
Gingerbread and Goalies (Golden Stars Hockey #3)
Chapter 1
Emma
Just Helping out a Friend
I love this time of day at the bakery. The sun is starting to peek above the horizon with splashes of pinks, oranges, and yellows leaking through the windows. All the ovens are humming, giving off a warm and cozy feeling inside the spotless commercial kitchen. The air is filled with delicious aromas, namely cinnamon, vanilla, and freshly baked goodies. I’m busy mixing up my famous banana cupcakes. Should I add a few chocolate chips to switch things up?
“...They just arrived yesterday evening and he’s already overwhelmed. I’m not sure why he agreed to watch them for two weeks.”
Huh? My mind catches up, digesting that snippet and wondering what my employee is talking about because I’ve missed most of his long treatise. Embarrassment creeps up my neck. I tuned him out because I thought he was talking about boring hockey again .
“He? Who are we talking about?”
A belly laugh escapes, echoing off the stainless steel countertops. “You weren’t listening, were you?”
“Um, well...no.” I stir the batter faster, letting out my frustration. These banana breakfast cupcakes are certainly not going to be lumpy. After a few seconds, I blow out a loud breath. “Who are you talking about?”
Blake, my newest employee who replaced Bailey when she left, carefully frosts another cupcake before replying. He focuses on the task at hand, while also making me wait for his answer. This is my penalty for not listening. Thankfully, he’s mastered the art of frosting because neither Mia nor I could do it as well as Bailey did.
“Joey agreed to watch his niece and nephew for two weeks while his sister attends some fancy conference in Sweden. The kiddos just arrived yesterday and there’s been chaos ever since.”
Josef Svenson caring for youngsters? Is his sister out of her mind?
I wave a dismissive hand, keeping those opinions to myself. “Joey knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine.”
Blake and Joey are housemates, and they both play for our local university hockey team, the Golden Stars. Oddly enough, they also both play the goalie position. Joey is the starting goalie and Blake is the backup goalie, at least for now. Knowing how competitive those two are, I wonder how they co-exist.
The big guy tosses me a doubtful look. “But will the kids be fine? The little girl was pretty upset last night, missing her mom.”
My heart sinks when I think about those sweet kids being homesick. I met them once when Joey stopped by the bakery. If I remember right, the girl is four and the boy is eight, both polite and adorable, and so well-behaved. I can’t imagine those two creating chaos. Kids are my weak spot. I love them and hope to have a passel of them, that is, if I ever find the right guy and get married. Blake’s deep voice pulls me from musing about my love life, or more accurately, lack of one.
“He could really use some help. Someone who could lend the female perspective to the situation.”
I snort. “Are you suggesting that I help Joey?” The sarcasm leaking through my voice says it all. Joey and I aren’t friends. Our relationship is more like that of mortal enemies. We have a history, and it isn’t a pretty one. A food fight at a fancy gala comes to mind.
“Emma, please consider the kids. I think they would love some of your cupcakes.”
For being a big, tough hockey player, Blake sure is a softie. At the sight of a baby, the guy goes weak in the knees. He and I also have a history. We dated in high school, but all these years later, we’ve settled into a comfortable employer-employee friendship.
“I guess I could stop by later with some treats,” I admit grudgingly. Kids love my banana cupcakes, plus we’re baking a new recipe this morning, a chocolate, caramel turtle cupcake. Those pair so well with a cup of coffee. Maybe Josef would like a few of those? Chocolate and caffeine are good stress relievers, right?
Blake grins and nods, his mission to sway me to help his housemate accomplished. “Don’t forget to throw in napkins. Lots of napkins.”
We both laugh.
~*~
The chime resonates loudly when I press the doorbell. Joey and Blake live in a stately Victorian rental house in the older part of town. It’s a gorgeous neighborhood, with huge trees, homes with large front porches, and that New England vibe everyone adores.
Creeeak!
The door swings open, after a couple of uncomfortable moments where I wondered if anyone would answer, and my eyes bug out. “You look like you’ve gone through a battle,” I blurt.
“Gee, thanks,” Joey says in a grumpy voice, with his hands on his hips, glaring at me through the screen door. His hair looks like he hasn’t combed it for days. He’s wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt with a stain of unknown origin on the front. Despite his disheveled appearance, my traitorous heart flips wildly in my chest.
We glare at each other for several uncomfortable seconds. He makes no offer to invite me in. I want to thrust my container of cupcakes at him and flee considering how unwelcome he’s making me feel. You just insulted him and there’s the kids to consider my brain reminds me, keeping my feet firmly planted on the front porch.
Crash!
A high-pitched wail drifts from a room in back. Joey quickly dashes off, leaving me standing there, feeling a bit silly. Debating whether to stay or to go, my brain makes the logical decision to find out what’s happening in that back room. One of the kids could be injured! Straightening my shoulders, I decide I might as well complete my mission by delivering these cupcakes. Then I’ll leave. Yanking the screen door open with another ear-splitting creak, I rush towards the noise.
