said with the hint of a grin.

  She pinned her Grinch with her gaze. “You did?”

  “Don’t you need to frost a cake?” he replied, keeping his features infuriatingly neutral.

  This indifferent jackass business wasn’t working on her anymore. She’d seen his passionate side. He was capable of so much more. Why did he fall into this cavalier asshat groove?

  “The cakes are ready to go, Birdie. And I want to record as you frost them. You’re like a magician with that spatula,” Lori said, cutting short her little staring contest with Soren.

  Bridget frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “I follow these baking blogs, and, Birdie, you’re better than all of them.”

  Bridget waved her off. “You may be biased, little sister.”

  “I’m not! Tom and I watch those baking shows and—”

  “And Lori is constantly saying that you can do it better,” Tom replied, finishing Lori’s sentence.

  Soren stared at his BFF like the guy had ten heads. “You watch baking shows?”

  “It’s crazy relaxing, man. You should try it,” Tom replied, wrapping his arm around Lori.

  Lori leaned into her fiancé. “I still can’t believe you haven’t opened up your own shop. Birdie, you’d be amazing.”

  Bridget went over to the sink, washed her hands, then plucked an apron from a hook on the wall, ignoring the comment.

  Amazing?

  No, she didn’t have what it took to be amazing. Amazing meant taking risks and putting it all on the line. And that…that wasn’t who she was. She’d been tasked with Lori’s welfare since she was a teenager, and that’s when her dreams had moved to the back burner.

  Dreams wouldn’t pay the rent.

  No, she played it safe.

  “Hypothetically, what would you do if you had your own bakery?”

  Soren had posed the question—surprisingly enough.

  She mulled it over as she put on the apron, then opened the large refrigerator. It was stocked with butter, eggs, and heavy whipping cream. Dan and Delores had delivered on making sure she had everything she needed, plus a whole lot more.

  “The butter’s out and softened,” her sister said, taking out her phone.

  Bridget nodded as she gathered the rest of the ingredients to make the buttercream frosting, and suddenly, she wasn’t worried about the brooding Soren or pulling off the perfect wedding. No, here, with her ingredients and the scent of cake in the air, the answer to Soren’s question came together in her mind.

  She glanced around the cozy shop. It was a shame Cupid Bakery was going out of business. Anyone could tell the equipment and space were in good shape. The bakery chain wasn’t going under due to lack of care or cutting corners, and the couple who started the business were legends in the baking world.

  But what did they do wrong?

  Combining sugar and water, she prepared a simple syrup on the stove as she chewed on this question. Her best ideas came when she was baking. She went to the mixer and added the butter, watching carefully to get it smooth, like her grandma Dasher had taught her, before incorporating the powdered sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream to create the perfect buttercream frosting.

  She picked up a wooden spoon and gave the fluffy mixture a stir to feel for the correct texture. Satisfied with the consistency, she fell into the familiar routine of assembling a wedding cake, then glanced up to find Soren watching her.

  “Well, what would you do?” he prodded. He was still in grouch mode, but curiosity flashed in those cat-like eyes of his.

  “If I had my own bakery,” she began. “I’d make sure to be dialed into the community. That’s important, but it’s not all you need. Word of mouth can only get you so far. You’d want to have a signature dessert available year-round, as well as new creations to pique continuous interest. And in this day and age, a vibrant social media presence is required. The bakery should become an extension of the bakers, and that personality should shine through. And I’d make sure to have a robust online sales presence. That’s what Cupid Bakery did wrong.”

  She was in the zone as she gathered the dowels that would hold the three stacked layers in place as well as the cake turntable, an offset spatula, and a bench scraper to keep the frosting even and smooth. She barely registered Tom’s presence as he set the cooled bottom layer of red velvet cake next to her. Carefully, she removed it from the cake pan, cut off the top to level the layer, set the deep red slab of red velvet onto the cake turntable, then applied the simple syrup with a pastry brush.

  With her tools assembled and her mind focused, she went to work frosting the bottom layer.

  “What do you mean when you say, ‘that’s what Cupid Bakery did wrong’?”

  Soren again.

  She kept her gaze locked on the cake as she spun the turntable and evenly applied the crumb layer of frosting. “I mean, they were a great bakery, but they only had one stream of revenue—in-store purchases. To be profitable, you need multiple streams. You should branch out.”

  Tom brought her the cooled center and then the top layer. She glanced over to find Lori with her phone out, filming her. And as she worked, she began explaining what she was doing and why she was doing it just like her grandmother.

  Always use a simple syrup to lock in moisture, especially if you’re making your cake a few days in advance.

  Apply a crumb layer of frosting to create a smooth, even surface.

  Be generous with your frosting—for many, it’s their favorite part.

  Use that freezer! The cooler the cake, the easier the frosting application.

  The tips and tricks she’d learned from her grandmother flowed from her lips, and muscle memory took over. It was as if Grandma Dasher was standing next to her, humming a holiday tune, and looking on as she assembled Lori’s wedding cake. Every flick of her wrist and each swipe of the spatula moved her closer to confectionary perfection as the cake table rotated in a mesmerizing twirl of buttercream-covered precision.

  “Wow! That looks so good, Birdie! I want to eat it right now!”

  Bridget blinked as a child’s voice pulled her from her buttercream-scented trance. She glanced up to find Tom’s entire family watching her.

  “When did you all get here?�
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  “About twenty minutes ago,” Denise answered.

  “Watching you work is like observing a sculptor,” Grace remarked as Scott nodded.

  The children scurried across the shop and over to the worktable.

  “We went ice skating in the village, and I got to see Santa, like fifty of them! But not one Christmas fairy,” Cole reported with a little frown.

  “They are very mysterious and usually don’t like big crowds,” Lori offered.

  “Do they come out at night?” Cole asked, perking up.

  Bridget shared a furtive glance with her sister. “I think that’s the time they like the best, especially when there’s not a lot of people around.”

  “Got it!” Cole replied with a resolute nod.

  “It’s quite exciting in the village today. There were many families out and about,” the judge added.

  “It sounds like you all had a great afternoon!” Bridget said, tossing the group a quick nod as she checked each cake layer.

  Russell sauntered behind the counter, glanced at the cake, then shot a quick look at her breasts. “The town is all right. Not the best singles scene, if you know what I mean,” the guy remarked, then pointed at Soren. “Since you and I are the swinging bachelors in the group, we should check out the nightlife here in Kringle. I did meet a couple of lovely ladies who said they’re in town on business for the next few nights.”

  “We’ll see, Russ,” Soren answered, sharing a look with Tom.

  Ugh!

  It was bad enough keeping Soren in check. She did not need the handsy uncle making trouble, too.

  Carly tugged on her apron. “How did you make that big wedding cake, Birdie?”

  She pointed to each tier. “It’s just three different sized layers all stacked up. It takes practice and a lot of patience. Do you want to help me add a little more frosting?”

  The little girl chewed her lip. “What if I mess up Aunt Lori and Uncle Tom’s cake?”

  She handed Carly the spatula. “That’s the great thing about frosting. You can always add a little more because it all smooths out, and in the end, it just gets sweeter.”

  “Our grandma Dasher used to say that,” Lori added.

  Could that be what Soren needed—a little or a hell of a lot more frosting?