Christmas from the Heart

by Sheila Roberts

  “Nice to meet you, too,” he said. She reminded him of his grandma.

  “And this is Carol Klaussen,” Livi continued. “She owns Calories Don’t Count, my favorite bakery.”

  The one they’d driven past. “I saw it. Looks like you’ve got lots of good stuff in there,” he said.

  “I do,” she assured him.

  “I don’t know why you don’t weigh two hundred pounds,” Livi said to her. “I swear I gain a pound every time I come in.”

  “After a while the thrill wears off,” Carol said. “Thanks for stepping in, Joe.”

  “I’m no expert like you two,” he said. “I don’t even like fruitcake.” So what am I doing here? The gremlins, of course.

  “All the better,” said Carol. “If someone wins you over, it will be a real accomplishment.”

  “That’s for sure,” put in Tillie. “I’m a terrible one to judge because I never met a fruitcake I didn’t like.”

  “I bet you’ve baked some good ones in your time,” Guy told her.

  She grinned. “Oh, he’s a smooth one,” she said to Livi.

  They chatted a few more minutes, then Livi offered to take Guy around the hall. “We have a few minutes before the judging begins.”

  Anything to postpone eating fruitcake. As they strolled past the men setting up the chairs Bentley shot Guy a look that threatened death and dismemberment if Guy moved in on Olivia. Don’t worry. She’s all yours.

  Except she wasn’t. Guy could see why Bentley was fixated on her, though. The more time Guy spent with her the more time he craved. He hadn’t been so infatuated with a woman in years. Livi had the whole package—looks, intelligence and heart. If only he’d made a decent contribution to the cause.

  It wasn’t too late. He could write her a check that very day. She’d take it, of course.

  But would it be enough to endear him to her? Nobody liked being duped.

  They moved to the silent auction table, checking out the goods. “A lot of cool things here,” he said.

  “There sure are.” She fingered a large basket of books. He saw a box of chocolates in there as well, and a bottle of cheap champagne.

  “Isn’t this one of those authors you said you like?”

  “It is. I love a good mystery.”

  He sincerely hoped she didn’t solve the mystery of who he was. Not yet, anyway. He wanted to tell her, wanted to end this farce, but he had to pick the perfect time and place to fess up.

  “Jillian George actually has an office right next to mine.”

  “You must get a lot of free books then.”

  “Sometimes. I don’t have most of these, certainly not in hardback.”

  “Who needs it in hardback when you can download something onto your phone or e-reader?”

  She shrugged. “I still like the feel of a book in my hands.”

  “Having books on a device is a lot easier when you travel.” Oh yeah. She couldn’t afford to travel.

  “Maybe someday I’ll get one,” she said with a chipper smile.

  Guy found himself thinking how much fun it would be to show Olivia Berg more of the world. Starting with that Eiffel Tower she wanted to see.

  “Hi, Livi,” said a short redhead in jeans and an ugly Christmas sweater.

  “Hi, Jenny,” said Livi, and introduced Guy to Jenny Lind.

  “This year’s auction is even better than last year,” Jenny said to Livi. “I’m so glad I’ve been saving up.” She pointed to the gigantic cake shaped like a Christmas tree and decorated to the hilt with candies.

  Saving to buy a fancy cake. Hightower Enterprises ordered everything from elaborate cakes to ice sculptures for their parties and never thought a thing about it.

  “We’re going to Family Tree after this to celebrate Gram’s eightieth. I want to bring it for dessert. I sure hope I don’t get outbid,” Jenny said.

  If she did, Guy vowed to buy the cake from whoever won it. As Jenny and Livi chatted, he quickly scrawled his fake name on the sheet in front of the author’s gift basket. The bidding was up to thirty bucks. He bid a hundred. That should scare away the other bidders. A gift basket might make a good peace offering. He’d give Livi that, then promise her a check. And then what? He shied away from the then what.