Joey or Blake needs to purchase some WD-40 for the door.
My jaw drops at the sight in front of me as I enter the kitchen. The blonde-headed little girl has ketchup all over the front of her dress. Correction, her princess outfit. She’s crying at the top of her lungs while her brother looks on with a smug expression. I suspect he’s the source of the ketchup spill. Joey’s trying to wipe up the mess using about a million napkins, the discard pile growing larger with every swipe. Food is spread out on the table, a half-eaten hamburger, two packs of fries, and all the accompanying paper wrappings associated with Sammy’s Burgers. Her wails echo around the room, the pitch reaches a deafening level, worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.
Fweeeet!
The ear-splitting sound of my two-finger whistle does the trick. Everyone stops what they’re doing, and quiets down. All eyes focus on me.
“Are you the door person?” the little girl asks, then hiccups. A couple tears still cling to her eyelashes and the ketchup stain on her fancy outfit looks like something from a crime scene, but at least she’s no longer wailing. Joey pauses in his clean-up duty, tossing me a thankful, albeit still slightly crabby, look.
“Excuse me? What’s a door person?”
“She means a door dash person,” her brother says in a snide voice. His harsh comment brings on another bout of tears. The little girl’s lips wobble, looking like another one of those deafening wails is going to spout from her lips at any second.
How can someone so small be so loud?
I quickly hold up my container. “Special delivery! Does anyone here like cupcakes?”
The tiny sprite dances over, twirling and hopping around me, her expression instantly morphing from despair into one of delight. “I love cupcakes!” she repeats in a sing-song voice.
“Katie, you can have a cupcake after you’ve finished your meal,” Joey says, then gently directs her back into her chair. My heart makes a funny flip watching Joey interact so sweetly with his niece.
“We’re having hamburgers because Uncle Joey burned the chicken nuggets,” the boy adds in a helpful tone.
So that’s the aroma I smelled when I first came into the room. I arch my eyebrows, giving Joey a smirk.
“Scott, finish your hamburger and fries,” Joey says in a firm tone as he returns the ketchup to the refrigerator. Too bad he didn’t just let them use those little ketchup packets scattered across the tabletop. The mess could have been so much smaller.
I stand awkwardly, holding the container, wondering what I should do next. “Um. I’ll just leave these and let you all get back to your dinner,” I say as I carefully place the container on the counter.
“Do you know how to make gingerbread houses?” Scott asks just as I’m turning to leave. Joey subtly shakes his head, giving his nephew the “please don’t say anything more” look, but the boy ignores him and plows on. “We’re having a gingerbread house contest at school. Uncle Joey said he’ll help us make one, but he’ll probably just burn everything.”
A giggle escapes at the truthful comment and my competitive baking heart flares to life. If there’s a baking contest, I’m in. “I’d love to help with your gingerbread house!”
Both kids clap while Joey looks like he just sucked on a lemon—a very sour one. Katie hops up from her chair and twirls around me. “I want a fairy house!”
“Fairies are dumb,” Scott fires back, abruptly ending the girl’s happy dance. Her face falls and her lips tremble.
“We’ll design the house, incorporating everyone’s ideas,” I rush to say, hoping to defuse the girl’s disappointment. Katie sticks her tongue out at her brother as she flounces back to her chair. The kids return to eating and enter into a temporary peaceful co-existence as they chow down on their burgers and fries.
Joey rounds the island and stands beside me. “Don’t feel obligated to help,” he says in a low tone, meant for my ears only.
“Do you not want me to help?” I fire back, my nostrils flaring at his obvious rejection.
He reaches out and squeezes my upper arm. A jolt of electricity zaps between us and my breath catches. When did I become attracted to Joey?
“Honestly, I’d love for you to help. To have any shot of winning, believe me, we need you.” Our eyes lock and our breaths mingle as a slow grin crosses both our faces. Knowing that he’s as competitive as I am, we’re both chomping at the bit to build the best gingerbread house the Arcadia school district has ever seen.
“I’m game if you are!” I give Joey a high-five while the kids clap and cheer. “Let’s meet at the bakery tomorrow at six so we can select a design. I’ll bake some test gingerbread so we’ll know which recipe will work for the house.” Excitement leaks from my voice. “By the way, when’s the competition?”
“In two weeks. Saturday the fifth,” Joey replies in an apologetic tone.
That doesn’t leave us much time, but I’ve made several gingerbread houses in my baking career, so we should be able to build a competitive entry. My brain swirls with ideas as I take my leave.
“See you tomorrow!” Katie shouts as I turn towards the kitchen doorway. She sneaks a cupcake from the container, smearing icing all over her chin, and Joey calmly hands her a napkin.
“Thank you,” Joey mouths over Katie’s adorable blonde head.
I nod and smile, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. As I walk back to my car, Joey’s sweet interactions with his niece and nephew swirl inside my head. Before this point, I thought he was egotistical and full of himself. A guy who only cared about playing hockey. But after what I just saw, maybe my preconceived notions were wrong. Could Joey and I set our history aside and become friends?