Chapter Eight
Balfour
The sun glinted brightly off the deep red of Kendrick’s hair as I waved my hand at my front door, using my elf magic to unlock it. Holding it open for him, I waited while he stared at my cottage with wide eyes, before finally stepping over the threshold.
Placing his suitcase next to the door, I wondered what Kendrick would think of my home. When was the last time I had even dusted? I didn’t normally have visitors, other than Nik and Keegan occasionally. This was my sanctuary and I didn’t like to share it.
Yet, I had immediately offered for Kendrick to stay with me.
The memory of the kiss we had shared under the mistletoe–the mistletoe I knew Nik had conjured up–replayed in my head at the most inopportune moments the last few weeks.
The softness of his lips, the taste of his tongue as it had tentatively touched mine, then grown bolder and explored.
The way his much smaller body had fit so perfectly against mine, making me want to hold him close, protect him, but also strip him naked and have my way with him.
My cock twitched annoyingly in my pants, and I studiously ignored it.
Kendrick explored my living room, running his hand over the back of my extra long sofa. I watched as his fingers trailed across the spines of the well-read books that filled my bookshelf. He sniffed the air, turning to me curiously.
“Why does it smell like gingerbread in here?”
Dammit! I had hoped the scent from this morning's batch would have dissipated, but the rich spices still hung in the air, filling the room.
Grabbing his suitcase, I hurried past him, down the hall to my room. “It doesn’t,” I called, dropping his bag inside and rushing back before he could figure out where my kitchen was and go snooping in there.
He gave me a suspicious look, his brown eyes narrowed. “Bal, I was raised on the scent of gingerbread. Trust me when I say I have smelled all kinds, and I know what gingerbread smells like. I’m not complaining; it smells wonderful in here. It was just an unexpected surprise.”
“I…was burning a candle earlier.” Picking up the remote, I held it out to him. “TV’s there, we get pretty much all the streaming services thanks to some Kringle magic. Snacks are in the…ah…actually, I need to have groceries delivered. No snacks, sorry.”
I caught myself before telling him to help himself to whatever he found in my stocked kitchen. I really hadn’t thought this idea through when I had impulsively said he could stay with me.
He looked even more suspicious now, his eyes mere slits, one brow arched. “You were burning a candle?”
“What?” I sat the remote back on my coffee table, straightening my stack of magazines that didn’t need straightening. “It…relaxes me.”
He gave me a long look, then turned and faced my kitchen. Or what he could see of it anyway. Which was absolutely nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, I thanked past me for shutting all the doors when I had left for the workshop this morning.
After a minute of scrutinizing my kitchen area, he commented, “It’s very seventies retro.”
“Is it?”
“Mmhmmm,” he walked towards the pass through, stepping between two bar stools, and tapped one long finger against the closed wooden doors that sealed the passage off.
Attached to each side, they resembled shutters and latched where they met in the middle.
The kitchen door itself pushed open from either side, to make it easy to open with just a nudge of a shoulder when carrying steaming hot dishes to my small dining table.
His nose twitched in the air, reminding me of a cute rabbit, before he unlatched the doors on the pass through and shoved them to each side.
There was no point in me even yelling at him to stop.
He was going to find out, especially with him staying with me for the next two weeks.
There was no way I could hide it from him, especially if I intended to get my project done on time.
His gasp had my feet moving forward, rushing to stand beside him. I wondered what it looked like through his eyes.
“Bal, what?” he stammered, staring at me with wide chocolate eyes. “That’s…gingerbread.”
“It is,” I agreed, because what else could I say?
“A shit ton of gingerbread.” He quickly moved around me, skirting the other stools, and pushed the swinging door open.
He stared around my kitchen, hands on his hips, just surveying my mess. Finally, he bent to peer at my assembled pieces with practiced eyes. Standing, he scrutinized me. “You’re entering the contest?”
Letting out a small sigh, I nodded. “I’ve entered the contest every year we’ve had it.”
Confusion swamped his features, and he gave his head a shake. “No…how…I judge that contest. I would remember if you entered.”
“I’m aware you judge it,” my voice was dry as dust. “I’ve gotten second place every single year.” This would be the third year for the contest, so hopefully I would take first this time around.