  They strolled around the room some more, checking out the food booths. She tried to convince him to buy a corn dog but he passed. He did insist on buying one for her, though, along with some hot cider.

  They checked in to see how things were going at the booth where people were bartering. Lots of action there. Lots of good-natured teasing and laughter as people swapped goods and services, finding creative ways to stretch their money. Guy couldn’t help but be impressed by the easy camaraderie. According to Livi a lot of these people were struggling financially, but no one appeared stressed or tense. Everyone was in high holiday spirits, the closeness of their community on display. These people had a connectedness that Guy envied.

  He and Livi finally wound up at the giant gift box by the door, where Livi’s assistant, Bettina, was presiding.

  “Would you like to make a donation?” Bettina asked him.

  The more points he racked up, the better. He pulled out a fifty and dropped it in the slot. All for a good cause.

  Since when was impressing a woman a good cause? Okay, so he had ulterior motives. Either way, Christmas from the Heart was benefiting.

  “That’s very generous of you,” Livi said. “Thank you so much.”

  He waved away her gratitude. “It’s nothing.” Boy, you could say that again.

  * * *

  Lenny and Morris were watching from the bartering booth where they’d both signed up to offer their usual oil change services. Lenny was hoping he’d score some home-baked meals. Between Livi and his mom, Morris had that covered. There wasn’t much of anything he needed so he always simply offered his services.

  “The rich dude is sure making an impression on Livi,” Lenny observed. “I wonder how much dough he just put in the box. Livi looks ready to jump his bones.”

  “Hey,” Morris said sharply. “Watch what you’re saying.”

  “Sorry,” Lenny muttered. “Looks like you’ve got serious competition.”

  “So he put something in the box. Big deal.” Morris gave to Christmas from the Heart all the time.

  “He’s slick,” Lenny went on. “How much you wanna bet those are designer jeans he’s wearing?”

  “Like Liv cares if some guy wears designer jeans?” Morris said with a snort.

  “Women like rich guys,” Lenny said with a shrug.

  “Not Liv.” Liv wasn’t that shallow.

  “You need to get a clue, man. This guy’s got her engine revved.”

  “’Cause he’s rich?” Morris sneered. “Liv doesn’t care about fancy trimmings.” But her nonprofit was her first love. And somebody coming along flashing cash was bound to turn her head.

  “Maybe not, but it looks like they ain’t hurtin’,” said Lenny.

  Lenny was right. Liv was smiling at the stranger like he was Santa Claus.

  “Morris,” said Mrs. Whittier, coming up to him. “I want to take advantage of your car expertise. What do you need in return?”

  I need someone to get this slick turkey away from Liv. Sadly, the only one who could do that was Morris. And until he got what he needed to fix the guy’s car and get him on the road, he was powerless.

  * * *

  Livi checked the time on the big clock hanging on the wall. “Oh my, we need to get going on the main event. Let’s get back to the stage,” she said to Guy.

  It looked like there was no more postponing the inevitable. “Kind of a short event if the judging starts this soon, isn’t it?” he said as they made their way to the stage.

  “Oh, not really. The judging takes longer than you might think.
We bring up each contestant and have her or him talk about the recipe. And there are door prizes to give away in between. Then it takes a while for the judges to confer. While they’re doing that, people mingle and finish up their silent auction bids. We announce those, then sing some carols, and then we present the awards to our fruitcake runners-up and first place winner.”

  She had mastered the art of drawing out a short affair into a marathon. Livi Berg was definitely good at what she did. “Then what happens?” In a perfect world, they’d go back to her house and he’d find a way to get another kiss. Or two. Or five.

  But they weren’t in a perfect world. He was the Grinch and she was Mrs. Claus. He was such a fake. It would serve him right if he choked on a piece of fruitcake.

  “A lot of us unwind at Family Tree,” she said. “They make the best pot roast.”

  Guy told himself he didn’t need to be unwinding with Olivia Berg. He didn’t need to be doing anything with her. But he didn’t listen to himself. “Sounds like fun,” he said.

