Chapter 7
HOLIDAY
The next morning starts like any other, except I actually got some sleep. No dreams about Lucas, no tossing and turning. I experienced blissful unconsciousness until my alarm screamed for me to get the heck up at four.
Small victories.
I’m in the bakery kitchen by five, pulling prepped dough from the fridge and arranging baking sheets. The rhythm is soothing. By seven, I’ve got three hundred gingerbread stars cooling and another batch of peppermint bark cookies in the oven.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket.
Emma
Congrats! Saw the news first thing this morning. So excited for you!
My brows furrow. What news?
Holiday
Um…I think you texted the wrong person.
Emma
No, I didn’t! Check the town Facebook page.
A second later, she sends a screenshot. I make it bigger and my blood runs cold.
It’s a post on the Merryville Community page with photos of me and Lucas side by side.
Welcome to our newest Cookie Contest team: Holiday Patterson & Lucas Jolly! Can’t wait to see what magic these two create together!
I stare at the screen. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Holiday
EXCUSE ME? I did not sign up for this.
Emma
What? There was a whole packet that had to be filled out to enter, plus a $250 entry fee.
My hands shake as I type.
Holiday
NO! Who would do this without asking? Lucas?
Emma
It would’ve had to have been him. Did you see the prize this year is $5,000?
I freeze.
$5,000.
That money could change everything. It could get me out of my parents’ house and give me a cushion while I wait to hear back from the NYC bakeries. That’s enough money to buy me time to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.
But working with Lucas for five weeks? Absolutely impossible.
Holiday
I’m going to City Hall after work to remove my name.
I set my phone down before I throw it across the kitchen.
Who would sign me up for this? And why would they pair me with Lucas of all people?
I text Sammy.
Holiday
Did you sign me up for a cookie baking contest with that monster?
Sammy
Why would I do that?
Holiday
For a dumb joke?
I send him the screenshot.
Sammy
HOT DAMN! That wasn’t me. But you should do it. You’d win.
Holiday
I’m not doing it.
Sammy
Why not? Scared you can’t handle working with Lucas? You know he’ll be banking on you to quit. That’s exactly what he wants.
Holiday
I don’t care. I left all my fucks in Paris.
I’m not scared. I know that Lucas and I can’t be in the same room for five minutes without wanting to kill each other. But then again, for five thousand dollars, I can almost handle anything.
Maybe he’ll quit, then I can find another partner to stand in. I really want to figure out who did this and get both our names removed before this becomes an even bigger disaster.
I yank off my apron and storm outside.
The farm is already busy, and cars are stacked as far as I can see in the loading area. Music plays, and children are laughing in the distance. Normally, I’d appreciate the festive atmosphere. Today, it just pisses me off.
I spot Jake unloading trees from a flatbed trailer.
“Where’s Lucas?” My voice comes out harsher than I mean, and I feel bad. He’s the nicest guy.
Jake blinks up at me. “Uh, I think he’s helping a family with their first tree cut. Down that path.” He points. “Everything okay?”
“I’m sorry for being short with you,” I say, already walking away.
The path feels longer than it should, giving me too much time to think about Bella saying Lucas hasn’t dated anyone seriously since I got engaged. Too much time to wonder why that information won’t leave my head.
I find him crouched down, showing a little kid how to hold a handsaw safely. He’s patient, smiling, and his voice is warm as he explains. The kid’s dad laughs at something Lucas says. For a brief moment, I see the guy I was friends with.
But when our eyes meet across the clearing, his smile vanishes. His expression goes blank.
He says something to the family, hands over the saw, then walks toward me with an attitude.
I force myself to stand my ground even though every instinct screams to turn around.
“Holiday—”
“Why did you sign me up for that contest?” I cut him off. “What kind of sick game is this?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You think I would do that? You’re the last person on this planet I want to see. Why would I volunteer to be around you? That’s modern-day torture.”
“Who did it?”
He crosses his arms. “Just quit.”
“No.” I let out a harsh laugh. “You quit.”
“Stop playing games. You don’t want to do it, so why don’t you march your sassy little ass down to the chamber and remove your name from the list?”
“Actually, I will,” I tell him. “You’re right. I’ll find someone else to partner with me. I advise you to do the same.”
We stare at each other. The air between us crackles with tension.
“You can’t do that,” he says.
“Actually, I can do whatever the fuck I want,” I tell him.
“You’re impossible,” he says as I turn to walk away. “Mawmaw signed us up.”
I turn back to him. “Why would she do that? You know what? I’m not doing this. Not here.”
I storm toward the bakery. Lucas’s boots crunch on the gravel behind me.
“Holiday—”
“Leave me alone!”
I reach the bakery and yank the door open. He catches it before I can slam it in his face.
“Get out,” I snap.
“Not until we finish this conversation.”
He steps inside. The bell jingles cheerfully. It’s completely opposite from the rage radiating off both of us.
“There’s nothing to finish.”
“You either quit or you bake with me.”
“You don’t get to make the rules, Lucas.” I scoff. “You know that if I bake against you, I’ll destroy you. You need me, don’t you?”
“No. I don’t fucking need you.” His voice rises. “You really think I want to spend the next five weeks trapped in a kitchen with you?”
We’re standing too close. Close enough that I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Close enough to notice the exhaustion in his eyes. I hate that I notice.
“Why do you hate me so much?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re selfish. You make promises you don’t keep.
You leave when things get hard.” He takes a step closer.
“You came back here because your perfect life in Paris fell apart, and now you’re slumming it in Merryville until you find your next escape.
That’s why I can’t allow you back into my life, and I’d very much prefer if you just went ahead and fucked straight off. ”
Each word is a knife.
“You don’t know anything about why I came back.”
