Chapter 7
Tuesday, December 4
When I entered our designated cookie session room, Marco stood at the front, chatting with a few other people. Dressed in jeans and a navy-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his well-defined forearms, he also wore a red apron with the slogan Life Is What You Bake It , complete with a cartoon rolling pin. My heartbeat accelerated and I took a breath, vowing to channel my inner Cool Callie as I looked around.
This was an older building, but the row of shiny appliances on the left-hand side and the stainless-steel sinks lined up opposite were newer, more modern. A sleek, skinny artificial Christmas tree was tucked into a corner, filled with silver stars and gold balls. I counted three red-and-white candy-cane lights suspended in the windows, giving off a warm, festive glow, and a large banner on the front wall read Happy Holidays from Nell & Walter .
The middle of the room held four rectangular tables, totaling sixteen workstations equipped with bowls and spatulas, baking trays, and ingredients divided into various tubs. As more eager participants arrived behind us, Marco looked over, and when he saw Anita and me, his face broke into a huge smile.
“Hey there,” he said, coming toward us, those adorable dimples appearing in his cheeks. “I hoped it would be you when I saw your names on my sign-up sheet. Welcome to Central Kitchen. Are you avid bakers?”
“Nope. I’m hopeless.” Anita put a hand on my shoulder. “But Callie’s great.”
“Me?” I asked. “I haven’t baked in years.”
“Don’t worry,” Marco said. “We’ll go step by step, and I don’t think you’ll have any problems because this recipe’s easy-peasy.”
“Lemon squeezy?” I replied. Mom and I always said it to each other, but now I wanted to kick myself for the auto-response that had always made Oliver cringe.
Marco beamed at me for a few seconds and leaned in before lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Even easier.”
Anita glanced at me and must have seen my face, which now felt hotter than the sun, and I was grateful when she rescued me by asking, “What kind of cookies are we making?”
“A classic Swiss recipe,” he said.
“Really?” I asked, recovering. “Which ones? Basler Brunsli? Spitzbuben?”
“Somebody knows their stuff,” Marco said. “You sure you don’t bake much?”
“Our father’s Swiss German,” I replied. “He came to the US when he was six, I think.”
“Would you excuse me for a second?” Anita jumped in. “I left my phone in my jacket.”
She took a few steps toward the exit. Marco had his back to her, but from my vantage point, I saw her waggling her phone in the air while giving me a thumbs-up, and I could practically hear her thinking, Meddler’s gotta meddle .
Trying to ignore her, I blurted, “Swiss cookies, huh? Have you visited Switzerland?”
“I worked in Interlaken for a while,” Marco said. “It’s a town in the Bernese Oberland region.”
My broad smile matched his. “That’s where my dad’s from.”
“No way.” Marco beamed back at me. “I absolutely loved it. You’ve been?”
“Not in quite a few years. I hope to go again soon.”
“Same. I want to explore more of the country, and Europe,” he said before pausing for a moment, staring at me with those deep green eyes. “It’s, uh, great to see you again, Callie. Did your tree cure your aversion to the holidays? It must’ve helped, considering you’re here.”
“My sister’s idea. She has all kinds of things planned to yank me into the holiday spirit whether I want to be or not.”
Marco narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to sabotage tonight by swapping the sugar for the salt, are you?”
“Not exactly,” I said with a laugh. After glancing over his shoulder and seeing Anita in the doorway chatting with Walter, I pulled the Grinch cookie cutter from my pocket.
“I’m impressed,” Marco said, eyes twinkling again.
The way he looked at me, tilting his head and giving me another smile, made an unexpected yet delicious shiver snake down my back. Was he flirting? I was so ridiculously out of practice, I’d need a flashing neon sign saying Flirt Alert to be sure. And…did I want him to pay me that kind of attention? What was the point, when I already knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere?
Thankfully, before my mind spun any more theories, Anita walked over. As I shoved the cookie cutter into my pocket, I looked at Marco and whispered, “Don’t mention the Grinch.”
