Chapter 3
Emma
The Winning Recipe
“Someone’s an early riser this morning!” Blake quips when he arrives at the bakery for his morning shift. I’ve been here for over an hour testing different gingerbread recipes for taste, strength, and texture. I need to find the right mixture in order to make a house that won’t be lopsided or collapse.
He quirks an eyebrow as he surveys my efforts. Multiple pans sit cooling on the counter. “You’re not trying new cupcake recipes?”
I scurry to remove my latest concoction from the oven. “Nope. I’m testing gingerbread recipes.”
Blake crosses his arms over his chest and plasters a puzzled expression across his face. “Is the bakery suddenly going to start featuring gingerbread?”
I sigh, knowing he isn’t going to stop the interrogation until he gets the answer he wants. “Joey’s nephew is in a gingerbread house contest at his school and I’m helping with the project.”
He grins. “I see. And this has nothing to do with getting to see Scott’s uncle on a regular basis?”
I glare at my employee’s ridiculous suggestion. “Of course not! This is an opportunity to use my baking skills to help a child win a contest. This will also be great publicity for the bakery,” I scoff.
Blake snorts. “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”
My brows slam together. “Why do you think I’m interested in Joey?”
He grins. “Every time the gang gets together, you and Joey either argue or avoid each other. We all see the attraction between you two, but you both refuse to admit it.”
“Hrmmph.” My non-committal comment to his comment makes him laugh. He shakes his head, then gets to work mixing batter and filling cupcake tins.
We’ve expanded our friend circle to include Blake. It seemed logical since Blake is the backup Golden Stars goalie and he and Joey are housemates. He’s been tagging along to our after-game pizza parties and late-night burger binges. Our friend circle consists of Otto (a Golden Stars teammate) and Mia (Otto’s wife), Nora (a single mom who we’ve also started including after she helped Otto and Mia on the Arcadia Inclusive Park project), Blake, Joey and me. Otto and Mia enjoy Blake’s jokes, and he’s a good buffer between Joey and me.
A few minutes later, Blake asks, “Have you found the winning recipe yet?” He nods towards the various cookie sheets scattered across the counter.
“Yes, I think so.” I point to the different pans and explain my observations. “That one was too crumbly. That one wasn’t strong enough to build a house from. And that one didn’t have a smooth texture.” I pick up a piece from the last pan, “This one is the winner. Perfect taste, strength, and texture. Here, try it.”
Blake snaps off a big bite of gingerbread, pops it in his mouth. He chews for several seconds, pretending to ponder the results, as if he’s a connoisseur taste testing a fine wine. He narrows his eyes and wrinkles his nose.
When I can’t take the suspense any longer, I prod, “Well? What do you think?”
“Perfect blend of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. There might be a touch too much molasses, however.”
I toss the remaining piece at his handsome head. He neatly catches it and pops it into his mouth, those goalie reflexes coming in handy. “You goof! What makes you a gingerbread expert?”
He chews the rest of the gingerbread before replying, “It’s delicious, Em. I just didn’t want you to get a swelled head.”
I roll my eyes. Blake and I used to date in high school, but when he reentered my life, we both realized that we’re better off as friends. His family owns a bakery in our hometown, so Blake was a perfect replacement for my sweet employee, Bailey. She married a former Golden Stars superstar, Levi, and moved to California. My bakery has somehow become intertwined with the Golden Stars—my other bakery employee, Mia, just married Otto, who’s finishing his senior year playing for the team.
“You’d let me know if there’s something I need to fix with the recipe, right?”
He smiles. “To be honest, it’s much better than the gingerbread my grandmother used to make. You had to use a hammer to break off a piece of that.”
We both laugh.
~*~
Nerves, anxiety, or possibly a touch of excitement set in when the clock turns 5:45. I’ve got everything ready in the kitchen for the kids and Joey to taste the gingerbread. I’m going to have the kids frost the gingerbread men I made from the winning recipe while we select the style of house we want to build. I’ve got several photos saved on my phone of houses that I think our team can tackle—attractive ones that will appeal to the judges but aren’t too complicated to build.
Six o’clock comes and goes and there’s no sign of my visitors. Did Joey get cold feet and decide he didn’t want my help with the gingerbread house project?
