by Jana Aston
We start filming almost immediately. The show host announces the challenge and it's almost exactly what I expect. We have ninety minutes to create a gingerbread house, the television twist being they want something non-traditional. So don't present the classic four-sided house with a chimney that looks like it came pre-made from a box. I imagine the judges will taste the submissions as well, but the gist of this challenge is going to be presentation and creativity. I know what I'm making before the hostess has finished talking. A gingerbread chapel, with white clapboard siding made out of royal icing and a black licorice roof. A holiday wreath will hang over the open double doors and evergreen trees will be scattered around the perimeter.
The moment they announce the clock is running the three of us hit the pantry for supplies, each of us intent on getting our gingerbread baked and cooling as quickly as possible. Assembly and decorating will take the bulk of everyone's time.
"I saw you this morning," I tell Keller quietly once my trays are in the oven. I'm back at the pantry grabbing the confectioners’ sugar for my royal icing and perusing the available candies for decorating. And the more I think about it all the more curious I am. The more I want to hear what he has to say.
"Ah, okay." Keller nods as if it all makes sense to him now and then he gives me one of his lazy grins as he leans against a shelf as if he's got all the time in the world to stand here and flirt with me.
"Okay? That's it? You don't have anything else to say?"
"I'm going to show you instead," he quips and then he winks at me and walks away.
What the ever-loving Jiminy Christmas was that supposed to mean? I head back to my mixer, sugar in hand, and even more questions zipping around my brain. What's he going to show me?
Unfortunately, I've got zero time to think about it because I've got a lot to do. I start by cutting ropes of licorice into tiny tile-sized pieces for my roof while making quick glances around the room to see what Keller and Jenny are working on. Jenny is the Great Lakes Holiday Pie Champion and the third contestant in the finale. Shamefully, I haven't paid her that much attention up to this point. I was pretty focused on the celebrity contenders and Keller, to be honest. And possibly I've never taken pies that seriously, which is very bakeist of me.
Anyway, Keller seems to have everything under control at his station while Jenny is hustling at hers, busily rolling what looks like a slab of fondant. Hmm, I wonder what she's going to do with that? But I don't have the time to ponder it or second-guess myself because the clock is ticking. A great big digital clock they've attached to the wall. One of the camera guys makes a big show out of zooming in on it every so often as the hostess calls out the time remaining.
I sneak another glance at Keller. Why does he have to be so glanceable?
I need an intervention. Shaking my head, I glance at the clock again and then put my head down and get to work assembling my gingerbread chapel, using an extra-stiff royal icing to ensure it holds. I'll add a light layer of icing to the roof so the licorice roof tiles stick and I'll assemble my three-dimensional evergreen trees using the icing as well, so they won't topple. I lose myself in the work, time flying by, interrupted only when the host reminds us of how little time is left.
I don't look up again until time is called. And when I do, I falter.
I thought Keller was my big competition, but Jenny's built an ark. A gingerbread ark. Complete with an entire host of animals made out of fondant.
What the elf?
I've lost. We haven't even gotten to the judging yet and I can already see that I've lost. My gingerbread chapel is perfect. It's the best one I've ever made. It's sturdy and tall. My roof shingles are perfectly symmetrical and my siding would pass the toughest of building inspections. I've done incredible work for a ninety-minute challenge.
But Jenny has built a freaking ark.
Even if by some miraculous mistake I was named the winner I'd have to object.
"Well done," I tell her, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. It truly is well done. I'm not the greatest gingerbread baker this time around and I'm not going to win the prize money. But it's okay. It has to be okay because I'm never giving up on my dream, contest or not. Location or not. Prize money or not.
While production scurries around arranging the cameras for judging I peek over to see what Keller's created. I can't imagine he's done anything that will beat Jenny's gingerbread ark, but I'm still curious about what he's made.
And it's like a punch to the gut. Because he's created a gingerbread replica of the old auto shop. The one he apparently nabbed out from underneath me.
Except.
Except he's remodeled it.
I drift over to his workstation, not caring about the producer or the cameras or anything I'm supposed to be doing at the moment. It's definitely the old auto shop. He's even included the river that curves around the building, made out of what looks like a pound of tiny blue sprinkles. He's remodeled the gingerbread replica exactly as we talked about when I showed it to him. With one change.
My bake shop is exactly as I envisioned it on the right side of the building, with a pink and white striped awning over the tiny gingerbread doorway. Above the doorway is a sign trimmed in matching pink, with black letters neatly spelling out ‘Ginger's Bake Shop.’
But the old auto shop was always too large to be just a bake shop, and it still is, in gingerbread form. I never had any vision for what I could do with the rest of the space, but it appears Keller has. On the left side is a black and white awning over another tiny gingerbread doorway. Above it hangs a sign that reads ‘Gingersnap's.’
"What is Gingersnap's?" I ask, when I can finally tear my eyes away from his creation. A creation that most definitely will not win him The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off because it wasn't made to compete. It was made for me, of that much I'm sure. Because it won't make sense to anyone but the two of us. This is what he's showing me.
"A breakfast place. I've always wanted to open one."
