The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

by Kauffman, Donna; Angell, Kate; Kincaid, Kimberly

  “Get serious. There’s not a scenario on the planet in which Martine doesn’t dog somebody about something. And you, my friend, are her favorite chew toy.”

  He had a point. “Still. I can’t make a chocolate brandy genoise happen without liquor. And this dessert is going to be too good to let go. Ah!” The locking mechanism caught on Pete’s bonus card—finally—and slid out of the way with a telltale click. “See? Piece of cake.”

  Jake’s expression translated to a wordless version of really ? “Does pastry chef humor have to be so cheesy?”

  “Only for you, dude,” Pete said, kicking up a brow as he stepped into the hushed, temperature-controlled space of the wine cellar.

  Under normal circumstances, he might be tempted to take in the dazzling collection of higher-end ports and Bordeaux that Martine kept on hand in case they snared some equally dazzling clientele. But Jake wasn’t wrong when he implied she’d have a kitten if she caught them raiding the liquor supply, especially if she knew where Pete had set his sights. He skimmed his fingers over the narrow wooden shelves, taking in the array of gently reclined wine bottles before he reached a deeper ledge in the back corner of the tiny space.

  “Bingo.” Pete grinned, sliding a distinct, multifaceted bottle from its spot in the shadows.

  “Jesus, Mancuso. I know I don’t have to tell you that’s a two-hundred-dollar bottle of liquor.” Jake’s gaze flashed over the bottle of Rémy Martin XO before landing on Pete with an equal mixture of dread and doubt. “Martine is going to kill you. And then she’s going to fire your ass.”

  “Don’t be such a pessimist. It’s not like I’m going to drink it myself. It’s for a dessert,” Pete said, even though he knew his buddy was closer to the mark than he’d admit out loud. Okay, fine. So technically Pete was pushing it with this little endeavor, but come on. No one had ever accused him of being conventional, and he certainly hadn’t made it up the ranks in the Philadelphia restaurant scene by doing something as boring as following the rules.

  Too bad talent and vision didn’t always make up for that. Case in point: while he might be able to create desserts sumptuous enough to make nuns swoon, Pete’s reputation as a by-the-book employee was patchier than overworked pie crust.

  He stuffed down the thought and fixed his friend with a reassuring half-smile. “I just need enough brandy to soak into the genoise sitting on the cooling racks. With the praline buttercream and dark chocolate ganache that’s going with it, the extra layer of complexity from the liquor will make Martine—and everyone in the dining room tomorrow night—forget their names, let alone wonder where the brandy came from.”

  Jake let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s good, even for you. But why the sudden urge to create something over the top? You trying to impress someone I don’t know about?” He led the way out of the wine cellar and back through the belly of the main kitchen.

  “I live over the top. But since you asked . . .” Pete’s half-smile unfolded into the real deal as they rounded the corner to the dessert station at the end of the line. “Rumor has it that Conrad Le Clerc is leaving L’Orangerie.”

  “Get the hell out of here.” Jake froze in front of the cooling rack, a sheet pan of double chocolate cake mid-slide on his palm. “The guy has worked there since we were like in the third grade. He’s leaving now?”

  Pete nodded, liberating the pan from Jake’s hands to place it on the stainless steel table that took up the bulk of his station’s work space. “He’s opening a patisserie in the French countryside with his wife, just as soon as they can replace him. Which means L’Orangerie is going to be in the market for a pastry chef.”

  The unspoken implication hung in the air just long enough for Jake’s eyes to go as round as pie plates. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you might need more than a two-hundred-dollar bottle of brandy for this. L’Orangerie is the most upscale restaurant in the city, bar-freaking-none. Do you have any idea how many people are going to throw down for that job?”

  Pete knew, all right. Good thing he was a sucker for bad odds. “Oh, this genoise is just the tip of the iceberg. From now on, I’m going to do everything I can to get people talking about my dishes. Landing that job would be huge, and I’m going after it with all I’ve got.”

