Chapter 25
The audible whines of Marisa’s stomach weren’t the only groans echoing around the commercial kitchen she had commandeered from her friends. Poor Captain had probably fared the worst.
Marisa spread out the last of the cooling mint chocolate candy canes and grimaced as her beloved pal sat at a table, an array of shimmering plastic treat bags stuffed with ribbon candy before him, with withering determination in his eyes as he grappled with his clubbed fingers’ greatest enemy: thin scraps of quarter-inch ribbons.
“Do you want me to switch to a thicker ribbon? You don’t need to sacrifice your dexterity for candy.”
“I said I got it.” Captain’s tongue curled around the corner of his upper lip, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to pull the last piece of ribbon through the loop to make a bow.
Once success had been acquired, he leaned back in his folding chair and finished off his second longneck beer.
“I tell ya,” he said, bringing the still-frosty bottle to his forehead, “I will never underestimate the skill required to make friendship bracelets ever again. I don’t have the finesse for this shit.
No wonder Emily and Maya were always so happy to braid my hair.
They knew their handiwork would stick around for a while, because my fat fingers could never summon the patience to undo it. ”
“But I love you? Does that help?”
“It would help a lot more if you got me another beer and something to eat that won’t send my glycemic index spiking.”
“Alec’s on his way with real food. And I need you to know this.” Marisa took both of his stiff hands and massaged the tender joints with her thumbs. “I absolutely love the shit out of all of you for helping me. I’m serious. I couldn’t have done any of this on my own.”
“Like we’d let you.” Sid chuckled as he loaded up another box of finished ribbon candy and set it with the others, while Manic was at the sink, cleaning the last of the sheet pans.
It had taken all day, but with their help, Marisa had finished prepping all the candy canes and ribbon candy.
It was impossible to know how many to make in advance, so she’d gone off last year’s Ball attendance numbers, which, according to Monica, had been lower than the event organizers usually liked to see for the occasion.
So, Marisa tacked on an extra twenty percent of product, which pushed her to her absolute limit in terms of production, given the timeline, and, at Eden’s suggestion, printed up some promotional cards for the table that offered customers a discount on sold-out items when purchased from the Sweetest Heart’s Desire website.
There was only one thing left to do.
Eden’s car keys announced her arrival as she backed into the kitchen door with her arms full of the one machine Marisa’s hopes and dreams hinged on.
Unfortunately, before Marisa could take it from her best friend, she froze, expecting to be blown backward by the steam that was surely about to erupt out of Eden’s ears.
“Oh no. What happened?”
“This is the last fucking time I’m picking up anything from those online auctions you always win out on.”
“But this was the one for government surplus products. The reviews were really good. They partner with different municipal and government agencies to auction off equipment municipalities don’t need anymore.
I thought that since the edible printer was coming from the local community college’s auction, it wouldn’t be sketchy. ”
Eden hefted the machine onto the counter and plugged it into the nearest outlet while Marisa unhooked the plastic bag dangling from her friend’s wrist. Then Eden wiped her brow and full-on glowered. “Your instructions said to meet the seller in lot A.”
“Yes, that’s what he wrote down.”
“There were four lot A’s.”
“What?”
“Oh yes.” She stormed over to Captain, yanked the freshly opened beer out of his hand before he’d had a chance to take a sip, and chugged her feelings.
After a third of the bottle was gone, she dried her mouth and sighed.
“That place was fucking huge, and all the lots were color-coded and then sorted by letter. I wasted thirty minutes driving through every goddamn color in the rainbow before I found the right place. It was like some Sesame Street episode from hell.”
Marisa casually plucked the beer from Eden’s hand and discreetly handed it back to Captain behind her back. Then she rubbed Eden’s shoulders and gave them a good pat. “You did well, soldier. I’m proud of you. Big Bird would be proud of you, too.”
“All I can say is that I am dying, dying, for those auction site motherfuckers to send me a survey. And not one of those How many stars would you rate your experience? surveys. I’m talking about a full-fledged text box with unlimited characters.”
“I’ll be sure to forward you anything they might—”
“Thirty minutes, Marisa! I was driving in circles for thirty minutes, hungry out of my mind and wondering whether I’d have to gnaw off the rest of my fingernails just to get some freaking protein in my system.”