He mimed zipping his lips shut and earnestly replied, “I swear.”
“What did I miss?” Anita said as she reached us.
“Callie and I were comparing notes about Switzerland,” Marco replied.
“He worked in Interlaken,” I added. “Isn’t that wild?”
“Hugely,” Anita said, and I frowned because she didn’t sound very surprised. “You know what they say: it’s a small world and all that.”
“Certainly is,” Marco agreed. “All right, I guess I’d better check that everyone’s here. There are twelve of you in total, so feel free to pick whichever station you prefer. Everything you need is already prepared, and we’ll start in a few minutes.”
“Sounds perfect, Eggnog Man,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Swiss Miss,” Marco replied. “Can’t wait to see the cookies you come up with. See you later.”
“Alligator.” As another profuse blush ignited my face, I wished I could pluck my second automatic and involuntary response clean from the air. If Marco had indeed been flirting with me, I couldn’t imagine it would happen again anytime soon.
As he headed to another group of participants, Anita grinned. “I can’t leave you alone with him for five minutes, can I?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You do realize this is the second time I’ve seen you get all flustered around Marco, and you’ve only met him twice.”
“I’m not flustered.” Rolling my eyes, I walked to one of the sinks and switched on the tap. After pumping cranberry-scented liquid soap into my hands and working up a vigorous lather, I still refused to look at my sister because she’d know I’d told her an outright lie.
Sure enough, she leaned in and whispered, “You like him.”
“Who?”
With a click of her tongue, and sounding exactly like Mom, she said, “Marco.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Then let me fill you in. Marco Lancaster, twenty-nine, originally from Yarmouth. That’s in Maine, near Portland.”
“How do you know that?”
“He’s a trained pastry chef, has worked on cruise ships and at a patisserie in Lyon, France.” Anita leaned in some more, and this time I didn’t interrupt. Although I’d only have admitted this to myself, I was curious about what else she’d share. “When he worked in Interlaken, it was for that fancy five-star hotel, the Victoria-Jungfrau.”
My eyes went wide. “The one Dad always swoons about? No way.”
“Yup.”
“That’s amazing. I’m…No, wait. Tell me how you know all this.”
“He created a catering company here called Dessert Dudes with one of his buddies, Vince Westley, eighteen months ago,” Anita said, dodging my question once more. “They make desserts, obviously, and from what I heard, it’s doing well. They rent space here, at Central Kitchen.”
I crossed my arms. “Are you a roller coaster designer or a secret agent?”
Anita snorted. “I read his LinkedIn profile and did a bit of sleuthing yesterday.”
“Aha,” I exclaimed. “Switching the class for tonight was deliberate, wasn’t it?”
“I plead the fifth.” She gave me a gentle shove so she could get to the sink.
“Anita,” I said quietly. “I see what you’re doing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Meddling, like Mom does, and I need you to stop. The split with Oliver’s been a lot over the past few months, and now with the engagement news…”
“You can’t let that set you back,” she said. “Especially when you’ve made—”
“Progress?” I shook my head. “It seemed so for a moment, but when I saw him and Sarah at A Different Drummer today—”
Anita gasped. “You saw them today? Oh, my goodness. Why didn’t you tell me? What happened? Are you okay?”
I quickly gave her the details and finished with, “See? There’s no way I’m ready to date.”
My sister looked at me and gently put her hand on my arm. “How will you know if you don’t try?”
She was a million percent wrong, but I didn’t have the chance to argue because Marco called out, “All right, everyone. Let’s get started.”
I glanced around the room again and saw couples, friends, and a few people with kids. Anita and I were the only two at our station, and when everyone had settled in, Marco gifted us a huge smile, which only seemed to grow as he and I made eye contact.
“Welcome to Central Kitchen’s Christmas Cookie Bonanza,” he said.
A round of applause ensued as I tried to downplay how attractive I found him. Maybe the candy bar I’d hastily eaten before coming here was messing with my gut because my sister was wrong, I wasn’t anywhere close to liking Marco that way. Plus, it would have been incredibly presumptuous to assume he’d be interested in me. He probably had a girlfriend.
