Chapter 29
HOLIDAY
The past week has been a blur of flour, sugar, and stolen moments with Lucas.
We’ve been working ourselves to exhaustion, trying to maintain the farm and the bakery with the crowds of customers on the property.
I’ve obsessively been trying to perfect every detail of our contest entry because I won’t give those professional judges one reason not to choose us.
The shortbread fudge cookie base will be exactly right with crispy edges, a chewy fudge top, with just enough chocolate to balance the buttery shortbread.
The homemade vanilla bean ice cream needs to be churned at an exact time so it doesn’t melt and turn into a sloppy mess.
Every practice run we’ve done this week has been timed down to the second.
We have exactly three hours to prepare everything from scratch in front of the judges, and we’ve been rehearsing until we can do it in our sleep.
The contest itself isn’t that serious. Any other time, I wouldn’t go to these lengths, but Dominic discredited me very publicly, and now I have something to prove.
I won’t allow him to embarrass me in front of four other industry professionals.
This is one example of my being overqualified that I will happily accept.
“You’re so pretty,” Lucas tells me, tucking loose hair that’s fallen out of my bun behind my ear.
“You are, too,” I tell him as we work around the kitchen in perfect sync, like we can predict one another’s moves.
This past week, baking consumed us, but sneaking around did, too.
We’ve exchanged many stolen kisses in the back of the bakery when we think no one’s watching. I’ve spent too many late nights at his place while we try to keep our relationship private. But the whole town seems determined to expose us.
We couldn’t even have breakfast at Glenda’s Diner without people staring.
Right after, pictures surfaced of our fingers touching across the table.
I’m almost convinced that not going public has made the articles worse.
They’re full of speculation, even though we’ve shown incredible restraint while out and about.
Old pictures of Dominic and me have surfaced from some internet black hole, making it seem like I’m dating them both, even though those photos are five years old.
This love triangle is a scandal that’s been fabricated to get more views.
My life went from a Hallmark movie to reality TV entertainment in weeks. I’m neither.
According to Bella, who’s friends with someone who works at the Merryville Inn, Dominic’s been asking about Lucas and me.
He wants to know when this relationship started.
I came home to escape him, and now it feels like the walls are closing in.
Thankfully, I’ve been so busy, I’ve barely been able to think straight.
Days and weeks have melted together, and I know I just need to survive the holidays.
Today’s practice run was supposed to be one of our final dress rehearsals before the contest next Saturday.
Lucas and I make it through the shortbread cookies and fudge in the first ninety minutes. The ice cream base is prepared and churning by the two-hour mark. We’re on track, working in perfect sync, when Lucas pulls me close against the counter and kisses me.
“Mm,” I hum against his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Don’t get used to this.”
“Why not?” He kisses down my neck, making it hard to think.
“Because when we’re actually competing, we can’t do this as much as I want to,” I remind him. “We have to be professional.”
Lucas steals another kiss and smirks. “Okay. Sure.”
“Lucas…come on. I don’t want any drama.”
“There won’t be any. I’ll behave. Promise.” He shoots me a wink.
“One more week,” I say, cupping his face.
He pulls me close again, resting his forehead against mine. “I know, Peaches. We’ve got this. Now, let’s finish this so you’re not late for dinner with your parents.”
“You’re right,” I tell him, glancing up at the clock on the wall.
We finish the practice run in two hours and fifty-six minutes—four minutes to spare. The cookie base is perfect, and the fudge is soft. The ice cream is creamy and smooth with visible vanilla bean flecks. After we’ve got the presentation down, I pull out my phone and take a picture.
“Shall we?” Lucas asks, and I grab two spoons. We tap our utensils together.
Lucas takes a bite and closes his eyes. “This is it. It’s incredible.”
I taste mine and have to agree. There is just enough richness from the ice cream without overpowering the other flavors. The shortbread and fudge with the ice cream makes it melt in my mouth. The combination of textures is perfect.
“We’re ready,” I say, but my anxiety about competing twists in my stomach. I know how cruel Dominic can be, how particular he is. He will not go easy on me.
“Hey.” Lucas turns me to face him. “We’ve got this. Stop overthinking.”