“Sure, I do. I know your very public engagement ended, and your fancy culinary career hit a brick wall. So, you ran back home to lick your wounds, where everyone compliments you. When you’ve had enough, you’ll run away.” He leans in. “Just like you always do.”
“I didn’t run—”
“You left for culinary school and never looked back. Moved on in three months.” His voice is cold as ice. “Forgive me if I don’t trust a single word out of your mouth.”
“That’s what this is about? We never discussed being exclusive! You told me to live my life! One picture is posted of me and a guy on the internet and you ghost me!” My throat burns.
“You were on his fucking lap!” he yells.
“I’m doing this contest without you. Tell Mawmaw yourself.”
“Already planning to.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
We glare at each other.
“Now get out of my bakery,” I say.
“Gladly.”
“Why do you always do that? Have to have the last word. It’s annoying. You’re annoying,” I mutter.
He turns toward the door, and his phone rings.
He pulls it out, glances at the screen. “It’s Mawmaw.”
“Don’t answer it.”
Lucas rolls his eyes at me. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Peaches.”
“Stop with that.”
He answers, putting it on speaker.
“Honey!” Mawmaw’s voice fills the bakery, sweet and cheerful. “Did you tell Holiday about the contest?”
Lucas and I exchange looks.
“Yep,” he says. “She said she’ll do it, but she won’t work with me. Only against me.”
“What?” Mawmaw sounds disappointed, and I glare at Lucas.
“I told you she’s stubborn and selfish. And only thinks about herself. Sorry, Mawmaw, I know you had your heart set on us winning this for you,” he says, really playing it up.
I hate you, I mouth, and it breaks my heart to hear his grandmother’s disappointed voice.
“Now, hold on just a minute,” Mawmaw says, her voice shifting. “Where are you right now?”
“Funny you should ask,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m at the bakery.”
“With Holiday? Let me speak to her,” Mawmaw says.
I shake my head.
“Oh, you’re on speakerphone and she heard the entire conversation, so go ahead,” he says, giving me a shit-eating grin.
“Honey, can you explain to me why you won’t work with my grandson?”
I sarcastically laugh. “Because he’s impossible. He hates me. He’s mean, and he says horrible things. We can’t be in the same room without fighting.”
“That’s not true,” Mawmaw says sweetly. “You’re in the same room right now.”
“And we’re fighting,” Lucas points out.
“I’m sure it’s just normal bickering,” she offers. “There’s a difference. Now listen, both of you. I already paid the two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar entry fee from my Christmas fund.”
Lucas grits his teeth. “Mawmaw—”
“That was money I was going to use for gifts. But I thought keeping our family’s twenty-year winning streak was more important.”
Guilt slams into me. Twenty years?
“The rules changed this year,” she continues. “Teams only. No solo entries. If one of you withdraws from the team, neither of you can reenter with another contestant. That’s so no one can cheat. So, either you work together and win, or you both lose.”
“That’s not—” I start.
“That’s the rules,” Mawmaw singsongs.
Lucas and I stare at each other in horror.
“I guess you’ll both be quick and let me down easy,” Mawmaw says, her voice taking on that steel-beneath-sugar tone.
The silence is deafening.
“I really had my heart set on this. Everyone was so excited to see you both working together after Lucas supported you so openly and bought all those cookies.”
Lucas looks like he wants to murder someone. Possibly me. Possibly his grandmother.
“We’re not doing the contest,” he says flatly.
Silence.
“Lucas James Jolly.” She only says that when he’s in trouble.
He closes his eyes.
“Your parents raised you better than this.”
“This isn’t about—”
“Twenty years, Lucas. Twenty years our family has won. Your brothers won. And now it’s your turn.” Her voice cracks slightly. “This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”
“Don’t pull the guilt card, Mawmaw,” Lucas mutters. “I see what you’re doing.”
“I’m stating facts.” She pauses.
“I’m leaving it up to Holiday,” Lucas says, smirking.
My mouth falls open.
“Holiday! Honey, please do this for me.”
He completely trapped me. We both know it.
“Go ahead, Holiday. Tell her you can’t commit,” he mutters.
I want to say no. Want to tell her I can’t spend five weeks working with someone who looks at me like I’m the worst mistake he ever made.
“Pretty please with sugar on top?” she begs.
“One baking session,” I force out. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”
Lucas rolls his eyes. “Stubborn.”
“Thank you!” Mawmaw says and hangs up before either of us can respond.
Lucas and I stand there, staring at his phone like it’s a bomb that just went off.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” he finally says.
“Agreed.”
“I’m going to make baking with me so unbearable you’ll quit.”
My spine straightens. “Good luck with that. I think I’d rather torture you for the next five weeks. Mawmaw would be so disappointed if her perfect little grandson couldn’t handle his stinky-ass attitude.”
He grins. “Everyone has a breaking point.”
I cross my arms. “Try me, Jolly.”
His eyes flash with something dangerous. “You’re going to hate your life.”
“Ah, well. Nothing new there.”
He walks to the door, pauses with his hand on the handle. Turns back to look at me. “Can’t wait for you to leave.”
I laugh in his face.
His voice drops. “I meant what I said about you being selfish. Don’t expect me to be nice just because Mawmaw wants us to pretend like we’re friends.”
“I don’t expect anything from you, Lucas. Just your impossible attitude.”
For a second, something like pain flashes across his face, then it’s replaced by cold hatred.
“Good. Then we understand each other.”
He leaves. The door closes with a soft click.
I stand there, shaking with anger as the timer goes off.
I return to the kitchen, check my pecan cookies. They’re perfectly golden, not a single one burned. I take them off the tray, and my hands are shaking.
Lucas is right about everyone having a breaking point, and I just hope he never finds mine. He will try, though.
This cannot be happening.