Chapter Twenty
Ivy
The clock strikes six.
“Ready, set, go!” Clark yells from the head table, which is wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper and topped with an outlandish bow. Since he presides over our town meetings, I guess it’s fair he’s mediating this event as well.
We take Christmas very seriously in Birch Borough, and this gingerbread competition is just even more proof of that fact.
I’m set up at my station, all my materials ready to create the sweetest masterpiece of my life to date.
Gingerbread sheets, royal icing, chocolates, marshmallows, pretzels, and a cinnamon cereal for the roof shingles surround me.
I’ve prepped for this competition all year.
I even have marshmallow fluff waiting in the wings to utilize as a snowscape.
Cheering me on in the corner are Sparrow, Rafe, Lily, and Graham.
Since Sparrow and Lily own a bakery, they were banned from participating five years ago because they kept winning.
It wasn’t a surprise that they would be, since they do make magic in the kitchen after all.
My gram is watching me from the sidelines, chewing on a cookie from the table for the attendees.
At the sound of a click, I look up to see Grey peeking out behind her camera with a smile. Sometimes she takes unofficial photos for Birch Borough’s social media channels, and it suits her. She always likes being behind the scenes.
I’m used to the stage, but suddenly, I feel lost as to how I can actually win this thing.
The prize is a gift card for the local spa, and let’s just say, I’m invested.
After the holidays, the prize will be a gift to myself to enjoy when my muscles are tight and I’ve successfully pulled off the after-Christmas performance.
Carefully, I move the pieces of gingerbread together to create a solid foundation, utilizing the icing to act as cement. Several of my students hover nearby, their eyes wide from the hope of a potential sugar rush in about an hour.
When it comes to arts and crafts, or any such thing, I don’t usually win competitions.
Dance is my art. But Joan from the bank has won for the past three years, and as much as I don’t want her to miss out on her annual massage, I think it’s about time someone (lovingly) pushed her from her gingerbread throne.
“Okay, think of Christmas, think of Clara, think of the Nutcracker Prince. You’ve got this.”
“Talking to yourself again?” His voice never fails to make me melt.
I turn so fast that one of the walls I was building flops to the side and shatters on the table.
“I have got to stop breaking things,” I mutter, lifting my eyes to Jace’s.
His strong arms are holding Emmy. She’s perched on her safe space in the way I love to see her, perfectly content to be with her dad.
I smile. “Jace, hi. And hi, Emmy. I love your dress.”
She’s wearing a long-sleeved, green, satin-looking dress with a ribbon around the waist. Jace is wearing his classic athleisure, a mix between runway and business casual, though he could also stop in a gym on the way to his next meeting. Seriously, how does he make the style look so good?
“Starlight,” Jace mouths with a wink, “what are you building here?”
I look back at my table and flinch. It’s a mess. Emmy stares at my partially constructed house with fascination.
“Miss Ivy, Daddy builds things, remember?” She says it sweetly, but I hear in the hesitation of her tone that she recognizes it’s not going so well for me on my own.
“Yes, he does.” And Jace is an incredible designer.
I’ve seen his talent in every set he’s constructed so far and in every piece of his furniture I’ve seen displayed at a few shops around town.
I now recognize his signature mark on the designs.
At this rate, we’re ahead of schedule for the performance.
There’s only one set left to be built and some final painting, and we’ll be done.
The thought makes me sad. I’ve loved having him near me in my dance world, even when we’re doing different things.
“I’m happy to help,” Jace interjects.
“I can’t trouble you with this. Besides, it’s serious business.” I wave toward my collapsing gingerbread house.
“As opposed to what I do on a regular basis, where I actually build real-life things with my hands?” Jace grins and sets Emmy down before crossing his arms, the muscles in his shoulders bulging slightly and causing me to get distracted.
“Five minutes gone!” Clark yells, and I fan my face. Focus, Ivy. “Okay, you can help. Maybe.” I wave Clark over to my table. He’s already eyeing the three of us with interest.
“Yes, Miss Jones?”
I grin at his formal greeting. “Is it okay if I sign these two up to help me finish?”
