Chapter 21
The night before the Thanksgiving Throwdown, I couldn’t sleep at all.
Too many thoughts were running through my head.
Ingredient measurements and structural integrity calculations.
I thought about architects building skyscrapers, and wondered how any of them didn’t collapse from the overwhelming immensity of it all.
And my gingerbread house wouldn’t even have people in it.
I was up and in the kitchen well before the sun that morning, getting started on breakfast for the family.
Which was fortunate, because it turned out Amelia had a couple of friends who flew in late last night for a brief layover before heading off for Whistler, so there were two extra places at the table today.
I had decided the best move was to fill the family up with a huge meal, so there was no possible way they could be hungry for lunch, even if they decided to stick around the chalet today.
Which would hopefully leave me free to attend the contest. I had every burner on the stove going, and every rack of the ovens filled with baking sheets, churning out fresh muffins, banana bread, bagels, bacon, turkey sausage, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon French toast with berry compote and crème fra?che.
I even pre-blended half a dozen smoothies and green juices, just in case someone wanted to be a real pain in the ass.
“You’ve really outdone yourself this morning,” Ali said, standing over the island while I plated up the pastry basket. “They might not be hungry again at all today.”
“That’s the idea.”
I transferred maple syrup to individual ramekins and sprinkled salt flakes atop individual pats of butter for each place setting.
I wouldn’t give Mrs. Hawthorne the opportunity to scowl at a single missing touch.
I passed a plate I’d set aside to Ali, with a little bit of everything, and she dug in gratefully.
“This turkey sausage is unbelievable,” she moaned, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a paper towel. “What am I tasting?”
“Just a little bit of jalapeno and rosemary, to give some extra depth of flavor.”
It was how I preferred my turkey burgers, and I figured it worked just as well for breakfast.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “It’s incredible. A little kick, but not too spicy.”
“Charring the peppers first calms a lot of the heat.”
The waitstaff entered to start taking platters and Ali quickly swallowed to accompany them back to the dining room with service, while I surveyed the messy aftermath I’d created.
I glanced at my watch. If I hurried, there was just enough time to clean up and get down the mountain for the contest. Then I noticed I had a text from Mia.
Mia: All set up here. We got everything on your list and your station is ready.
Me: Thank you! Text you when I’m leaving.
So, while I got to work scrubbing pans, Ali returned to the kitchen to enjoy her breakfast. As the family and guests finished off various plates, the waitstaff dropped them back beside the sink.
Luckily, I had the rhythm down pat now. It took hardly any time at all to get the place spotless and set up for me to jump right into dinner service this evening when I got back.
Hopefully with first prize. I wasn’t sure if there was a trophy involved, but it sure would look nice on the mantel above the fireplace in my cottage.
While Ali briefly went back to the dining room to check on the family, I finished up and took a minute to write myself a quick list for tonight’s prep, to make sure I didn’t forget anything when I was too tired to think straight later.
“Bad news,” Ali said, walking back into the kitchen.
My stomach sank. “No. Don’t say it.”
“Mrs. Hawthorne suggested a spa day for Amelia and her guests.”
I was confused. “Great. That should get them out of the house. What’s the problem?”
“She wants to bring a yoga instructor and some massage therapists up to the chalet. Said it might be nice to have some spa snacks prepared for them. Little sandwiches and the like.”
I sagged against the kitchen island. I knew this would happen. It was my own fault for thinking I might be able to sneak away.
“Yeah,” I said, shoving down my disappointment. “Of course. No problem. I’ll get started.”
“I’m sorry, Elle.”
I nodded in thanks as Ali left. Astounded as I was that they could even consider folding themselves into pretzels after the meal I’d just fed them—of which they all ate nearly every bite—my first responsibility was to the chalet.
If that meant cucumber sandwiches and grapefruit spritzers, the contest would have to go on without me.
Whatever the entrance fee, I’d pay back Bea and Delilah if they couldn’t get a refund.
I grabbed a clean cutting board and went to the fridge to see what I had to work with. I was pulling out mint and parsley when Charles burst into the kitchen.
“Ready for the big day?” he said. He looked at his watch. “Better get going if you don’t want to be late.”
I went to my cutting board to start chopping the herbs. “Didn’t you hear? Your mom and Amelia are having a spa day. They requested snacks.”
“What? When did that happen?”
I shrugged.
“They can order food from somewhere in town. I’ll go talk to them.”
“No,” I said urgently, lifting my head from my chopping.
“Please don’t. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve wanted to avoid.
I’m here to do a job. I can’t have you jumping in to save me from work whenever I feel like it.
Plus, it’ll definitely tip them off that there’s something going on between us. ”
Charles’s face fell with disappointment. “Elle.”
“I mean it. Just let me do this.”
He sighed, visibly deflating. “Alright. It’s your decision.”
“Thank you,” I told him earnestly. Because I’d much rather he respect my wishes than diminish my position by trying to leap to my rescue. “Go on then,” I told him, plastering on a fake smile. “Get out of here and let me do my thing.”
“I’ll check on you in a while,” he promised as he left.
But not a minute later, the door swung open again.
Amelia appeared in the doorway. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Something about a contest?”
I was instantly mortified. “No, it was nothing. Any special requests for spa snacks this afternoon?”
She flashed a patient smile and strode over to the island where I was still chopping. “Today is the town’s Thanksgiving Throwdown, isn’t it?”
I was too embarrassed to answer.
“Well, then you better hurry up and get down there. Bragging rights are on the line.”
A flicker of hope rose in my gut. “Your mother . . .”
Amelia waved off my concern. “We’ll have a terrific spa day at the ski resort in town. Besides, what’s the point of having her own wine locker at the hotel restaurant if she never uses it?”
“Really?” I asked, absolutely elated. I’d worked so hard on my plan for the contest, it seemed a shame to let it go to waste. “You’re sure?”
She smiled, shooing me away. “I’m sure. Go! Kick some gingerbread butt for me!”
“Thank you, Amelia!”
I gave her a hug, sort of surprising us both. Then I rushed out of the kitchen and back to my cottage to change and grab my backpack before texting Mia that I was on my way. I’d give Maplewood Creek a gingerbread extravaganza to remember.