“Well, thank goodness you didn’t, because the nail technician who painted the sparkly snowflakes and winking snowmen on your nails truly outdid herself. I’m so jealous.”
Eden sniffed as Marisa’s compliment injection started to do its work. “I know, right?” Then she held her nails up, admiring them. “They’re just so cute.”
“They are. Plus, I love you.” Marisa scooped Eden into the hug she knew the woman needed. And she needed, too, if she were being honest.
“Who’s hungry?”
Marisa had never been happier to hear that rumbling R tumble off Alec’s tongue. The man waltzed into the kitchen, his bulging arms laden with five pizza boxes from Sal and Enzo’s, along with an assortment of bags that, based on the smell, contained a spirit-fortifying selection of fried food.
Manic lifted his chin. “What’s in the bag?”
Alec plopped the essentials on the counter, along with—bless him—two more six-packs of beer. “I wasn’t sure what everyone wanted, so I got—”
“Everything on the appetizer menu?” Eden asked, her voice full of hope.
“Basically.”
Soon, the kitchen was filled with the unctuous aromas of garlic knots, mozzarella sticks, hot wings, chicken tenders, onion rings, and enough french fries to fill out a few McDonald’s worth of deep fryers.
It was all gloriously greasy and far too perfect for the occasion, given that it was still Hanukkah. To say nothing of the wink Alec fired her way.
This man, I swear.
Then he clapped his hands. “So, once you get yourselves all fed and watered, what’s my next assignment, general?
” The two-fingered salute he threw her way garnered more than one inquisitive look from those around them, but Marisa was too hyped up on good sex, sugar, and saturated fat to bother explaining.
“Did you bring your rugby uniform?” Marisa said.
“Aye. Though I can’t for the life of me figure out what my kit has to do with all of this.” He gestured to the grand sugar spectacle around them. “Or how it ties into fudge.”
“Gingerbread fudge.”
“Right,” he said, the word suspended in the air, waiting for the explanation she’d been holding just out of his reach for the past few hours.
A good thing, too, because for better or worse, she was so far beyond anyone talking her out of it.
At this point, it was either this or giving up on the Crystal Christmas Ball altogether, and she hadn’t suffered through a dozen sugar burns just to admit defeat.
“I can’t pull off the flavors I wanted to, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pull off the flavors people need me to.
Gingerbread. It’s a Christmas classic for a reason.
I’ve decided to make a gingerbread fudge.
Super simple, super basic, and can easily be made in large quantities within a day.
It’s honestly the perfect mass-produced holiday product.
But what won’t be basic about my version is the edible image adorning the top of every piece, capturing the eyes and hearts of anyone who walks past our booth. ”
Marisa held her breath a moment, then let out the kernel of genius that had hit her earlier that morning when she’d gotten an eyeful of a post-shower Alec looking all dewy and dreamy.
“Alec Elms, the number one player for Great Britain Sevens and one of the most famous rugby players in the world, on full display in his uniform, personally wishing everyone a Merry Christmas with each bite.”
Alec laughed and shook his head, a hint of, well, she hoped it was eager mischief dancing in his eyes. “You’re crazy, woman.”
“Crazy brilliant, though!” Eden chimed in. “Think about it. If Phoebe’s playing her game where all her bullshit volunteers get free access to you and the festival’s wares, essentially taking money out of Marisa’s pocket, why not beat her at her own game?”
Sid stroked his beard, gesturing toward Alec. “She’s not wrong. If that plant lady is more than happy to exploit you for her own recruitment purposes, wouldn’t it be better if it was Marisa’s products that left the strongest lasting Alec impression?”
Manic waggled his eyebrows. “Hey, man. The ladies think you’re a stud.”
“A stud whose face they’ll want to eat,” said Captain.
“A stud who’ll gain lasting and literal face time with every one of Arthur’s sports media buddies who have to show up at an event their wives dragged them to when you know those romance-clueless fuckers would rather be working,” Eden pointed out, brandishing her fried mozzarella like a pointer stick.
Marisa slipped her hand into Alec’s arm and slyly walked her fingers up his taut chest before he caught them against his heart. “What do you say? Are you up for a little Hanukkah photo shoot?”