by Sable Sylvan
“Anything?” asked Ginger, raising an eyebrow. “Well, now I don’t know what I want to ask for. Anything, you say?”
“Anything,” promised James, closing in on his Christmas prey. “What do you want, Ginger? Is it something nice…or, is it something naughty?”
“Let me guess—either way, I have to sit on your lap?” joked Ginger, but her cheeks were as pink as if she’d been out in the snow. It was obvious she wasn’t entirely kidding.
“You’re the one that’s suggested that, ho, ho, ho,” chuckled James. “Now, what’s on your Christmas list, curvy girl?”
“Uh…can I get a ride to Hemlock Crew tonight?” asked Ginger.
“My, my, my—so you’ve made your choice,” said James, putting his hands on Ginger’s waist.
“No, I have not made my—wait, what?” asked Ginger.
“Richard and I’ve been trying to figure out which one of us you’re going to pick,” said James.
“Behind my back?” asked Ginger.
“Certainly not in front of it,” said James, who was still holding onto Ginger’s waist—and Ginger hadn’t pushed his hands away, or told him to get his paws off her.
“And…what did you decide?” asked Ginger.
“Not a darn thing,” said James. “But, given you’re begging for me to carry you to my den, I think—”
“Okay, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Ginger.
“No, I understand perfectly clearly,” said another voice. Ginger turned. Richard was standing at the entrance to the kitchen from the backyard! His flannel shirt was covered with splinters from chopping firewood.
“Richard, I—” started Ginger.
“No—I know when I bow out,” said Richard. “Now I know why you didn’t want to go further the other night.” Richard stormed off.
“Great, now there’s been two misunderstandings,” groaned Ginger. “I should go after him.”
Richard’s truck started. They could hear it from inside the house. Ginger started to leave, but James held her tight.
“Let me go,” ordered Ginger.
“Only if you promise you aren’t going to drive after him,” said James. “Ginger, these roads are icy. He’s driving in an emotional state. Go to him once he’s calmed down.”
“You’re…you’re right,” admitted Ginger. “The last thing this situation needs is a frikkin’ car accident. Wait—why aren’t you jealous?”
“Because you just want to let him down easily, because you’re my mate,” said James, putting a finger underneath Ginger’s chin and stroking it. “I do so admire such a compassionate nature in a mate.”
“No—I want to let him know that I haven’t picked yet,” said Ginger.
“So you were trying to pick between the two of us,” said James, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, I was, okay?” hissed Ginger. “But I haven’t made my choice, James!”
“Then why did you want to go to Hemlock Lodge tonight?” asked James. “Did someone invite you to the party?”
“What party?” asked Ginger.
“The gingerbread man decorating party that Terrence wants to throw for some reason,” said James. “He told me he’s going to be baking cookies with Patricia, and we can all decorate them.”
“With Patricia? Oh,” said Ginger. “Oh. Wow. Patricia’s frikkin’ dense. Terrence was trying to get her to spend some romantic time with him, and she frikkin’—ugh!”
“What did she do?” asked James.
“She passed the job off to me, so now I gotta do the job!” shouted Ginger. “That’s why I was asking you for a ride. I need to go up to Hemlock Lodge to bake a bunch of gingerbread cookies for Terrence, but I didn’t put two and two together.”
“So this wasn’t a ploy to get into my bedroom?” asked James, raising a brow.
“No—and it certainly isn’t now!” said Ginger.
“What was Richard going on about, about things that happened ‘last night?’” asked James, doing air quotes with his fingers.
“Okay, well, first of all, it wasn’t last night, it was last afternoon, really a few days ago, and secondly—” babbled Ginger.
“Calm down,” ordered James.
Ginger narrowed her eyes. “We got intimate, okay? So let me guess, no more ride now?”
“No, of course, I’ll give you a ride,” said James. “I wouldn’t want you driving in these conditions anyway. I’ve seen the junk heap that is your car. I don’t care that you’re Richard’s mate…but you know, that does mean you ought to choose him. Live your life, it’s your life, but…”
“No, I’m not Richard’s mate,” said Ginger.