  His desserts always had been better than his rebellious reputation, and if anything could distract L’Orangerie’s owner from the latter, it would be what Pete put on the plate. So what if he fractured a few rules to get there? He was still a damned good chef, and landing this job would prove it.

  “You know, if you really want to get your desserts noticed, maybe you should do that cookie thing,” Jake said, snagging Pete’s full attention.

  “What cookie thing?”

  “You know, the thing Pine Mountain Resort is doing to drum up PR. That contest for the best Christmas cookie recipe.” Jake pulled his iPhone from his back pocket and flicked the screen to life. “Didn’t you see the call for contestants on their blog today?”

  “No.” He’d been too busy baking pumpkin tartlets and dodging Martine’s serrated glances. Pete took the phone from Jake’s hands with a weird thread of anticipation jangling in his veins, and it only grew stronger as he read. “Holy shit. This contest definitely isn’t small potatoes.”

  “More like filet mignon, man. Rumor has it they’re looking to go all out on this thing to grab as much good press as possible.”

  “Mmm.” Pete had heard from more than one person that the resort restaurant had been tanking big-time lately. Looked like they could both use a pick-me-up in the reputation department. “The qualifying round is only a month away.”

  Jake leaned against the stainless steel table with a nod. “Yeah, I guess that’s part of the deal. They’re doing exclusive coverage on their website so it can be up to the minute. None of that Christmas in July crap for them. Guess they want their shining stars this season, no waiting.”

  Pete stood tall, exercising every inch of his six-foot frame as his resolve settled into place with unyielding certainty.

  “If a shining star is what they want, they’d better gear up. This contest is a one-way ticket to the best job in Philly, and I’m going to win it. Hands down.”

  Chapter 2

  December 13

  Pete made his way to the main entrance of Pine Mountain Ski Resort, wishing like hell the powers that be had gone for that Christmas in July thing after all. They might only be a few weeks removed from Thanksgiving, but man, he wished he’d had the foresight to at least grab a heavier coat before diving headfirst into this winter wonderland.

  Not that the scenery wasn’t postcard-perfect up here in the Blue Ridge, with the weathered stone main lodge flanked on either side by powdery trails and pine trees thick with snow from last night’s storm. Hell, even Scrooge himself might be tempted into a Norman Rockwell–flash of good cheer at the lush Christmas greenery and softly lit luminaires glowing in the late-afternoon light.

  But Pete was too busy freezing his ass off to enjoy it.

  The bitter wind at his back made him grimace. Truly, it was enough to make even the most hopeful competitor want to ditch it all for the warm comforts of home, and the first event wasn’t even until tomorrow morning.

  Not that any of the other contestants had much of a chance even if they made it through the still-snowy roads for this evening’s check-in. While he respected anyone who had the courage and talent to throw down in a contest of this caliber, there was a zero percent chance Pete wasn’t walking away with the whole shebang. Especially since Martine had been thiiiis close to making his leave of absence permanent when he told her how much time he needed off for the competition.

  He was so busy knocking his resolve into place that he didn’t see the blonde in his path until collision was a foregone conclusion.

  “Oof!” Out of sheer instinct, Pete’s hands flew around her in an effort to keep them both from tumbling ass over teakettle. The woman returned the favor in a rush of wooly gloves and scattered p
apers, and damn if her hands weren’t a whole lot steadier than her feet.

  Double damn if her body didn’t feel sexy as hell pressed against his.

  “I’m so sorry!” the woman said, at the exact moment he uttered the same words.

  And then he realized who she was.

  “Lily?” His thoughts jammed to a halt at the hard shot of heat zinging through him at warp speed. In spite of his crazy work schedule, he’d seen her around town dozens of times since he moved here five years ago—after all, Pine Mountain was your basic cozy map dot. But with her prim and proper demeanor, she’d never once made his nerve endings sizzle like this.

  Of course it didn’t hurt that they were currently tangled together from neck to knees.

  “Oh my God. Pete?”