  Which was more than he could say for what he was about to do.

  Going up those few steps to his judge’s seat on the stage felt like climbing to the gallows.

  The other two judges were already in place. “This will be a challenge,” the little old lady named Tillie informed him. “We have some first-class bakers entered.”

  “And it’s a big prize,” put in Carol from the bakery. “That money will mean a lot to many people.”

  Her words put the pressure on. This was a fun event for the town but it meant groceries and the easing up on a tight budget to many of the entrants. It was hardly on a par with carrying a struggling company on his back but Guy still felt the weight of what he’d been asked to do and wished he’d never allowed himself to get talked into it.

  Many people had already claimed seats. Others, seeing Livi settling in the final judge, left the booths and silent auction table and found seats, as well. She picked up the microphone, welcomed everyone and announced that the judging would now begin, bringing the rest of the crowd over.

  “I’m so glad you could all join us for our third annual fruitcake competition,” she said. She motioned to the table where the entries sat. “As you can see, we have a lot of entries this year. A big job for our judges.”

  “Shit,” Guy muttered.

  “You’ll do fine,” Tillie assured him.

  Guy could feel beads of sweat decorating his brow. No sports competition, no business meeting had ever made him this nervous. He so didn’t belong here.

  “Our judges will be looking at each fruitcake’s visual appeal,” Livi informed the audience.

  There was nothing appealing about fruitcake.

  “They’ll be checking entries for moistness, flavor and that something extra that says, ‘I’m the best this year.’”

  Guy’s right leg began to jiggle up and down like it had done when he was in high school, waiting for a tennis match.

  “And now, let me introduce our judges,” Livi said, and went on to introduce the first two along with their credentials. “And we have a special guest judge joining us today. Please welcome Joe Ford from Seattle.”

  The fraud.

  Everyone applauded. Well, almost everyone. Guy saw Morris Bentley out there in the crowd, sitting next to his mother, his beefy arms crossed over his chest, giving Guy the glare of death.

  Only a few more hours, dude. That belt would come in the next day, Guy’s Maserati would get fixed and then he’d get gone. Except part of him didn’t want to get gone. Part of him wanted to stay inside this never-ending Christmas movie with Livi Berg and the good people of Pine River.

  He reminded himself again that this wasn’t his world, these weren’t his people. This wasn’t his life. He had a company to help run. He had a mom and a new family waiting for him in Coeur d’Alene.

  “Our first entry is from Bernadette Bohn, our favorite middle school teacher,” Livi said, and welcomed a petite brunette dressed in slacks and a red turtleneck to the stage. “Bernadette, can you tell us a little about this recipe?”

  “It was my mother’s recipe, and she kept it top secret for years. She finally gave me permission to share it.”

  “And what makes it special?” Livi asked, and held the mike to Bernadette.

  “For one thing, the fact that it’s my mother’s,” Bernadette said, beaming out at a little woman in the audience who looked like an older version of herself. “But I also like it because it’s not your traditional fruitcake. It’s a banana bread base, which makes it really flavorful.”

  “Well, let’s see what our judges think,” Livi said, and her assistant carried the plate over to the judge’s table.

  What were they supposed to do now? Guy stared at it.

  “Make notes about its appearance,” Carol coached him, pointing her pencil at the notepad lying in front of him.”

  Guy pulled it to him and wrote, Looks like... Then he faltered. It looked like fruitcake. He peered over at Tillie’s page. She’d written, Nice and high. Okay, that looked good. He wrote the same thing.

  Bettina cut a piece of the cake and both judges scribbled more notes. Good texture, Tillie had written. He’d never copied anyone’s work in school. Never needed to. He wrote down everything Tillie had.

  Bettina now cut three bite-size pieces off the fruitcake and served them to the judges. Guy was surprised. It wasn’t bad. There was actually some cake in there instead of the usual loaf of cheap fruit barely glued together with something that bore no resemblance to cake. Not bad, he wrote.

