Chapter 15 Misty #2
Mason picks up all of my tiny gold candy balls and dumps them on a gloopy cookie.
“It’s all for the video,” I mutter, trying to stay zen as the kitchen erupts in icing and testosterone. The players jostle around the island like they’re at a frat party instead of a PR shoot. One of them actually licks frosting off another’s hand.
Cocoa yelps when a green glob of icing lands on her head.
Sienna snickers from where she’s mixing up the boozy filling for the thumbprint cookies. “Nothing says ‘holiday spirit’ like forced team bonding in an open kitchen with fake smiles and unpaid labor.”
The socials will get an adorable video of the giant NHLers sloppily icing cookies. Meanwhile, their girlfriends step in to “fix” everything for the photos.
“Because god forbid a man know how to do anything other than drive a truck and jack off,” I mumble.
“You’re in a mood.” Talbot easily rolls out the next batch of dough then slides it over to Lucy, who’s cutting out stars.
“Can you please be careful rolling those? They’re pinwheel cookies, not pin-oval cookies.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows to a bemused Talbot. “Cookies stress Misty out. We have all learned not to take it personally.”
“I’m not stressed. I love decorating cookies with fifty of my closest friends.” I roll out the dough.
“It’s shocking that you found someone other than me to put up with your nagging.” Austen is snide.
“Yeah?” I look up. “Maybe if you were a little more perfectionist, you wouldn’t keep missing those shots on net, Austen.”
The words settle like a fog over the room.
A good WAG doesn’t tell her boyfriend or husband how to play hockey. She wears his number, smiles, and shuts up.
Grandma Pam’s eyes bug out, and my mom buries her face in her hands. The WAGs at the decorating table gasp in horror.
Sienna silently cheers.
Talbot pats the roll of sprinkle-covered dough, dark glee in his eyes. He flashes me a smirk then drawls, cutting through the silence, “Well, she ain’t wrong.”
Mason snickers then clamps his mouth shut at a look from Ryan.
I don’t look at Ryan. Or Austen.
Part of me is pleased Talbot’s proud of me. The other is dreading the lecture I’m going to get from my mom.
I really need to stop getting all my sense of self-worth from a man.
“You’re one to talk, still living in your parents’ house. You’re just jealous; it’s pathetic.” Austen grabs my wrist, spoiling the cookie I’m trying to cut out.
His fingers barely brush my skin, then Talbot bodychecks Austen against the kitchen island, sending the sprinkles rattling.
Ryan sucks in a breath. The rookies’ eyes bug out.
“Don’t touch me!” Austen yelps. “Do you even know who I am?”
“Yeah, Austen Langley, who has the worst plus-minus on the team, can’t win a face-off to save his life, and skates like someone stapled bricks to his ankles.
He’s got more Instagram endorsements than goals this season.
And don’t even get me started on his shooting percentage—it’s lower than my patience. ”
Mason barks out a laugh then claps a hand to his mouth. Jaxon and Caleb, giggling, jump behind me.
Austen looks like he’s about to punch my younger brother.
I go into soothe-Austen mode.
“He doesn’t mean it. You’re just messing with him, right? Talbot?”
Austen is furious. “You’re gonna—”
Behind me, Talbot takes out a large knife. A metallic noise slithers over the room as he sharpens the blade.
“What was that, Langley?” Talbot says over the blade sharpening. He’s eerily calm, and the gray of his eyes matches the silver of the blade. “Do we have a problem?”
It’s the first time that I’ve ever really thought, Oh yeah, he might be about to off someone.
“No,” Austen mutters, turning away from me.
Talbot brings the knife down—whack!—on the roll of sprinkle-crusted dough for the green-and-red pinwheel cookies.
He gives me a feral smile. “You done ruining those cookies yet, Gumdrop?”
We’re six hundred cookies deep and going strong.
Granny’ Keagan’s tapped in, and she’s shipping out cookies faster than I can frost them.
“Lucy, you need to keep that hawk’s feet parallel to the hockey-stick blade.” I quickly put eyes on the smiling reindeer cookie I’m finishing.
“I don’t think people are going to notice if the logo isn’t exact.” Sienna glances over. “Especially since certain people aren’t even using the correct colors.”
Brielle and the WAGs have given up even pretending to decorate cookies. A few of the craftier ones have kept up with it, but they’re slow.
“We’re behind schedule, and quality control is slipping.”
Sorry, Lucy mouths.