  The pretty flush creeping over her cheeks kept his hands firmly in place as her realization caught up to his. Propriety dictated he should let go and step back, but man, her arms felt hot wrapped around his shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, the undeniable and totally unexpected heat in his blood not budging an inch.

  Lily’s eyes rounded behind a set of stylish, burgundy-framed glasses, her grasp going tighter on the back of his jacket for just a breath before she frowned. “Yes, I’m . . . oh, my papers!”

  Just like that, his arms were empty.

  “That’s what I get for trying to walk and read at the same time. Damn it, I had it all in order, too,” she muttered under her breath, bending low to pluck the pages from the salt-crusted walkway.

  “That’s a lot of literature. Are you writing a book?” His gentle teasing fell victim to her deliberate movements as she gathered her work, prompting him to kneel down to help her despite the clear indication she didn’t need it.

  “Don’t get cute with me, Pete Mancuso. You broke up with my best friend in front of the whole grocery store.”

  “Huh?” Under the circumstances, it was sadly all he had. “Are you talking about the phone call I had with Clara a couple days ago?” They hadn’t even been going out, for God’s sake.

  At least he hadn’t thought so. They’d had a business meeting, but as soon as he realized Clara had mistakenly hopped on the dating train, he’d called her to gently set the record straight.

  Who broke up with someone in the grocery store?

  “You embarrassed her in front of half the town.” Lily’s dusky blond lashes fanned over a set of startling baby blues. She shifted her weight and sprang back to standing with efficient fluidity, as if she had energy banked under her skin and was saving it for later.

  The move would be pretty hot, if she wasn’t so serious about it.

  “Listen, Lily, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I thought Clara and I could hook up for a business thing. But I didn’t think she’d take it as, uh, us just hooking up.”

  “So you admit that you only asked her out to get your name in the paper?” Lily looked at him the way someone might inspect a loaf of bread for hidden spots of mold.

  “No. I mean, I didn’t ask her out.” Okay, fine, so he’d been looking to drum up a little positive buzz by getting a mention in the paper, but how was he supposed to know the woman had harbored a crush on him? “I meant it as a business thing, period, but she got the wrong idea.”

  “Oh.” Lily’s tone dipped, but just by a notch. “What about the phone call then?” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her pert nose, and wow. Her expression might be all work and no play, but those dark blue eyes sent another shot of unexpected warmth right through him.

  “I was just trying to let her down gently. I’m not sure how half the town got involved, though. Or Joe’s Grocery.”

  Her eyes rounded for a split second before she jammed them shut in a classic oh-crap expression. “Well, ummm . . .” She still looked skeptical as hell, but not nearly as unbreakable as a minute ago. “It’s a small town, word travels fast. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, I’ve got a ton of prep left to do.”

  He skimmed a covert gaze from the neat bundle of blond hair at her nape to the sensible black kitchen clogs on her feet, his gut tightening.

  Of course. She had a custom-cake business, for Chrissake. He should’ve known she’d be all over this contest.

  Time to recalibrate.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Pete watched the fresh layer of understanding wash over her features, followed by twin spots of pink on the apples of her cheeks. Damn. At least her blush would keep him from freezing.

  “You’re competing too?”

  “’Fraid so,” he said. “Winning this thing will be a pretty big boost for my career. It’ll put me on the fast track in the city, that’s for sure.”

  The austere expression Lily served up made him tack on a cocky smile just to see if he could temper it. God, he loved a challenge.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Something unfolded deep in his belly, prompting him close enough that their breath commingled in puffy wisps of dissipating heat. “I wouldn’t last a day in this business if I wasn’t.”

  Okay, yeah, maybe he was trying to knock Lily off her game a little. But being that straitlaced couldn’t be healthy, and part of him wanted to see what it would take to rattle her.

  The other part just liked her blush.

  “Oh.” Her bow-shaped mouth parted just enough to allow the word out, and for the barest moment, all that austerity fell away. The wind that Pete had cursed just minutes before made another appearance, only this time it stirred a few honey-colored strands from the knot at the back of her head.

