Chapter 19 #2
“I swear, the bakery better have upped its game this year,” Delilah said, pulling a faux fur hat over her braids. “If their display is as uninspired as last year, I’m deducting points.”
“You’re brutal,” Bea teased, zipping up her puffy jacket. “It’s supposed to be fun, Delilah. Not the Hunger Games.”
“Fun? This is serious business,” Delilah shot back with a wink. “The winner gets that big trophy and bragging rights for a year.”
“Speaking of bragging rights,” Mia said, “Elle, have you given any more thought to the Thanksgiving Throwdown? I heard Tom is sponsoring a contestant, too. Would be nice to shove an epic defeat in his face.”
“Yeah, come on, Elle.” Bea gave me a playful nudge with her elbow. “Win one for the good guys.”
“I did run it by the Hawthornes’ house manager. She didn’t think it’d be a problem. Just so long as Mrs. Hawthorne doesn’t decide to throw an impromptu twelve-course tasting lunch that day.”
“So, that’s a yes?” Bea asked.
“Yeah, okay. Since it’s a matter of town pride. I’m in.”
“Excellent.” Mia clapped her hands, rubbing them together like she was already imagining the ruthless levels of gloating that would take place when Tom tasted defeat. “I can’t wait to rub that bastard’s stupid face in it.”
Mia linked her arm through mine, her cheeks pink from the cold.
Outside, the streets were alive with twinkling lights, garlands, and window displays, each shop more elaborate than the last. It felt like something out of a movie—the kind of small-town charm that was impossible not to fall in love with.
As we strolled the sidewalk, commenting on everything from the giant arch over the toy store’s entrance to the elf hockey team skating on a fondant pond in the bakery window, Mia pulled out her phone to snap a few pictures.
“Have you guys seen this account?” she asked, holding her phone up so we could see.
“It’s called Après Brie—this foodie account that’s been posting about stuff from all over town. Some of the captions are hilarious.”
Bea leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “We were just talking about that the other day. Didn’t they post something about the caramel pecan pie at the diner last week?”
With the family constantly out of the chalet, I had more free time on my hands during the day than I’d expected.
So, I had spent some of it exploring the town for content on my new account.
I wasn’t going to break the internet any time soon, but I was definitely starting to build a small following.
Particularly among the Maplewood Creek residents, it seemed.
“Yep.” Mia nodded enthusiastically. “I heard they sold out the next day. There was a mad rush for pecan pies.”
Delilah laughed. “Who runs it? Do we know?”
“Definitely not a local,” Bea insisted. “I told Elle I’m betting on an influencer. Some viral marketing campaign.”
“That would make sense,” Mia said, nodding while we continued to walk. “Sounds like the kind of thing Tom would come up with.”
“I don’t know about that,” Delilah argued. “The posts feel a little too sincere for the usual online influencer types. And the dishes they post are chef-quality. Lots of fancy plating and whatnot.”
“Well, we know a chef who’s new in town,” Mia joked, elbowing me in the ribs. “What do you say, Elle? Are you a secret celebrity?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” I froze, the words catching me off guard. My heart thumped wildly as I tried to play it cool. “You caught me.”
Mia raised an eyebrow. “Wait. I don’t think you’re kidding.”
“What? No, of course I am.”
Shit. That backfired.
“Holy shit! It is you!”
“That’s crazy,” I deflected.
The twins shared a glance.
“I think you’re busted, Elle,” Bea said.
“You kind of suck at lying,” Delilah added.
My cheeks burned, and I let out a nervous laugh. “I . . . it’s definitely not me.”
“Uh-huh,” Bea said, smirking. “Your face says otherwise.”
I looked away, pretending to admire a particularly extravagant light display. I’d started Après Brie as a fun way to document my culinary journey, never imagining it would gain any real traction.
“Okay, fine,” I admitted, sighing. “It’s me. But please don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?” Delilah asked, genuinely curious.
“Because if the Hawthornes find out, they will fire me,” I said, glancing around nervously. “Even if I’ve never said anything mean , I . . . some of the comments could be taken the wrong way.”
Mia gave me a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us. Right, ladies?”
Bea and Delilah nodded in agreement, and I felt a wave of relief. We continued down the street, the conversation shifting to the competition again, but my mind lingered on the account. I’d have to be more careful in future.