“I can’t help it. It’s what I do.”
He kisses my forehead. “We’re going to walk in there Saturday, bake our asses off, and win.”
I want to believe him.
We clean the kitchen together, and I gather my things. “I should go. Don’t want to be late.”
“You sure you don’t want to skip?” His hand slides to my hip. “Come back to my place instead?”
“Tempting. Very tempting. But they’ve barely seen me this week. I should probably show my face.”
“Fair enough.” He steals one more kiss. “Text me later?”
“Of course.”
Lucas watches me with that soft expression.
I love you. The words sit on my tongue, desperate to come out.
But what if it’s too soon? What if he thinks I’m rushing things? We just started this—really started this, even though it’s been decades in the making—a week ago. So, I swallow the words down and just smile. “Great job today.”
“You too.” Something flickers in his eyes, like he can sense what I’m not saying. “See you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.”
We lock up the bakery and leave at the same time.
As I drive home in the setting December sun, I should feel accomplished and proud. Instead, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.
When I pull into the driveway, the first thing I notice is the black Mercedes parked next to my mom’s SUV.
My stomach drops.
No. No, no, no.
I sit in the driveway for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to calm my racing heart. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s just someone else’s Mercedes. Maybe—
Through the window, I see him. Dominic Laurent, standing in my parents’ kitchen, laughing at something my father just said.
Rage floods through me.
I get out of the car and walk up the driveway on shaking legs. After a deep breath, I walk inside. Dominic sees me and his face lights up with the charming smile that used to make me weak. Now, it just makes me want to throw something at his head.
“Ma chérie!” He opens his arms like he expects me to hug him. “What perfect timing. Your parents and I were just having the most delightful conversation.”
“What are you doing here?” The words come out harsher than I intended but I don’t care.
“Holiday!” My mother appears behind Dominic. “Look who stopped by! Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”
Lovely isn’t the word I’d use.
“Dominic was in the neighborhood and thought he’d stop by to say hello,” my father adds.
“In the neighborhood, five miles outside of town? That’s convenient,” I say, shocked this is happening.
“We’ve been having a wonderful chat about your time in Paris,” Dad says.
Of course, they have. Because my parents don’t know what Dominic really is. Mom knows the PG-rated version, but I never told them how poorly he treated me and how he controlled me. All they see is the charming French chef who swept their daughter off to Europe.
“Have a glass of wine, sweetheart,” my mother says. “We were just about to have lasagna, and I made your favorite bourbon chocolate cake.”
I want to refuse. I want to grab Dominic by his expensive jacket and throw him off my parents’ property. But they’re looking at me with smiles, and I can’t make a scene.
“Fine,” I manage through gritted teeth.
We move to the dining room, and the situation feels surreal. Dominic sits at the table like he belongs here. My mother serves him sweet tea in her crystal glassware. My father chats about how successful the bakery has been since I started managing it.
This is a living nightmare.
I sink into the chair across from Dominic, and he gives me that smile again.
“Dominic told us about your scuba diving trip to Belize. It sounded incredible,” Mom says.
“It was a long time ago,” I tell her flatly.
“Indeed.” His eyes hold mine. “So many things were different then.”
My mother brings out the lasagna and cuts us each a slice. She places garlic bread on the table. I chug wine and end up filling up my glass as I glare at him.
“Why are you here?” I finally ask.
He glances at my parents, then back at me. “Because I miss you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Holiday,” Dad says. “You’re being rude.”
“You’re absolutely right. Apologies.” For the rest of dinner, I don’t say a single word. I eat, I drink, and I don’t engage in any of the conversations around me.
“Honey, you’re so quiet,” Mom eventually says when our plates are cleaned.
“You taught me if I don’t have anything nice to say, then I shouldn’t say anything at all,” I say as she brings out the chocolate cake. I watch in horror as she cuts Dominic an enormous slice. He takes a bite and practically moans.
“Mrs. Patterson, this is divine. Absolutely exquisite. Would you be willing to share the recipe?”
“Oh, of course!” My mother is glowing under his attention. “It’s been in our family for generations.”