“You…what...second…” his voice trailed off, as he did a small turn, taking it all in.
Stepping fully into the room, the door swished softly behind me. “Yes, second. Which I’m calling some BS right now. Last year my piece had much more detail than the winning one. I’m quite skilled with my decorating.”
Kendrick blinked at me, his mouth hanging open in a small O. Finally, he seemed to shake himself out of his trance. “It was. You are. That’s not why you lost. It’s not why you’ve lost every year.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” Kendrick said softly. He moved over to where the latest batch was drying on the long counter behind us. Reaching a hand out, he stopped, turning to me. “May I?”
Waving a hand in consent, I watched as he broke off a tiny corner. He sniffed it, ran it between his thumb and finger, before finally popping it in his mouth and chewing.
“You’ve lost because the winners have a better tasting gingerbread.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I was so mesmerized by the sight, it took way longer for his words to penetrate my brain.
“They taste better?” I couldn’t believe that was the reason I had lost all these years. Why had that thought never occurred to me?
“Yeah,” Kendrick nodded, leaning his butt casually against the counter.
“It’s not just about the structure, or the decoration.
It’s also about the taste. Not all gingerbread tastes the same, as I’m sure you know.
Just like it’s not all the same color, sturdiness, etcetera.
But how has no one caught on that you have been entering? Do Keegan and Nik know?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I enter under my name; B. Eroth. Nik likely knows if he ever saw my name on the entry. But he’s usually too busy to go to the contest. Just shows up at the end to announce the winner with Keegan.
Most people here don’t even know what my last name is, since they aren’t normally used here.
And I never collect my stupid prize. I don’t want a second place prize. ”
“There’s nothing wrong with second place, but this year will be different,” Kendrick sounded sure of himself, breaking off another piece of my gingerbread and chewing it slowly. I could almost see his mind whirling, though what exactly he was conjuring up I wasn’t sure.
“And why is that?”
He swallowed, then opened my fridge and scanned the contents. Reaching for a bottle of water, he twisted the cap and took a long drink. Again, I was fascinated watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Because this year you’re going to win.”
“What?” I murmured, because I had barely been listening to him, too busy watching his pale skin. “I don’t want to win just because my fake boyfriend is judging. That’s not winning.”
“I’m going to help you,” he sounded so triumphant and almost…giddy at the idea, and I stared at him in horror.
“Absolutely not.”
He gave a short chuckle. “You need me. Your gingerbread definitely needs me. It smells great, don’t get me wrong. I mean, most gingerbread does. But the taste is all…wrong.”
“I was going more for structure sturdiness than taste,” I admitted.
“We need both.”
“When did this become a “we”?” I demanded, crossing my arms and staring down at him. He had to crane his neck to look up at me, his eyes filled with joyous mischief that set them on fire. His pink lips were turned up in a gleeful smirk. “I don’t need your help.”
“Trust me, you do. I just tried that gingerbread and it’s a no.” He pointed to the reindeer barn that was nearly finished, just waiting for me to decorate. “No matter how well you put together a building and decorate, you will lose.” He rubbed his hands together, like an evil movie villain.
“But this year,” he waved a finger at me, “this year, you’re going to have it all.
Structure, decoration, and taste. I’ve been watching my mom and Keegan my entire life prepare gingerbread.
I have tasted more gingerbread than you can possibly imagine.
I have listened to them drone on and on about different recipes, and their secret ingredients.
I have seen them build hundreds of structures. ”
“Okay, so?”
“So...” he tapped the side of his bright red head. “I have tons of knowledge up here. Why do you think Keegan asks me to judge every year? Because he knows I know what makes a good gingerbread house, and a good gingerbread. I’ve been the official Mallory taste tester since I can remember.”
He might just be on to something. Keegan was an amazing gingerbread artist in his own right, as was their mom, Diana. It was why Keegan had chosen her to be one of the judges from the very first contest he had put together. Now his choice of Kendrick–which I had never understood–made more sense.
Kendrick started flipping through my sketchpad next to the reindeer barn, turning to me with a look I couldn’t decipher. “Bal, these are amazing. Did you draw these?”