A breakfast restaurant. I run that through my mind. Not a competing bakery, a companion restaurant. A perfect combination.
"You want to open a restaurant in Reindeer Falls?" I ask, not daring to believe, even though he told me to. Believe in the magic, he said. This is the magic. We're the magic. Love is the magic.
"Only if you'll do it with me, Gingersnap." He says it more earnestly than a man on bended knee proposing. "Let's play bake shop forever."
"Yes," I breathe.
I'm going to give my heart to Keller James, because he already has it. And I know he's worth it. I know he'll never give it away.
Chapter 14
The producer of The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off was beside himself. As was an executive from the Food Network I hadn't even realized was on set. I actually sort of forgot I was on set, truth be told.
Until the clapping started.
Keller and I were kissing like a couple of idiots in a Christmas movie. Except we were still on set, filming a baking show with the cameras rolling.
So yeah, they got all of that on film.
They got a whole lot of stuff on film, as it turned out.
When The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off airs the week of Christmas, it’s heavily edited to showcase our budding romance. Listen, I'm not going to deny there were some lingering glances and yes, I absolutely kissed him. But the editing makes those lingering glances longer than they really were. And they’ve added music. And a kissing gingerbread cartoon graphic thing that they run across the bottom of the screen.
When the first episode airs I turn redder than Rudolph's nose with a bad cold.
"You're adorable when you blush, Gingersnap." Keller grins, amused by the entire thing. I want to argue that I'm not adorable but I am, so it's not an argument I can win.
Truthfully I’m a bit mortified, but the internet loves it.
We still lose. Jenny's gingerbread ark wins the first season of The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off, rightfully so.
But it turns out the
network loves us even more than the internet does because we’re offered a contract to co-host season two of the Great Gingerbread Bake-Off. We have chemistry, they say. We have magic and they want to see more of it. We’re also in discussions about filming the renovations of the old garage. The network wants to turn our remodel into a show, which isn’t the worst idea. The money would certainly help as would the exposure for our new businesses.
Keller thinks we should do it and I agree. Meanwhile the two of us are in discussions of a different sort. The forever sort.
I don't need to consult my love globe to know what my answer will be, but I do anyway and it’s official:
Yes-definitely.
The End.
The One Night Stand Before Christmas
Chapter 1
I wake up, blinking against the sunlight flickering in through the windows as I take in the carnage from last night.
On the floor, red pants trimmed with fake white fur. A matching jacket, with the equally hideous fake white fur lining the cuffs and hem. A wide black belt tossed on top of it.
And, of course, the matching hat.
I sort of hoped it wasn’t true. That I’d had too much to drink and was remembering the night prior through an alcohol-tinted lens.
Except all I had was an overabundance of hot cocoa.
And Santa. I had him too.
Yup.
I just had a one-night stand with Santa Claus.
That’s one hell of a way to get on the naughty list.
Chapter 2
“Are you single? I have a grandson and he needs a wife.”
If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been offered someone’s son or grandson or brother I’d probably have like… thirty or forty dollars. Still, they mean well so I just roll with it.
Besides, I love my job so much I don’t even mind when they try to pimp me out to their grandsons. Much. I don’t mind much.
“Why does he need a wife?” I ask. I’m curious to hear what she has to say because older folks tend to say whatever the heck they want and most of the time it’s pretty entertaining.
“Every man needs a wife,” she replies, her tone implying this is fact and something I should already know. “He works too hard, and what’s the point if you don’t have a family to provide for? It’s time he moved back to Reindeer Falls and settled down. He’s coming home for Christmas and I need to marry him off before the new year so he doesn’t go back to the city.”
I raise an eyebrow while trying not to laugh. “That’s not much of a sales pitch, Mrs Carrington. Besides, if he needs a wife no one will want him. All the good ladies like a man capable of taking care of himself.”
“Oh, he takes excellent care of himself. It’s why he’s still single. Too damn good-looking for his own good, that one. Takes after his granddaddy, rest his soul.”
“Perhaps he’s not the marrying kind,” I offer.
“No man is, until he meets the woman he can’t live without. Mr Carrington was a scoundrel in his day. Then he met me and the man damn near tripped over himself wooing me.”
Ah, the days of wooing. I don’t bother to tell her those days are over. Wooing in today’s age is waiting until the third text message to send a dick pic. “Well then, I hope your grandson finds someone.”
“Oh, he will. I’ll make sure of it. He can’t run around getting the milk for free forever. Boy’s gotta buy the cow sometime.”
If I was drinking coffee, I’d have spit it across the room.
“Mrs Carrington!” I sputter around a hybrid cough-laugh.
“He’s got a good job,” she adds hopefully, a twinkle in her eye that tells me she knows exactly how inappropriate she is.
“Go find yourself a seat,” I instruct, doing my best to be firm and professional. It’s Canasta Day at the community center, which is why Mrs Carrington is here. To play cards and socialize, not to find a wife for her grandson. At least I hope that’s why she’s signed up for canasta. I wouldn’t entirely put it past her to have signed up as some elaborate plot to hand-select her future granddaughter-in-law. Mrs Carrington is a hoot. “Find a seat now or I’m going to write you up for impertinence,” I add as a joke.