When the clock reads 6:15, I start to wonder if Joey and the kids are truly a no-show.
At 6:24 (not that I was constantly watching the clock or anything), the trio waltzes in. My heart does a summersault when I see them. The kids are laughing at something Joey said. He looks swoony in his tight blue jeans and his muscles are highlighted oh so well in that Henley shirt. Wowza!
“Sorry we’re late. Let’s just say I got hung up at hockey practice and leave it at that,” Joey grumps.
“He was late picking us up from the after-school activities,” Scott blurts.
Katie chimes in, “The teacher was real crabby.” Her r’s sound more like w’s, so it comes out as “weal cwabby.”
Arching my eyebrows, I turn to the hunky hockey player. “Didn’t you set an alarm?”
He frowns. “I set several alarms. But you can’t hear them when Coach hauls you into his office to chew you out and your phone is in your gym bag back in the locker room.”
Laughter slips out of my lips. Coach is a curmudgeonly guy who’s always yelling at his players, but the guys seem to like playing for him. I can’t imagine Joey, with his fine-tuned goalie skills, doing anything that deserved to be chewed out.
“How much was the late fee?” I ask, knowing that you have to pay a fine for every minute you’re late. The school has a no excuses policy. You either pick your kids up on time or you pay a hefty fine.
Joey grunts. If he were a cartoon character, steam would be blasting out his ears. That must have been some fine.
“He didn’t have enough cash, so he had to put it on his credit card,” Scott adds.
Katie dances around the kitchen singing over and over, “Uncle Joey was late.” My brain finally registers her outfit. If Joey thinks this is a matching ensemble, he must be color blind. Is she wearing cowboy boots?
Stifling another round of laughter, I decide not to razz Joey any further about his tardiness. Obviously, it’s a sore spot. Instead, I change the subject, “I’m glad you all made it here safe! How about some gingerbread tasting and then we’ll talk about designs?”
Katie raises her hand as she rocks back and forth on her feet.
“Yes?” I’m amused at her politeness. She usually just blurts out whatever is on her mind.
“Can I have some milk?”
The unexpected question throws me. I rack my brain as to whether I have any milk in the refrigerator. “I’ll check if I have any.”
“Chocolate milk,” she clarifies.
I know I don’t have that on hand. Her request brings to light that my bakery specializes in a plethora of adult beverages like coffee and tea, but not kid beverages, other than hot cocoa. Note to self, I need to fix that . “How about hot cocoa to go with your gingerbread man?”
“With marshmallows?” she asks excitedly.
“Do you have any of that whipped cream in a can?” Scott chimes in.
“You two are tough customers,” Joey teases his niece and nephew. His eyes capture mine and he does an exaggerated eye roll.
I bow with a flourish, “Your wish is my command. Please take a seat at the table.”
The kids scramble to take their seats while Joey hangs back. “Need any help?”
“Sure, you get the gingerbread men. They’re on that plastic wrapped plate over there. I’ll get the beverages.” I turn to head to the beverage bar, then glance over my shoulder at the hunky goalie. “What is your beverage of choice?”
“Beer.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “ Bzzzt! Try again.”
He laughs. “I’ll have a hot cocoa with lots of that whipped cream.” When he winks, my heart stutters. I’m not used to this flirty, playful version of Joey.
I nod and walk away hoping that he doesn’t notice the blush heating my cheeks. I take several calming breaths, prepare the hot cocoa, and put the mugs on a tray. When I return to the break room, Joey and the kids have already dug into the gingerbread men.
Joey holds up his half-eaten gingerbread man, “These are delicious!”
“Yum-yum!” Katie seconds.
“Awesome!” Scott adds.
“Thank you.” I frosted the ones they’re eating but left a full pan for the kids to adorn anyway they want. “After your snack, I have some gingerbread men that you can decorate.”
Katie claps and squeals. “With sprinkles?”
“Of course!”
Joey rolls his eyes again at his niece’s latest request. These kids are the cutest and I can’t resist them. It’s going to be fun building an award-winning gingerbread house with this crew. It’s even going to be worth putting up with their handsome, sometimes cranky, uncle.