“My name’s Marco Lancaster,” he continued. “Tonight, we’re making the classic Swiss sugar cookies called Mail?nderli.” His pronunciation was impeccable— may-land-uhr-lee —and he’d even rolled the r in true Swiss German fashion, the way Dad did. “I discovered them while working in Switzerland. They’re simple, delicious, and they’ll love them at the Fallbrook Fire Station bake sale.”
“If there are any left,” Anita piped up. “I might eat them all.”
“Not if I get to them first,” Marco said with a laugh. “You have all the ingredients in front of you, and we’ll go one step at a time. Are you ready? Let’s bake.”
Within a matter of minutes, the room hummed, the dozen participants beating softened butter and grating lemon zest before adding sugar, salt, eggs, and flour to make a yellow, sweet-smelling dough.
It reminded me of living in Pineville with Mom, Dad, and Anita, the four of us listening to Christmas music and baking cookies. My favorites were the ones I’d mentioned to Marco: Basler Brunsli, made from almonds, sugar, flour, cinnamon, cloves, egg whites, and, of course, exquisite Swiss chocolate. They tasted so good, Anita and I used to sneak pieces of raw dough when Mom and Dad weren’t watching, grinning as we gobbled down the sticky paste.
A pang of homesickness hit me hard. While I now lived in Fallbrook, in many ways Pineville remained my home. Part of me was angry at Oliver for robbing me of my family Christmas this year, although it felt somewhat unreasonable, considering the decision to stay was mine.
Once our cookie dough was ready, Marco instructed us to wrap it in parchment paper and put it in the fridge for thirty minutes while we cleared our workstations and took a break. Walter brought a tray of glasses filled with mulled wine, and when I took a sip, I swooned at the deliciously warm spiced citrus blend. Like it or not, some Christmas traditions were impossible to take a pass on.
“I hear you run a catering company,” Anita said when Marco stopped at our station to ask if we were enjoying the session. “Dessert Dudes, isn’t it? No prizes for guessing what you do.”
Marco laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You got me. We make all kinds of treats for private events, restaurants, coffee shops, and businesses. The local college, too.”
“I’ve heard of your company,” one of the women who’d been baking next to us said, her dangly silver reindeer earrings sparkling in the overhead lights. “My friend raves about your chili brownies. Do you have a favorite recipe, Marco?”
“Anything with eggnog,” he replied in an instant while giving me a knowing smile, as if we were sharing a secret. “Cake, cookies, fudge, ice cream. Can’t get enough of the stuff.”
“Delightful,” reindeer lady said before turning to take another glass of wine from Walter and asking if he could tell her how he made it.
Meanwhile, Anita looked at me. “You love eggnog, too, don’t you, Callie?”
“Yes, yum.” I felt grateful I’d managed to string two short words together because I was realizing how much my sister’s earlier assessment was correct. Marco’s presence did make me flustered. “Is this your busiest season?” I asked him, trying to prove I could tame my jitters.
“Very much so,” he said. “It’s terrific, don’t get me wrong, because I love the baking and cooking, but right now I’m in desperate need of a Christmas miracle.”
“Oh?” Anita said. “What kind of miracle?”
“An administrative one.” Marco grimaced. “We’re behind with the bookkeeping and tax return, and—”
“Callie will help,” my sister blurted.
“ Anita ,” I said.
“Oh, no.” Marco waved his hands around. “I couldn’t ask for Callie to do that.”
“Course you can,” Anita insisted before I had a chance to speak. “Trust me. You want a miracle? Here she is. Callie’s the best accountant in the world.”
“You work in finance?” Marco asked me.
“Yes, but—”
“For Whitlock & Blake Recruitment,” my sister added, as if I were invisible. “She worked for an accounting firm in Richmond and another in Pineville. That’s in Virginia, where we’re originally from. You handled all kinds of small business finances and corporate tax returns, didn’t you, Callie? Administrative tasks, too.”
