The Trouble With Christmas Read online

  Nate followed my gaze and asked, “Did you want to go hang out with Garland and his lady bait?”

  I gave him a flat look, pretending I didn’t care. But under the surface, I was bristling with annoyance. I waved him off. “Nah, we can see the stage better from here.”

  Nate opened his mouth, probably to make a smart comment, but someone tapped the microphone, causing a loud screech of feedback. The crowd covered their ears while Mrs. Newport found the best place to stand without making everyone deaf.

  “Welcome to this year’s Yuletide Pageant kick-off,” she said. The crowd went wild, clapping and hollering and whistling. She signaled for everyone to settle down, and the shouts became subdued murmurs. “This year, we have an unprecedented number of contestants.” Somehow, she singled me out in the throng of people. Her eyes bore through me like heated laser beams. “A few of them so shocking, it hardly seems believable.” A bunch of heads whipped my direction, followed by a chorus of snickers.

  “Surprises notwithstanding,” she continued, “the next four days promise to be packed with excitement and abounding in Christmas spirit.” There was another round of applause, and once again Kathy had to quiet the crowd.

  I spoke softly to Nate. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  He gave me a devilish grin and whispered back, “Shhh. Talk like that’s going to get you candy-caned.” I rolled my eyes at the pun, even though it was clever.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready to hear the first challenge?”

  “Yeah!” the audience yelled.

  Kathy grinned, drawing out a long pause to keep the people in suspense. “The first challenge of the year is to create a gingerbread house that depicts a Christmas scene. The only caveat is that everything in your scene must be edible.” Excited whispers rippled across the park. “Contestants, you have until 7 p.m. on the dot. Those entries not in their designated spot by the deadline will be disqualified. Now, on your marks…get set…go!”

  The townsfolk scattered in every direction. A big group headed straight to Cooper’s. I was suddenly very glad Mom had slipped and given us the heads up. Nate looked at me and held out his elbow. “You ready to go?”

  I laced my arm through his. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I wanted to jump straight into cooking, but Nate insisted that we do an architectural rendering first—his words, not mine. It was actually a good idea, because it made us realize that we needed to bake two batches of gingerbread. We decided to go out on a limb and promote our house to a church. It’d have stained glass windows made of homemade hard candy and a tall steeple that housed chocolate bells.

  Nate did the actual making of the gingerbread, thank heavens. When the first batch got in the oven, he whipped up a bowl of icing. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment paper and started drawing on it with a pencil. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making a pattern,” he answered, the duh implied.

  “What for?”

  “For our church, dummy.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “Thanks. I figured that much. I meant, why do we need a pattern?”

  He paused his drawing and looked up at me. “Real houses need blueprints. Gingerbread houses need patterns. If you don’t make all the pieces equal in size, they won’t fit together. When you go to glue it, you’ll have gaps. It’ll look awful.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Nate tapped me on the forehead with his pencil and grinned. “Which is why I’m the structural engineer and you’re the landscape architect.”

  “Landscape architect?” I asked skeptically.

  “Yes. You’re in charge of making Christmas trees out of green gumdrops.”

  “Psh,” I scoffed, displaying a large amount of false bravado. I mean, how hard could that be? “Easy-peasy. I got this.”

  Turns out, I didn’t got anything. My trees looked as if someone had hacked at them with a tiny, sugary chainsaw. “Why are they so awful?” I asked Nate on my dozenth failed attempt.

  He chuckled. “Because you’re doing it wrong.”

  I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Well, you could have told me that after I screwed up the first one.”

  “Yes, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.” He stuck his finger into the bowl of icing and bopped my nose with it. “Plus, you’re really cute when your frustrated.”

  “I hate you.” I growled.

  “You love me.” He grinned and swiped at my cheek with the rest of the icing.