Clark looks from Jace to Emmy and back to me before looking at the clipboard in his hands that seems to have appeared from nowhere. “Aren’t you the one who didn’t hold the door open for me after leaving the hardware store?” he asks Jace.
I watch Jace’s mouth open and close. “That might have been me.” He clears his throat, and Clark raises a brow. His shoulders sink. “It probably was me. I haven’t been the best citizen since arriving because I’ve been lost in my head. I’m sorry, sir.”
His hand extends in a gesture of goodwill, and Clark eyes it before clasping it with his own. I grin as Emmy giggles.
“Good job, Daddy,” she whisper-yells near his ear, and we all laugh, even Clark.
“Well, I don’t mind that you’re a team, but there’s still only one prize,” he says, clearly softening after Jace’s apology.
Right. “Well, that’s okay.”
“What’s the prize? I need to know the stakes.” Jace’s deep voice is clear, even above the Christmas music blaring over the speakers about a grandma getting run over by a reindeer.
“A massage,” I answer quietly, suddenly embarrassed even though I have no reason to be.
I bet Jace could give a great massage. My charged brain registers the thought that immediately entered my head when he asked, and I realize that’s why I was embarrassed.
I was pre-embarrassed, which seems fitting.
I pick up some marshmallows to make a snowman.
“Oh, well, you need that. It goes to you, no question. Besides, whatever it was, I was going to give it to you anyway.” The soft grin he gives me is intoxicating. “I mean, they do have couples massages,” he starts again and gives me another wink.
The idea of him in a towel or with just a sheet covering his muscles causes my hands to jerk, sending a marshmallow shooting straight for Clark’s forehead. Emmy laughs, and I cover my mouth with my hands.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” I trail off while Clark shakes off the makeshift missile and adds Jace and Emmy to his clipboard.
“No bother. They can be slippery. I’ve got you all down. Now, get to work.” He looks about the space and pivots away while yelling, “Ten minutes gone, people!”
I cringe, turning back to Jace, and see his eyes dancing with amusement. “If I had known the idea would affect you so much, I would’ve said it sooner.”
At this, I laugh and give him the bag of royal icing. “C’mon, Bear, we have a house to build.”
For the next fifty minutes, we construct the greatest gingerbread house I’ve ever seen.
We end up with not only a house but a multi-story home.
Jace even creates gingerbread furniture off the back patio and a chimney for Santa.
Emmy builds the snowman and lays out the snow scene, using gumdrops for Christmas lights.
I make a Christmas tree out of candy for the inside.
It lights up, because Jace, of course, knows how to wire some lighting with the materials provided—materials that I’ve never thought to use before.
To top it all off, he makes windowpanes with a hot plate and sugar, a tool I wouldn’t even begin to know how to use.
In short, when we stand back to admire our work, it’s incredible. And if we don’t win the competition, it’s got to be rigged. This is a gingerbread house for the ages.
“I think we make a good team.” Jace’s smooth voice is the powdered sugar to my royal icing.
“I’d say so.”
“Whoa,” Emmy exclaims, awed. I don’t blame her. She peeks through the windows, and I look at the clock.
“And hands up! You’re done!” Clark yells.
A groan comes from the participants around us.
Instead of complaining about the shortness of our construction time, I’m counting my blessings that the massage will soon be mine.
I can already smell the essential oil and feel the imprint of hot stones on my spine.
“Now, our esteemed judging panel will be coming around to judge. Don’t go anywhere, folks.”
Jace crouches down to give Emmy a high five.
“Good job, Emmy Bear.” He stands and holds up his hand for a high five from me as well, but when I smack my palm against his, he holds my hand in place and slowly rubs his thumb against mine.
The contact is so minuscule, anyone else would miss it, but it instantly sends heat down my arm.
He releases my hand, and I rub the spot that he touched, willing it to hold the sensation.
After five minutes—or ten—the panel of judges that includes Clark, Ronald from the general store, and Annabelle from It’s Art huddles in the center.
Liam stands in the corner of the room with the speaker and his cat, A-cat-pella—the unofficial mascot of our town—as he lowers the music for dramatic effect.
When they whisper to him, Liam lifts his hand for attention.
“The votes are in, Birch Borough. And the winner of this event, for the first time, is Miss Jones!”