“Orrr,” Sienna says, “why don’t you do the Christmas ornaments?”
One of the multitude of timers rings, and I pull the tray of keto cookies out of the oven.
“Actually, let’s subtract fifty cookies from that total.” Talbot opens the trash can. “These cookies smell vile; you can’t give these to people.”
“They’re keto; we have to. Mason wanted them. He specifically asked,” I protest.
“‘No’ is a complete sentence, especially when someone wants you to create an affront to nature.” Talbot dumps the cookies into the trash, followed by the chickpea flour.
“Little brothers are idiots. Trust me, I have two of them. You can’t serve those; you’ll go to jail.
I don’t care how many blow jobs your grandmother is giving the health inspector. ”
Grandma Pam looks up from the cookie she’s decorating. “That woman.”
“Unlike you, I actually work for a living!” Granny Keagan brandishes a candy cane cookie cutter in Pam’s direction.
“Why are we making penis cookies?” one of the drunker WAGs slurs. “I thought the bachelorette party was next weekend.”
I clap my hands over the four-year-old’s ears.
Too late. He takes off, shrieks of “Penis cookie!” ringing through the house.
“This is why I bake alone.”
We’re at fifteen hundred cookies, piled high in towers.
Austen and the other NHLers have fled to the rec room, leaving a mess for me to clean up.
The frosting line is behind. There are way too many Christmas trees, and someone has been eating the pinwheels.
“Oh!” Sienna dusts crumbs off her mouth. “I thought we had extra. Don’t look at me like that, Misty. No one likes the pinwheels anyway,” my friend argues.
“They are a little dry, dear,” Aunt Kathy says with a snide smile. There’s lipstick on her teeth.
“They’re supposed to be crumbly. It’s a shortbread.”
Talbot is flirting with Grandma Pam and Aunt Kathy while he deals with the icing deficit. He’s got an apron folded so it’s just around his waist. With his hair slicked back and his shirt sleeves rolled up, he’s like your sexy waiter fantasy.
“Now that’s a beautiful cookie, Ms. Pamela. Were you a professional baker?”
“Don’t bother.” Granny Keagan takes a shot of cranberry-flavored vodka, which smells like cough syrup, then lays out another set of Santa cookies in front of her like a poker dealer. “She’s in a one-sided incestuous relationship with her son.”
“At least I have a son. Better than a daughter.”
Granny Keagan slams the frosting down and puts up her fists. “Say that again to me and my best friends.”
My little brothers are hanging in the doorway, probably trying to steal more cookies. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” they chant.
“Misty, you need to get those boys under control,” Grandma Pam screeches. “It’s this type of trashy behavior that brings down our good family name.”
“We’re all having drinks in the living room. Girls? Pamela?” Mom sings as she takes out the pitchers of Naughty or Nice cocktails I have in the fridge. “Misty, I need you to stop rocking the boat,” she hisses at me.
“Me? I’m the only one keeping it from capsizing and killing everyone.”
“When did you become so morbid?” She glares at Talbot.
He deftly outlines the holly leaves in royal icing then fills them in with the vibrant green.
“I haven’t defiled your daughter, ma’am.”
Granny Keagan makes a face. “You didn’t? But that’s what we pay—”
“We need more buttercream!” I practically scream.
I like to be alone in the kitchen.
It’s pitch-dark outside, and we are rounding the corner to two thousand cookies. I’ve got vintage Christmas carols playing, and Talbot’s been a beast helping with the last of the icing.
Which is great considering everyone else ditched. Some wandered off to eat pizza and watch movies. Most of the WAGs and their hockey boyfriends went home, taking their cookie boxes.
Sienna’s parents are here, and she and her mom are in the living room assembling boxes at the coffee table for the thousands of cookies.
Granny Keagan’s made her famous spicy cheddar cheese straws and eggnog.
I’m a little rum and sugar drunk.
Granny Keagan bustles back into the kitchen with a stack of boxes. “Do you have any arsenic? I need to poison Pam the Imposter. If she doesn’t like it here, maybe she can go back to her own dang house!” She yells the last part.
“Two-for-one deal is still on the table,” Talbot whispers in my ear as I set another tray of blue-and-white cookie presents on the table. He has trays of perfect NHL-logo cookies in front of him.
“You mean the sex and the murder?”
There’s that slow predator smile, and I’m suddenly too warm in the sweater. “No, I meant the murder and the murder, but I’m flexible. Good to know you’re thinking about me, Gumdrop.”