“So you two did it and—” started James.
“No, we didn’t get that intimate!” explained Ginger. “We just kissed!”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said James with a laugh. “Ginger, look. Calm down.”
“How can you tell me to calm down at a time like this?” asked Ginger.
“At a time like what?” asked James.
“Well, I haven’t picked between you and Richard, and I’ve just caused two misunderstandings—well, I guess just one, right now—but I also cockblocked Terrence because I didn’t realize he was trying to have a date with Patricia, and—” Ginger went on.
“So what?” interrupted James. “Look, Ginger. You’re worried over a bunch of adults who can handle their own bullshizz. There is no ‘at a time like this’ right now, except for Christmas time. It’s Christmas. That’s the time. And you shouldn’t be so upset around Christmas.”
“Or what, it’ll get me on the naughty list?” asked Ginger, raising a brow.
“Or you won’t have a very good Christmas, “ said James, putting a warm hand on Ginger’s shoulder. “Now, I’ve got good intel that there’s more firewood to be chopped out back, given half the wood chopping team disappeared, so I’m gonna handle that. You know how to find me when you’re ready to head up the mountain after you close up.” James patted Ginger on the back very chastely and left, leaving Ginger wondering what the heck had just happened.
During the rest of the day, Ginger wondered if James had lost his feelings for her, as he treated her in a friendly manner, but it was just that—friendly, not flirtatious.
The ride up to the Hemlock Crew’s base of operations was scenic. Many of the trees had lost their leaves, and the evergreens were frosted with a dusting of white snow. James drove slowly as he made small talk with Ginger. The road to Hemlock Lodge was relatively clear, from all the vehicles that had been driving on it, to and from the lodge. Still, James was a safe driver, especially when he was carrying precious cargo.
James parked his car in the Hemlock Crew’s parking lot. The lodge’s lot was full of luxury cars, but some cars were more practical, like James’ SUV. James heled Ginger out of the vehicle.
“Watch your step,” said James. “The newbies were assigned shoveling and icing duty, but sometimes, they miss a spot.”
“Icing duty? What is this, Bear Claw Bakery?” joked Ginger. “I know, I know—road ice. I’ll be careful.”
“So, you’re supposed to help out with baking or something?” asked James. “I can take you straight to the kitchens. Want to go the scenic route?”
“Sure,’ said Ginger. “I don’t think I’ve been to Hemlock Lodge before, so it’d be nice to get the behind-the-scenes tour.”
James took Ginger’s hand. She was surprised. He’d acted friendly, but not overly flirty, all day. She looked down. Ginger was a big woman, but when James held her hands, she felt pretty frikkin’ small.
“What is it?” asked James.
“Nothing,” said Ginger.
“You want me to let go?” asked James.
Ginger shook her head. “Never. I mean, no. No.”
“I heard ‘never,’” said James with a chuckle. “Come on. If you slip, I’ll catch you. The stone steps should be clear, but, you know —”
“Newbies. Salt on the ice. Got it,” said Ginger
with a wink.
James led Ginger to the side of the vast forest manse. There was a walkway up a somewhat steep hill.
“Be careful,” warned James. “Those bushes are real prickly.”
“Then why do you keep them around?” asked Ginger with a frown.
“Because the roses sure are pretty come spring,” said James. “Of course, you’re pretty year-round.”
“You’ve only seen me in the winter,” chided Ginger.
“Well, so far,” said James. “Last time I checked, spring comes after winter. Soon enough, you’ll see these roses for yourself.”
Ginger’s cheeks pinkened like the petals of a ripening rosebud. James knew how to turn on the charm after all! She was starting to think he’d lost his taste for all things Ginger.
James walked behind Ginger to catch her in case she slipped. Ginger walked the cobblestone steps and ended up in a clearing with a wall and not much else.
“Uh, did we make a wrong turn?” asked Ginger, looking around.