  The next contestant was Jan Kragen, a pretty woman with long reddish hair, who was also a teacher. Hers was a chocolate fruitcake, elaborately decorated, that brought several oohs and aahs from the audience.

  “Jan, you were our winner last year,” Livi said. “And now you’re back with something new. Tell us about this fruitcake.”

  “It’s my own creation,” Jan said, and as she described the various ingredients in it, Guy found his mouth watering.

  He didn’t have to copy anyone else’s paper for this one. Looks good, he wrote. After they’d sampled it, the other two judges made notes about texture, flavors, moistness and quality of ingredients. He simply wrote, Tastes good. I’d buy this. And that was the best praise a businessman could offer.

  He felt the same thing about the fruitcake submitted by Becky Grimes, a local Realtor, and an apricot one that had been made by Mrs. Newton, the little old lady with the so-called watchdog. That also rated an I’d buy this. Maybe fruitcake wasn’t so bad after all.

  The entries kept coming—some with frosting, some plain, many of them so soaked in booze he was sure the judges would be staggering by the time they left the table. Even with the palate cleansers Bettina kept giving them, he felt like his taste buds were going numb. Guess there’d been no need for that whiskey he’d wished for.

  “It’s all starting to blur in my mouth,” he whispered to his fellow judges as Livi gave away another door prize, this one a bottle of wine from a vineyard on the other side of the Cascades.

  “Hang in there,” Carol encouraged him. “We’re almost done.”

  Two more fruitcakes, one so bad it was all Guy could do not to spit it out and another that hadn’t quite gotten done in the middle, and then they were finished. People went to check out their silent auction bids and the judges went to work.

  “Shall we see if we can agree on our top three?” Tillie suggested. “Carol?”

  “For appearance, texture and taste I have to say Jan’s makes my top three easily.”

  “Mine, too,” said Tillie, and looked at Guy.

  “I hate fruitcake,” he reminded them, “but I’d buy that one.”

  “All right. Jan’s goes into the top three,” Tillie said, and made a note.

  Two more fruitcakes made the top three. Then it was time to vote.
>
  “How about Mrs. Newton’s apricot fruitcake?” said Carol.

  “That was wonderful but I think I liked Bernadette’s a little better. Not your traditional fruitcake. What about you, Guy?”

  “I liked the chocolate one but you guys are the experts.”

  Tillie turned to Carol. “What do you think?”

  “The chocolate fruitcake is spectacular,” said Carol.

  “I’d buy that one,” Guy repeated.

  “Me, too,” said Tillie. “But Mrs. Newton could really use that grocery store gift card.”

  Carol nodded and chewed her lip.

  “Yeah, but which one do we like the best?” asked Guy.

  “Oh, the chocolate,” Tillie said easily. Then turned to Carol. “So, first place to Mrs. Newton for her apricot fruitcake?”

  “Yes.”

  Guy blinked. “Huh?”

  “Sometimes we fudge a little,” Tillie explained. “All for a good cause.”

  “What’s the point of entering if the judges aren’t going to be honest?” Guy protested.

  “The point is to help people,” Tillie said. “Believe me, if Jan were in straitened circumstances we’d have awarded her first place. But she’s won before and she’ll be happy with her second-place winnings. And Bernadette will be equally happy with hers. And if they were sitting here with us right now and knew that Mrs. Newton was barely able to pay her electric bill last month they’d insist we give her the first-place prize. This will help her without hurting her pride.”

  “And she may not be around next year to enter,” added Carol. “Cancer.”

  That shut Guy up. But he couldn’t help marveling at the difference between men and women. In Man Land you won fair and square, and if you lost, you lost.

  The crowd was called back to their seats and the winners of the various silent auctions were announced. Jenny Lind let out a whoop when Livi announced that she’d won the giant cake tree and Livi blushed when she announced that Joe Ford had won the basket of books.