  “Oh no, you didn’t!” I grabbed for the bowl, but he held it over his head where there was no hope of me reaching it. Not that I was comparing them, but height was one area where Nate had Evan beat. I was five-eight. Evan was barely taller than me, so I’d guess him to be about five-ten. Nate was six-two and a half. Whenever I failed to recognize that extra half inch, I got in big trouble.

  If I was being fair, Nate was probably more muscular, too. He worked out a ton because he played football, basketball, and baseball. He really did have a great body. I could admit that to myself, but I’d never tell him. His head would get big enough to be the fifth bust on Mt. Rushmore.

  In fact, Nate’s short blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin made him the exact opposite of Evan in every way. My brother’s roommate was handsome and provocative, like a mysterious-billionaire-techno-tycoon-slash-underwear model. Nate was cute, like puppies and baby goats. Or a four-year-old telling a bad knock-knock joke.

  I jumped up on a barstool for added height, but he plucked me off it and held me to his chest with my feet dangling. “Put me down,” I insisted.

  “Stop trying to get the icing.”

  “Hey, you started it.”

  He gave me a wicked smile as he set me on the floor. “And I’ll finish it, too. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  “You’d be wise to remember that,” I mimicked in a nasally voice. He looked like he might scoop me back up, but the timer on the oven buzzed, and he ran over to check the gingerbread. When he opened the door, the delicious smell wafted out, making me salivate.

  Garland magically appeared behind me and smirked at Nate, who was wearing Mom’s tree skirt apron. “That’s a good look for you,” he teased.

  Nate puffed out his chest. “I’m secure enough to pull it off.”

  Evan was silently assessing Nate from the doorway. A look passed between them. I don’t know what it meant, but it felt primal and predatory. The very thought of Evan staking a claim on me sent shivers down my spine—in a good way.

  Nate broke eye contact first and looked down at me. “I need to go get the raspberry and banana extract from my house. I’ll grab some food coloring while I’m there. Be right back.” He left without removing the apron, truly confident enough not to care who saw him in it.

  Garland’s phone rang, and he walked into the living room to answer it, leaving me alone with Evan. “So,” he said as he edged my way. His voice was hypnotic, trapping me in place. I felt like a fly in a spider’s web. “Do I get to try your gingerbread?”

  “Sure.” I gulped and turned around to slice him a piece. He stepped even closer until his chest skimmed my back. I inhaled slowly, centering myself before I cut a tiny section of gingerbread from the corner of the pan. When I turned around, he was inches from my face, searing me with a heated stare. “Here,” I said, croaking out a barely audible whisper.

  “Looks yummy,” he whispered back, his tone silky and smooth. I held up the cookie, but instead of taking it from me, he blew on it, his gentle breath tickling my fingers. Then he placed his hands on either side of me, resting them on the counter, and leaned in. My heart raced wildly when he opened his mouth and took a bite. His eyes drifted shut for a moment while he savored the taste.

  I thought about licking the stray crumb off his lips. Don’t you dare, I silently warned myself.

  “Mmm.” Evan practically moaned. “Your cookies are better than
I imagined.” His eyes were twinkling mischievously as they darted toward my lips. “And I’ve imagined tasting them many times.” The words were laced with double meaning. “My compliments to the chef.”

  Someone cleared their throat across the kitchen. Evan took a step back, and my head popped up to see Nate standing there, arms folded across his chest. “Thanks,” he replied gruffly. “I get a lot of compliments on my gingerbread. On all my cooking, actually.”

  “Do you now?” Evan crooned with an impish smirk. He scanned Nate’s brooding form, wrapped up in a frilly apron. “I never would have guessed.”

  Nate stood a little taller and squared his shoulders. “Ask any girl; they’ll tell you I’m excellent in the kitchen.”

  “Perhaps you are,” Evan admitted. “But maybe they haven’t been in enough kitchens to know the difference between excellent and amazing.”

  Call me crazy, but I got the feeling they weren’t talking about baking anymore.

