Chapter 11 #2
Mayor Thompson takes the microphone. “And for our final judge, we pulled out all the stops. I am beyond honored to introduce Chef Dominic Laurent—world-renowned pastry chef, owner of three Michelin-starred restaurants, and star of the Netflix series The Pretty Plate.”
The room explodes with excitement.
But I’ve stopped breathing.
I might actually throw up.
Dominic’s face fills the screen with his chiseled jawline, dark hair perfectly styled, and those calculating honey-brown eyes that used to make me feel special.
Ice floods my veins, and my vision blurs.
Beside me, Lucas freezes.
“Chef Laurent has graciously agreed to join us via video,” Mayor Thompson announces. “Chef?”
Dominic sits in his New York office with the black-and-white photographs behind him, and the industrial shelving where every detail is as controlled and perfect as he is.
“Bonsoir, everyone.” That thick French accent is performative. “I’m delighted to be a part of this charming southern tradition. Texas baking has heart and authenticity. I’m very much looking forward to experiencing Merryville’s famous Christmas hospitality. I’ve heard so much about it.”
The way he says charming and hospitality makes my skin crawl. He’s heard me talk about it.
“I should mention something that makes this competition particularly meaningful to me.” He leans forward and gives one of those sexy smirks I used to adore. “I’ve learned my former fiancée is competing.”
The room goes silent, and every head whips toward me, even though he didn’t say my name.
Heat floods my face as my hands ball into fists. The walls close in. I can feel every eye on me—judging, pitying, and considering.
Someone mutters “oh shit” under their breath.
Mawmaw’s expression is unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that I can’t quite place.
Lucas’s entire body tenses beside me.
Dominic smiles, warm to everyone watching, but poisonous to me. “But let me assure you all, I take judging this competition very seriously. Every entry will be evaluated fairly and objectively. I’m here to celebrate exceptional baking, regardless of who created it.”
Lies. All lies.
“In fact,” he continues, and dread pools in my stomach, “I’m planning to arrive in Merryville early—next week, actually.
I thought it would be wonderful to connect with the town and experience your famous Christmas Festival firsthand.
” His eyes seem to bore through the camera directly into me.
“And of course, I’m hoping to spend some time with Holiday and catch up properly. We have so much to discuss.”
No. Nope.
Edna and her sisters erupt in excited whispers. This is the kind of drama they live for.
“Holiday and I built something extraordinary together in Paris. But I won’t bore you with details—I’m just thrilled to see what she creates.”
The room spins, and I think I’m going to be sick. I can feel it.
I hold on, swallowing down the saliva that pools in my mouth.
“I’m very much looking forward to seeing what Holiday creates for this competition,” Dominic continues smoothly.
“She trained under me for three years. I know exactly what she’s capable of when she’s working with the right partner.
But let’s be real, she only needs herself.
Can’t wait to see you all and hope to experience the magic of Merryville. ”
The emphasis on partner is deliberate and threatening.
The room erupts in whispers and a seemingly collective “Aw.”
“Her ex wants her back!” someone says.
“This is so romantic!” exclaims another person.
My throat closes. I can’t get enough air.
“Good luck to all the contestants,” Dominic continues with that rehearsed smile.
The screen goes dark, and the room explodes with noise.
I can’t breathe or think. The room is too loud, too bright, too full of eyes staring at me, whispering about me, and speculation about what I’ll choose.
I stand to leave, trying to avoid everyone’s conversations about me. I walk out of the room.
“Holiday—” My mom reaches for me with worry etched on her face.
“I need air.” My voice cracks.
I shove through the crowd toward the exit, stumbling over someone’s feet.
I make it outside, and the cold air slaps my face. I stumble to the side of the building as I start dry heaving. Nothing comes up.
I feel Lucas’s hand on my back, hesitant at first, then more firm. Steadying me.
“Breathe,” he says quietly.
I want to shove him away, but his hand is the only thing keeping me grounded.
Dominic is coming here. Next week. And he won’t make this easy for me.
The realization crashes over me that he probably pulled whatever strings necessary to get on that panel once my name was posted online as a contestant.
This is exactly the types of games he likes to play, and he loves an audience.
“Holiday,” Lucas says beside me.
“Please,” I tell him, trying to throw up. “Leave me alone.”
“No.” He’s standing there with his hands clenched into fists and every muscle tense with rage.
“I can’t do this.” My voice breaks. “I have to quit, Lucas.”
“Absolutely not,” Lucas says, his jaw locking in place.
I try to move past him to go to my car. He grabs my hand, pulling me to him. “I can’t.”
He lifts my chin. “The Holiday I know isn’t a fucking quitter.”
“You don’t know me anymore, Lucas. Let me go.”
He shakes his head. “Not happening, Peaches.”
“Stop calling me that,” I say.
“Not a chance, HoHo.” His smile is small, almost sad.
“Someone has to remind you who you are because you seem to have forgotten.” He’s closer now, so close, I can see the gold flecks in his eyes.
“We’re doing this. We’ll make sure our cookies are so damn good he has no choice but to judge fairly.
Make him eat his words. We make him watch you succeed without him. ”
“I don’t have the energy to fight you both.”
His stare is unwavering. “Giving up isn’t an option.”
“Okay.”
He’s looking at me like he can see straight through to my soul. “Prove to him and everyone else that you don’t need him. That you never did.”
Then he turns and starts to walk away, leaving me gasping against the wall.
“So now you want to bake with me?” I ask.
He laughs. “Shut up.”
I stand in the cold, watching the whole town glow.
A shiver runs over me, so I walk to my car and get inside.
I lean my head against the steering wheel, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing.
Dominic will be here next week, and I know he’s going to try to take me away from the one place I’ve ever really belonged.
And Lucas is standing beside me, ready to fight for this.
I drive home in a daze and go upstairs to crash in my bed.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it from my pocket.
Lucas
I’m worried about you.
Holiday
Don’t be.
Lucas
Too bad. Deal with it.
Holiday
I’ll be fine.
Lucas
You will, but right now, you’re not.
He genuinely cares, and that wraps around me like a promise, like a memory, like everything we used to be.
I slide out of my clothes and shower until my skin turns red. Afterward, I collapse into bed, but I don’t fall asleep.
In less than four weeks, I have to stand in front of hundreds of people and bake beside Lucas while Dominic watches, while Dominic tries to prove I belong to him, and while the whole town watches to see what move I make.
The love triangle rumors have already started.
My phone glows on the nightstand. I reach over to read the text.
Lucas
Night, HoHo.
I stare at it until my vision blurs. Then I press the phone to my chest and let myself cry for everything we lost, for everything we might still lose, and for the impossible situation I’ve been put in.
When I open my eyes, I focus on the glow-in-the-dark stars until they blur to nothing.
And for the first time since I came back home, I think about staying instead of leaving. I dream about Christmas lights and cookies and a town that feels like home. I dream about choosing him, choosing us, choosing to fight for something instead of running away.
When I wake up, I can’t remember the details.
But the feeling lingers.
I think it’s hope. Or maybe it’s delusion.