We approached the courtyard in the center of town, where mostly couples held hands as they skated around a small ice rink or cozied up around several firepits, sipping cocoa and roasting marshmallows from a street vendor.
“I would kill for s’mores right now,” Bea announced.
So, we hopped in line to procure some dessert treats and took up a few chairs around a vacant propane firepit.
“So . . .” Delilah said, blowing on her charred marshmallow. “Speaking of secrets, I heard a rumor that Charlie Hawthorne’s been gallivanting around town recently with a new mystery woman.” She turned her long marshmallow roasting stick toward me like a microphone. “Care to comment?”
“Absolutely not,” I told her, hiding my blushing cheeks behind my cup of cocoa. “That’s expressly against my NDA .”
Bea snorted. “That’s a yes.”
“You know they shared a bathroom at the inn when she arrived,” Delilah tossed out, smirking at me.
Mia almost dropped her graham crackers. “Hold on. What?”
“Well, not at the same time,” I laughed.
“Strangely, they both came back that night of the blizzard at almost the same time,” Delilah added.
“How do you know?” I said, outraged. “I didn’t think anyone was still awake.”
Bea pulled a marshmallow off her stick to build her s’more. “Sounds like an admission to me.”
“We’re all friends here now, right?” Delilah prodded. “So, let’s have it. No more secrets, Elle. Did you bang the golden boy?”
I shoved a whole smoking marshmallow right into my mouth and felt it singe my tongue. “No comment,” I mumbled around the gooey ball of molten sugar.
Guess I wasn’t as under the radar as I’d thought. Still, just the mention of Charles brought a smile to my face. And a warm feeling that hadn’t gone away since the night we’d met.
“Mia . . .” Bea sent a look her way. “You’re awfully quiet over there.”
She shrugged, watching the flames dance around our marshmallows. “I have absolutely no opinion on the topic.”
Her demeanor suggested otherwise. I didn’t know her that well yet, but even I could spot that when Mia fell silent, there was a lot she wasn’t saying.
“Okay, that’s the second time you’ve clammed up about the Hawthornes. What, is there some kind of bad blood there I should know about?”
At this point, I was done being subtle. And it reminded me I really didn’t know this family, or Charles, at all. Gossip clause be damned, I wanted to know what I’d gotten myself into.
“Somebody would tell me if I was accidentally working for the mob, right?”
Delilah laughed. “Nothing like that. At least, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any bodies buried up at that chalet. But then, you never can tell.”
“They say it’s always the quiet ones,” Bea quipped.
“That family is anything but quiet,” Mia snarked.
“What does that mean?”
“The Hawthornes go way back in Maplewood Creek,” Delilah explained.
“Everybody loved the grandparents. Pillars of the community and all that. They had a lot to do with bringing some of the initial investments that turned us into a resort town. Made us a ski destination. All to support Mrs. Hawthorne’s career when she first got into competitions. ”
“Mrs. Hawthorne was practically royalty around here back in her skiing days,” Bea told me. “Biggest celebrity the town had ever seen. Way before our time, of course.”
“Then she got injured,” Delilah added. “Ended her career. It was a real shame. They said she could’ve become one of the best in the world.”
Which would certainly explain her penchant for perfection, and maybe even her sour disposition, but that was hardly a scandal.
“Okay, but what’s that got to do with all the sideways glances every time someone mentions their name?”
“Well . . .” Bea flicked her eyes to Mia to see if she planned to interject, then said, “back in the day, Charles, for one, was kind of a hellion.”
That didn’t strike me as all that surprising. Young, handsome men were usually trouble.
“Him and his Ivy League buddies used to be notorious for getting kicked out of bars,” she continued. “Throwing wild parties. Trashing hotel rooms.”
I didn’t doubt her, though it was difficult to picture that version of him. Then again, I knew very little about the guy. All things considered.
“But something must’ve happened,” I said. “The reason he was gone for so many years?”
“There was a car accident,” Bea admitted. “Some property damage. And a whole lot of embarrassment.”
I sat back, a bit stunned. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No,” Delilah assured me. “Not seriously. Nothing like that . . .”
“Point is, for too many years that family has chewed up this town, then spit us out,” Mia snapped. “They run around doing whatever they please, and to hell with the consequences. So, forgive me if I’m not signing up for the fan club.”