“No,” said James. “You just don’t know where to look.”
Ginger watched as James ascended the last few cobblestone steps and walked right up to the wall. The wall was covered with snow on some foliage. James brushed some snow off the foliage.
James reached through the snow-covered browned green vines and found the cold brass handle of the doorknob. He turned it and pushed the large, heavy door open, out toward the other side of the wall, and then moved the vines aside, so Ginger could follow in after him.
At first, all Ginger saw was stark white, bright white, untouched snow that was so bright it was nearly blinding.
“What…what is this place?” asked Ginger, looking around at the empty space. There were large beams, lashed together in sturdy structures, with canopies. There were empty wooden boxes, a shed, presumably for gardening tools. But, other than that, all there was was snow, filling the large hidden space.
“The garden,” said James.
“A garden?” asked Ginger. “Then, where are all the plants?”
“Well, it’s a garden in progress,” said James. “It’s a blank page, for now.”
“A blank page—like in a diary,” mused Ginger. “New stories could be written here.”
“Or new beautiful paintings could bloom,” said James, pulling Ginger close, holding her by the waist. He leaned in. Ginger felt James’ lips brush against the top of her hair. She looked up. His ginger hair was brighter and warmer than the winter sun, but at the same time, reminded her of another, the one she’d inadvertently scared away.
Richard had left, thinking she’d chosen James. If she went any further with James, all she’d do was prove Richard right—but would that really be so wrong?
“I…” started Ginger.
“You what?” asked James.
“I want to, but…” started Ginger.
“Say no more,” said James, curling one of Ginger’s locks behind her ears. “Come on.”
James led Ginger to a wooden door on the main Hemlock Lodge building. As Ginger followed James, she knew she’d ruined the moment, and wondered if James would ever give her a second chance—or was she on her third or fourth chance now? How long would she be able to put off making a decision between James and Richard? And once she’d made a decision, would there be anyone left that wanted her and her curves?
James led Ginger to the Hemlock Lodge kitchen.
“James!” said a man with his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up. “You brought me just the woman I was looking for. You must be Ginger, right?”
“Right,” said Ginger. “And you are?”
“Quentin, Hemlock Lodge’s chef,” said Quentin, before shaking Ginger’s hand. “You know, you’re doing us a real favor tonight, making all these cookies. Patricia sent a recipe up to me earlier. I hope you don’t mind, but I actually mixed up a big batch of dough. It’s in the fridge.”
“That’s great!” said Ginger. “Why did you do that?”
“The sooner you put those cookies in the oven, the sooner we get to eat them,” said Quentin. “Now, would it be rude if I left you two alone to do the baking? My stomach’s grumbling from making canapes for the party—and I want those canapes in my belly!” Quentin slapped his stomach, which had a healthy coat of winter fat.
“Go, go,” said James.
“You can go too,” said Ginger.
“And miss out on learning all the Bear Claw Bakery’s secrets?” asked James.
“What secrets?” asked Ginger, putting a hand to her hip.
“Everyone thinks y’all must be witches, given how good your food tastes,” admitted James.
“Well, everyone thinks all y’all up at Hemlock Lodge must be vampires, given you rarely come down to town!” insisted Ginger.
“Where do you see me, nearly every dang day, whether you want to or not?” asked James.
“Town—but why wouldn’t I want to see you?” asked Ginger.
“Well, do you want to see me now?” asked James. “Or, do you want some privacy?”
“I’d rather be with you than be alone with my thoughts,” said Ginger. “You ever make gingerbread cookies before?”
“Nope,” said James.
“Because you’re from a rich family?” asked Ginger. “Your chefs always made them or something?”
James raised a brow.
“What?” asked Ginger.
“You really forgot?” asked James. “Remember—I’ve got a different deal going on that most of the shifters here. I…had a different background.”
“Oh,” said Ginger, putting her hands up to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” said James, quirking his other brow. “Now, are you going to teach me how to make gingerbread cookies, or am I going to have another holiday spent eating store-bought cookies?”