  Nate kept his cool, though his face was red, and his biceps were flexing. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a lot to do and not much time left.”

  Evan looked back at me. “I’ll leave you to it. Can’t wait to see the finished product. Thanks for the bite.” He nipped at me and sauntered from the room.

  “What was that?” I hissed, when I felt confident that Evan was out of earshot.

  The timer on the second batch of gingerbread went off, and Nate pulled it out of the oven. “The guy’s a creep.”

  “He’s not a creep.” I frowned. “Sure, he’s a bit forward, but he’s sweet.”

  Nate huffed loudly. He didn’t say anything else as he grabbed a saucepan and measured out the ingredients for our candied stained glass windows. The silence was an indicator that I shouldn’t press the issue. After a while, his chilly demeanor thawed, but we weren’t having fun the same way we did before he walked in on me and Evan.

  I wanted to tell Nate to suck it up. To stop acting like a wild animal who was marking its territory. Being my best friend didn’t give him the right to play judge and jury with all the boys I liked. But I was sick of fighting, and I really needed him right now. So, I was the one who sucked it up even though I thought he was wrong. Because that’s what best friends do.

  Nate’s detail work was so intricate that we took almost two whole hours decorating the gingerbread church. And when I say we, I really mean he. I was barely any help. I fetched and handed things like a technician would for a surgeon. I didn’t mind, though, because it was always fascinating to watch him do his thing.

  Tina is a prominent and successful craft blogger. When she’s not using Nate as a guinea pig for new ideas, she’s putting him to work. Plus, he does all the filming for each blog segment. It’s safe to say he’s picked up a few tricks of the trade. The apple didn’t fall very far from the tree when it came to his talent and artistic flare.

  “Slow down,” I complained, trying to keep up with his long stride. We were walking at a brisk pace. Like everything else in town, the high school was close to my house, but it was already quarter to seven. And since it was dark now, the sidewalks were just as icy as the roads. “You’re going to slip and splatter that thing all over the pavement.”

  Nate huffed but gripped the pan, holding our beautiful church a little tighter. “No, that’s something you’d do. I have the agility and grace of a large cat.”

  “A large cat? You mean, like Snowball?” I ribbed. Snowball was Mrs. Newport’s fluffy white Persian. He was mean, lazy, and so fat that Nate and I theorized he’d eaten all his littermates in the womb.

  The moon was bright enough to see that Nate was glaring at me over his shoulder. “No. Like a panther or a jaguar.”

  I shook my head. “You look more like Snowball to me.”

  “That’s because your vision is all messed up. I’m beginning to think you need glasses. Anyone who’s attracted to that cocky little prat needs their eyes examined.”

  “Pulling out the British slang tonight? You must be really annoyed.” I laughed. “I assume the cocky little prat you’re referring to is Evan?”

  “Well, clearly I don’t mean myself.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded my agreement. “You’re too tall to be a little prat.”

  Nate stopped in his tracks, and I smacked into him. Luckily, he was right about the agility thing. The gingerbread didn’t so much as wobble. He turned to face me. His expression was stern, intensified by the large puff of frosty white air escaping his mouth. “The guy’s a player. You know that, right?”

  I waved my hand dismissively. “He’s a harmless flirt.”

  “You’re in denial.”

  “I can handle myself.” I tried to reassure him.

  “I don’t want you to handle yourself,” he grumbled, then started walking again. He’d been angry at me yesterday, but this felt different. “And I definitely don’t want him handling you.”

  We didn’t speak again until we reached the school. Nate ran up the stairs ahead of me, but the person in front of him didn’t hold the door open. His foot shot out to stop it from latching shut. “A little help here?” He nodded toward the handle in agitation.

  I jogged up and grabbed the door. Once inside, he tried to walk away, but I clutched his elbow and forced him to look at me. “What’s the big deal? Evan’s hot, but it’s not like anything’s going to happen. He’ll be back to school next week, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

  “Or you’ll hang out every weekend when he drives down to do his laundry.” Nate’s frown was a borderline pout. I bit back a smile. It was cute when he got jealous.