“Is that Miss Ivy?” Emmy looks at Jace, who nods.
She squeals. I join her, jumping up and down.
Jace lets out a whoop and wraps an arm around my waist while scooping up Emmy with his other arm.
We’re hopping from the excitement, only slowing when Clark hands me an envelope.
Victory is sweet. I lean back against Jace, my smile enough to power the whole room.
I register enthusiastic claps as my friends and their husbands gather around the table.
Grey steps back, motioning for us to look at her and smile.
We agree, and she snaps the picture. Even without seeing it, I immediately want to print the photo and frame it. My parents appear beside us. In the pressure of constructing the perfect gingerbread house, I’d missed their arrival, but Gram has already joined them.
“That’s how we do it!” Dad yells, and Gram is doing a fist-bump motion into the air.
“I love this for us!” Mom adds as if it’s a collective win. “I can add the photo to the inn’s gallery wall. What a treat!”
I’m laughing and smiling as I peek up at Jace.
He’s staring down at me. “Congrats, Starlight.” He pulls me a little closer, and I lean into him again, grateful for his strength, thrilled I have him here.
His face grows blurry from the emotion stinging my eyes.
The scene is so domestic, so very Christmas, that I want to hold on to it forever.
The only thing that could make this moment better is if my brother were here.
A man walks toward my table, leaning down to look at our prize-winning gingerbread house.
My eyes still blurry, I blink to clear them, thinking sadly that the newcomer resembles my brother in a lot of ways.
I freeze as something familiar hits me. It can’t be.
“Freddie?” I release Jace, leaning forward to confirm that I’m seeing him, dressed in his Marine uniform, a smile on his face as he turns to greet me.
“Hey, sis,” he says, and I squeal, nearly knocking over the table to get to him.
I jump into his arms and hold on tight. His sturdy frame is comforting; memories of the nights we used to camp out together in our living room and watch Christmas movies together resurface as I pull him closer.
He only gets holiday block leave on occasion.
It’s been a few months since we’ve seen each other, and we weren’t sure if he’d be able to make it home in time for Christmas.
“You’re home!” I yell, tears flowing freely now. I’m so happy I feel like my heart might not be able to contain it. Releasing him, I look at his face, noticing it’s slightly more weathered than the last time I saw him. “For how long?” I wipe my eyes.
Freddie gives me his signature grin. “Until just before New Year’s.”
“Well, I hope you’re ready for the rest of the holiday events. Oh, and if Gladys asks you about being on a show, decline immediately.” I pull him in for another hug and see my parents behind us, crying from happiness, of course.
Gram is eating gingerbread and shrugs. “I already saw my grandson when he walked in. We’re proud of you, boy.” She lifts her cookie in a “cheers” motion and then nods toward Jace, her gaze conveying her meaning to me.
I turn with a smile, eager to unite two of my favorite men besides my dad. “Freddie, this is Jace.” But my smile instantly falters, alarm entering my heart.
Jace looks like he’s seen a ghost, his hands clenched so tight that his knuckles are turning white. I can almost physically feel Freddie stiffen behind me, his amusement gone. When I glance back at him, I realize this is the look he must have when he’s on duty. It both frightens and startles me.
“We’ve met,” my brother says sternly, staring at Jace.
“I’m sorry. What’s happening here?” I speak from between the men. The noises around us and the mingling of the townspeople through the space fade like background noise in an airport.
“Let’s go, Emmy,” Jace says to his daughter kindly, though his eyes are suddenly distant, the warmth in them faded. He nods politely to my parents and Freddie, then his gaze turns to linger on me for an extra second. “See you around, Ivy. Congratulations on your win.”
Jace smiles sadly and walks away, picking up Emmy after a moment when her shorter strides can’t match his. My stomach clenches, wanting to run to him, but I realize I’m being held back by Freddie as he lightly touches my arm.
“Let him go, Ivy,” he instructs, and because he’s my brother, I listen.
Tonight, I won the gingerbread contest. But as my anxiety deepens and the tension in the room intensifies despite my brother’s return home, I watch Jace and Emmy disappear from sight, and suddenly, I’m questioning if I really won anything at all.