“These are just rough ideas.” My cheeks felt warm beneath his steady gaze. “Nothing fancy.”
He stared at me, before turning back to the sketches, his voice soft. “They’re beautiful. It’s going to be a stunning piece when we’re done.”
“It’s big,” I stood behind him now, feeling his warmth, able to smell his scent. Strawberry shampoo, clean skin, and the rich subtle spices that were uniquely Kendrick. When had I started noticing his scent? About the time I had tasted his lips. “Bigger than anything I’ve ever attempted.”
He turned, bumping into me, his hands flat on my chest to catch himself, burning through my shirt. Looking up at me from beneath his lashes, his breath hitched in his chest. “It’s going to take first prize.”
“You think so? But only if it tastes good too, right?” My lips curved into a sardonic smile.
“Right,” he whispered.
I wanted to kiss him again, with every cell in my being. Wanted to taste him. Wanted to have his scent wrapped around my body like a warm blanket. But there was no reason to, here in my kitchen, just the two of us, away from anyone we might be trying to put on a show for. Might be pretending for.
Kendrick stepped back, breaking the spell.
Fishing his phone from his pocket, I swore his fingers trembled slightly as they slid over the screen, and he held the device to his ear.
But I didn’t imagine his eyes staring into mine, wide, unblinking, the pupils just a little blown.
Didn’t imagine the bloom of pink that covered his pale, freckled skin.
“I can’t judge this year,” his voice was firm as he spoke to someone–Keegan, I assumed.
“Because I can’t…Bal and I are entering a piece this year…
I said what I said, you heard me…I don’t know…
that’s not my problem…we’ll call it payback for you canceling my reservation…
that’s not your decision to make….that’s none of your business, do I ask about your and Nik’s sex life? ...sorry not sorry.”
He hung up with a sharp poke of his finger against the screen, sighing hard enough to move his chest and shoulders at once. “Keegan’s mad. But, I really don’t care. I’m mad at him, so fair is fair.”
“I don’t want this coming between you two.” Kendrick and Keegan had a relationship and bond I sometimes envied, and I was being honest when I said I didn’t want this to cause friction between them.
“Oh, this won’t,” he assured me. “But I’m not going to just let him get away with meddling in my life the way he did with the whole reservation thing, either.
He doesn’t get a pass for that. I get that around here he’s a big deal, married to The Santa, giving birth to the next generation of Kringles and all that jazz, but he’s still my little brother.
Still annoying as fuck at times. We’ll get past this, but not before he knows how truly pissed at him I am and how far he crossed the line.
I did kinda fuck up the judging though,” he held out his thumb and finger about an inch apart.
“Mom can’t really judge now either, at least it wouldn’t be right with me entering.
And Dad can’t fill in for the same reason.
So he’s gonna have to find two impartial judges, with enough experience in gingerbread to be able to judge on short notice. ”
“He could always just let Harry judge the whole thing by himself.” I never understood why three judges were needed either. Of course, I hadn’t realized the reason I kept losing was because my gingerbread needed to taste good, so what did I know? “Okay, where do we start?”
Because suddenly the idea of working with Kendrick filled me with excitement.
“Well first,” he waved his arms around to encompass the kitchen, “all this gingerbread needs to be trashed. We need to start from scratch.”
My face fell and my shoulders slumped in defeat. “All of it?”
“All of it.
“The contest is in a week and a half,” I could hear the slight hysteria rising in my voice. “And I still have my regular duties at the workshop, which are tripled this time of year.”
“All of it,” he grinned at me, then made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go back to the workshop. I’ve got some gingerbread to get started on, and we have a blue ribbon to win.”
Balfour
Past…
Nemesis: Are you coming to the gingerbread contest?
Me: Why would I do that? No. I’m busy.
Nemesis: Doing what? I’m pretty sure the entire village is here.
Me: Exactly. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.
Nemesis: It wouldn’t hurt you to actually join in. There are some spectacular displays. I’m really impressed.
Me: It’s gingerbread. It’s not that exciting.
Nemesis: You are so boring!
Me: Thank you.