  “Why would he do that?” I asked, with an exasperated sigh.

  “So he has an excuse to see you,” Nate answered, as if the reason was obvious.

  I snorted. “He’s not going to drive three hours to do his laundry, just so he can see me.”

  His eyebrows bunched together. “I would.”

  My mouth fell open, and I quickly snapped it shut. My surprise wasn’t caused by his words but by the sincerity with which he said them. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I went with a playful punch in the arm and a toothy grin. “Yes, but that’s because you love me.”

  He hesitated, as if he was holding something back. An unreadable expression passed over his face before he clenched his jaw. “Better not forget it, either,” he quipped, sassy as ever. Then he headed toward the gym like the whole bizarre exchange hadn’t happened.

  We dropped off our entry and spent the next forty-five minutes wandering around, checking out the competition. There were big houses and little houses. Some were simple and some were so complex my eyes didn’t know where to focus. We saw a few exquisite creations and a couple that rivaled my sixth grade spaghetti-marshmallow project.

  Nate and I weren’t the only contestants to bend the concept. There were three gingerbread houses that looked more like gingerbread mansions and one that was a full-on castle. Ours was the only church, though. We ended up working a nativity into the landscape, which was hard because it had to be edible. Technically a church wasn’t a house, but when we found out that Reverend Johnson was on the judging panel, we took a calculated risk.

  “Who do you think did this one?” I asked, poking at the drawbridge on the castle. The cables holding it over the moat were made of red and green candy necklaces. The icy water below consisted of blue gummy bears. It sounds weird, but it looked kind of cool.

  “Wickham did it, for sure,” Nate answered confidently.

  “How do you know it’s Sebastian’s?” Nate knew Sebastian better than I did. He was a senior when we were freshmen. The guy was in AP Art, show choir, and drama. He had a flare for the artistic and dramatic.

  “I just know. He had to one-up himself this year. Only he would do something so gaudy.” Nate looked envious and disgusted at the same time. “I’ve got to hand it to him, though. A castle was a sneaky way to break the rules.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “How is
that breaking the rules? A castle’s more of a house than a church is. At least people live in a castle.”

  “A church is a house,” Nate insisted as he pondered. “It’s Jesus’s house.”

  “Jesus doesn’t live in a church, moron.” I chuckled. “He lives in heaven.”

  Nate glowered at me. “Whatever.”

  A hand slipped around my waist at the same time a low, sexy voice said, “Hey there.” Thankfully I was wearing long sleeves, because goose bumps ran down my arms.

  “Hi,” I replied, trying to act cool. Evan was grinning, which made Nate scowl. Garland seemed bent on ignoring the turf war.

  “Is this one yours?” Evan asked.

  “No way.” Garland hooted. “This one has got to be Sebastian’s.”

  “That’s what he thinks.” I pointed my thumb at Nate.

  “It’s way too garish to be anyone else’s.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, cocking my head to examine the castle. “I kind of like it.” I did a double take when I realized what my brother said. “Did you just say garish?”

  Garland snobbishly turned his nose in the air. “I use big words now that I’m a college man. And I’m not surprised you like Wickham’s castle. You’re exceedingly ostentatious.”

  “Rude!” I huffed. “Our entry is the least ostentatious one here.”

  “Ah, let me guess.” Garland pretended to think. “You guys did the church?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “It’s the best.” Garland shrugged. I started to smile proudly—until he added, “Anything Nate makes is the best.”

  “Hey!” I screeched and shoved him. “I helped.”

  Nate put his arm around me and nodded. “She was an excellent assistant.”

  Evan’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. Then he reached out and grabbed my hand. “Why don’t you show me your church? I haven’t gotten to vote yet. I was saving my ballot for you.”