  Suddenly, his distaste for Mother Nature dropped a couple of pegs.

  Lily blinked, but then gave a firm head shake as if resetting herself. “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I hope so.” The well-hello-there stirring behind the fly of Pete’s Levi’s seconded the sentiment. “Good luck tomorrow.”

  A faint yet unmistakable smile ghosted over her lips. “I appreciate the good wishes, but I believe in hard work, not luck.”

  Oh, no way. No way was he going to let Little Miss By-the-Book have the last word. She might be cute and all with that sudden, sassy smile on her face, but a guy had his pride.

  Pete turned his reply over in his mouth, savoring it like a bite of decadent cheesecake before letting it roll off his tongue with a smile.

  “You might not want to make that an either-or, Blondie. See, I came here to win this thing. Which means you’re going to need all the luck you can get.”

  Sixteen hours, one cold shower, and four cups of coffee later, Lily still couldn’t get the feel of Pete Mancuso’s leanly muscled arms out of her head. Which was crazy, really, considering he was the most arrogant smooth talker she’d ever laid eyes on.

  With a smile like that, laying some other parts on him wouldn’t be bad, either.

  Lily’s spine went ramrod straight and she snuck a covert glance from side to side, as if the naughty thought had been broadcast in Dolby stereo. Okay, fine, so those emerald-green eyes fringed by eyelashes thick enough to be unfair on a man were one hell of a one-two punch. But it didn’t make up for the fact that the guy was ego on a stick, even if his side of what had happened with Clara did make sense.

  Not that it mattered. Lily might not have gone to a fancy culinary school in Philadelphia, but she’d still been around enough chefs to know Pete’s suave, I-know-best type. She hadn’t spent the last month refining her skills and perfecting countless cookie recipes just to be upended by an overly confident pretty face.

  Even if Pete’s smile had threatened to knock her knees out from under her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” The voice coming through the microphone set up at the front of the room belonged to Chase Bishop, the resort’s event planner, who flashed the contestants a dazzling smile. “If we could please have your attention, we’d like to get started. Welcome to Pine Mountain Resort’s Christmas Cookie Competition.”

  He conti
nued through some obligatory thank-yous to the contest sponsors, who were no slouches in the culinary world. Looked like the resort was as serious about their public relations as they were their food.

  And their prize money. Lily scooped in a deep breath, doing her best to let it calm her as she waited impatiently for Chase to get to the meat of things. They’d been given disappointingly little by way of specific details for each round, and although Lily had scoured the rules and regulations until her eyes had gone numb, all she’d unearthed besides the dates for each event were a full list of what would be available on site and the declaration that she should be ready for anything.

  After four weeks of meticulous prep, Lily could eat ready for breakfast.

  “As you know, there will be four rounds of competition spanning the next ten days. In between rounds, competitors will have the chance to practice in our test kitchens as well as participate in interviews for our online publications, including our blog.”

  Chase gestured to the pair of cameramen hard at work by the podium, and the notion caught her off guard. As a one-woman business, Lily had never even had a coworker, much less been filmed on the job.

  Not that it made much difference, really. She had a plan, and that plan was to win. Film or not, she was going to sail through today’s elimination, no matter how many swagger-soaked pastry chefs stood in her way.

  Chase continued. “For today’s event, our goal is to narrow the field while showcasing your talent. In order to do that, we’re going to put a twist on things.”

  Lily’s gut did a free-fall toward her toes. Why did they have to mess with a perfectly good set of guidelines? Her fingers itched to get to the stations set up just over Chase’s shoulder, to measure out precise amounts of flour and sugar and butter so she could watch them form more than just the sum of their parts.

  Instead, there was a twist.

  “Each of you will have thirty minutes of planning and one hour of baking time, including plating, to come up with a holiday-themed cookie incorporating the red or green ingredient in the gift basket at your station. Each basket has a matching counterpart. You will be judged in a single elimination round against whoever has your matching ingredient.”