“You really know how to guilt-trip a gal,” mumbled Ginger. “And hey—who said you’d be eating store-bought cookies?”
“What other kinds of cookies are there?” asked James.
“I mean, you could get them at Bear Claw Bakery, or the pop-up shop!” insisted Ginger.
“You mean…by buying my gingerbread cookies…at a store?” James asked slowly, for dramatic effect.
Ginger’s ears steamed. “Are ya kidding me? You know what I meant!”
Ginger cleaned off a large kitchen island and found two clean baking mats, some powdered sugar, a rolling pin, cookie cutters, and of course, the premade gingerbread cookie dough.
“Wash your hands,” ordered Ginger. Ginger and James washed their hands and went back to the kitchen island. “These silicone mats are convenient. What we’re going to do is lay them out in front of us like placemats. The silicone is thin, and once it’s down, it won’t move. Now, that’s good, and it’s also annoying. It means if you need to adjust the alignment, you need to lift the whole mat up, so make sure you’re sure the mat’s where you want it to be before we do the next part.”
“Why?” asked James.
“Just…because!” insisted Ginger.
“But why?” sassed James.
Ginger put a hand to her hip. “Because if you have a crooked mat, and we put powdered sugar on it, and then put dough on that, and in ten minutes, you decide you don’t like how the mat is placed, we’re going to need to wash off the mat, wash off the counter, replace the mat, put more powdered sugar down on your mat, and then, finally, maybe, we’ll get on with the dang baking!”
“Well, see? You could’ve just explained all that!” said James with a sly grin.
Ten minutes later, Ginger and James finally had two rolled out sheets of gingerbread dough in front of them.
“Okay, so, what you’re going to want to do is, use the cookie cutters on the dough and press down, hard and clean and evenly, or else the cookies will have messy edges,” said Ginger. “Try to get as many shapes out of a sheet of dough as you can.” Ginger showed him just what she meant using a bear-shaped cookie cutter on her own sheet of dou
gh.
“Oh, it’s like cutting things out with a jig,” mused James.
“Exactly!” said Ginger. “Now, what the heck does that mean?”
“Sometimes, I help out in the woodworking shop,” explained James. “We cut things out of slices of wood, using a tool called a jig. You sketch out the stuff on a piece of wood, using a pencil or something, and then run the jig along those lines, basically.”
“I wonder what other baking things can be explained through forestry or woodworking,” wondered Ginger.
“I mean, if you just said it was like tracing patterns out on fabric, I’d understand,” said James.
“How do you know about patterns and fabric?” asked Ginger.
“My sister did a lot of sewing for us growing up,” James said simply.
“Oh—did she like to sew?” asked Ginger.
“Nope,” said James curtly. Ginger didn’t pry. She could figure out what the heck he was avoiding talking about. Her assumptions about James had turned out to be very wrong.
James stamped the first sheet of cookies out. Ginger slid the first two trays of cookies into the preheated oven and set a timer.
“What do we do with these bits?” asked James.
“I like to put them on a cookie sheet and make them into scrap cookies,” said Ginger. “At the bakery, we crumble these leftover scraps and use them for things like gingerbread crumble pie fillings.”
Somebody walked into the kitchen. It was a woman in a green velvet sweater with a red holly motif. “Patricia?” asked Ginger. “What are you doing here?”
“Just making sure you showed up for your job,” said Patricia. “I just got in. Sneaked in through the back.”
“You know about the back entrance?” asked James.
“You know, I’m going to let you think about how that sounds, and let that go unanswered,” joked Patricia. “How’re you kids doing?”
“She’s an excellent teacher,” said James. “It’s my first time making gingerbread, and I have half a mind to interview at Bear Claw Bakery.”
“Oh, stop,” said Ginger, blushing.
Another person came in, a man in a red cable knit sweater.
“Patricia,” said Terrence. “You made it!”
“Well, of course, I did,” said Patricia. “What? Why wouldn’t I come? You invited me?”