“Impertinence!” Mrs Carrington laughs in delight. “No one has called me impertinent in some time. I like you.”
“I like you too, Mrs Carrington. But you need to let your grandson find his own wife.”
“All right, all right.” Mrs Carrington makes a show of waving her hands about as if she’s put out by this, but she’s smiling. “Can’t blame a lady for trying,” she adds.
“No, ma’am,” I agree. Then I spy Mr Owens peeking in our direction. And it’s not the first time, either. Mr Owens is somewhat new to town. He moved here to be closer to his grandchildren after his wife died a few years ago. “Looks like there’s a seat open next to Mr Owens,” I say, looking pointedly at the empty seat and then back to Mrs Carrington. Matchmaking is fair game, and there’s nothing like the holidays to make you believe anything is possible and it’s never too late.
For Mrs Carrington, that is.
As far as my own love life, forgive a girl for being a cynic, but I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. Which is: he’s never the catch Grandma thinks he is. Never ever.
Once everyone is settled playing canasta I head back to my office down the hall. I’m a program supervisor for the city of Reindeer Falls, overseeing the adult programs, which includes everything from the softball leagues to the senior programs. Except we don’t call them senior programs anymore. Active adults is the preferred term now, in case you didn’t know. Older adults want to be appreciated for the place they’re at in life. Retired, but still full of vitality and energy. Our active adult programs are aimed to service the members of our community who aren’t anywhere near ready to leave their homes for a retirement village but perhaps need a bit of community. A place to meet and play cards or volunteer. That’s all coordinated through me.
My co-worker Jillian supervises the youth programs, which covers everything from youth sports to summer camps to the crowning of the annual Candy Cane Princess each winter.
Her office is directly next to mine.
And it sounds like trouble is brewing in Reindeer Falls.
Luckily I always have commiseration cookies on hand due to my sister being a baker, so I grab the tin filled with her latest offerings and head over to find out what’s happening.
“What’s going on?” I ask, setting my coffee on the edge of Jillian’s desk before flopping into a stuffed armchair located in the corner of Jillian’s office. I pry open the tin without waiting on a response.
Jillian doesn’t disappoint.
“The Hobby Reindeer Championships,” she says, swiveling in her desk chair to face me, grabbing the tin from my hands the moment I’ve plucked one out for myself. “Ohhh, what’d Ginger make for us this time?”
“I think they’re ginger scones,” I say before taking a bite. “Yup,” I add around a mouthful of scone. “She’s been on a scone kick ever since her Keller James crush went into overdrive.” The Food Network is filming a gingerbread-baking competition in Reindeer Falls and my sister Ginger is in the finals. Also in the finals—Keller James, a celebrity chef from Britain she’s got a massive thing for. I’m pretty sure those two are making out like teenagers every time the camera stops rolling. And the feeling is mutual based on the way he looks at her. I’m happy for my sister, of course I am. Both of my sisters. Because the other one is currently on a business trip with her boss whom she claims to hate but we all know she’s secretly in love with.
Happy, happy, happy.
“Can we focus on the Hobby Reindeer Championships? Tell me everything. Beginning with what a Hobby Reindeer Championship is.” I get comfortable in the chair, preparing for an entertaining story because with Jillian, they often are.
“Okay, so, you know when you were a kid and you had a stick horse?”
“Um, no.” I shake my head in the negative bef
ore reaching for my coffee and taking a sip.
“Yes, you do.” She’s nearly aghast that I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You know, it was a stuffed horse head on a long wooden stick? Like a broomstick with a horse head? Surely you had one! Though now that I’m saying it out loud it does sound weird…” She trails off here, her face scrunched up while she mulls over the wonders of childhood.
“Right, okay. I remember those. We used to gallop around the house with them pretending we were cowgirls.”
“Right!” Jillian’s eyes light up. “So last summer I saw this documentary about hobbyhorse girls.”
“Hobbyhorse girls?” I repeat, not sure I have a clue where this is going.
“Exactly.” Jillian nods excitedly. “For years they were a secret society in Finland. For years,” she says again, stressing the importance of the words. “These young girls invented a form of hobbyhorse dressage in which they would prance and gallop like horses and enter competitions, but it was all very hush-hush.”
“Okay.” I draw the word out, even more confused than I was a moment before.
“It’s a really big deal in Finland. They make their own hobbyhorses, enter into jumping competitions, go to hobbyhorse conventions.” Jillian pauses to stuff a bite of scone into her mouth before adding, “You should watch the documentary. It was really uplifting.”
“Jillian?”
“Yeah?”
“What does that have to do with the Hobby Reindeer Championships?” I prod, even though I have an idea exactly what it has to do with the Hobby Reindeer Championships.
“Oh! Right. So I saw the documentary and decided I’d adapt it for Reindeer Falls. So I’ve got all the kids in the after-school program making reindeer on a stick for the competition next week.”
“Right, right.” I nod along as if this is the most logical idea Jillian’s ever come up with. “As one does. So what is the problem exactly?”