“Well, yeah, I did a lot of stuff.”
“She moved here eight months ago with her now ex- boyfriend.” Anita paused to finally take a breath, and I wondered if the emphasis on ex had leaped out at Marco, too. “I bet she can help you get everything back on track.”
Anita’s blatant interference made me wish for a crater to conveniently open beneath my feet—or hers, preferably—but then I saw Marco’s expression fill with relief. “I’d love an hour of your time, Callie. Maybe get a general idea of how you think we can get out of this mess?”
“Do it in exchange for desserts.” Anita snapped her fingers. “No, wait, I have a better idea. Marco can help with your Advent calendar tasks and—”
“Let’s meet for coffee,” I said loudly, trying to stop Anita from making more commitments on my behalf before wondering if that was the sole reason I’d suggested it. What, exactly, was I thinking? Except…where was the harm? Marco and I would have a quick drink, we’d chat about his company financials, and I’d offer him advice, especially if he gave me some eggnog treats in return.
“That sounds amazing,” Marco said. “How about tomorrow?”
“Callie’s free,” Anita declared.
A minute later, Marco and I had exchanged numbers and decided on a place to meet after work.
“See how simple that was?” Anita whispered once he went to check on a pair of bakers who were muttering about their dough being hard as granite. “You could even say it was as easy as pie.”
—
By the time the session at Central Kitchen had ended, over four hundred cookies were baked, cooled, and packed into dozens of clear cellophane gift bags. We’d already known the cookies were destined for the fire station, but when Anita heard it was the one on Bridge Street, which we’d pass on our walk home, she insisted the two of us would drop off the treats.
“Thanks for doing this,” Marco said as we collectively stashed the gift bags into two separate boxes. “You’ll save Walter a trip in the morning.”
“Happy to help,” Anita said. “Besides, my sister owes you for making grumpy Grinch head cookies.”
Marco chuckled. “In my humble opinion, they tasted the best. I hope you had fun. You’re still sure about meeting tomorrow evening, Callie?”
“Seven at Candy Cakes.” I smiled, trying to ignore how Anita’s expectant gaze was burning a giant hole in the side of my head.
After we said goodbye to Marco, Walter, and the other cookie-making participants, it was a little after nine. The temperature outside had dropped a fair amount, and a fresh, two-inch layer of snow had settled over the town, dampening the noise from the cars passing by.
There was an almost magical storybook quality about Fallbrook’s center, with its parkettes, cobblestoned side streets, and old-fashioned lampposts lighting the way. It felt quite different to Pineville, and while my hometown had a beating heart of its own, it couldn’t compete with Fallbrook’s. It had been another reason I’d wanted to stay here.
“Admit it. You had a great time tonight, didn’t you?” Anita said as we took a few steps.
“The highlight was your face when you saw my Grinch cookies,” I answered with a laugh.
“From where I was standing, my face definitely wasn’t the best part of your evening.”
I knew where this was going, so I deflected. “Out of curiosity, what was the original class you booked?”
“?‘Baking for the Holidays’ with Jemma Hollis.”
“Jemma Hollis?” I asked. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Probably because I mentioned meeting her at the demolition derby I went to last month.”
“Is she the woman you said is as clever as she is spontaneous and fun? You saw her at the gym last week, didn’t you, and went for lunch? You said you were planning on asking her out.”
“That’s the one.” Anita nodded. “It would’ve been lovely seeing her tonight.”
“It’s too bad her class got canceled.”
“Uh-huh.” The noncommittal sound wasn’t anywhere near convincing enough.
“It wasn’t canceled, was it?”
My sister wrinkled her nose. “Nope.”
“Why did you make the switch?”
“For you , silly. Now you have a date with Marco.”
I knew where this was going, too, but decided not to engage and was grateful to see Fallbrook’s main fire station across the street so I could change the subject. “That’s such a cute building,” I said, stopping for a moment to take a good look.
I’d noticed this lovingly restored and iconic gray slate building many times when I’d meandered through town. This was Station One, and its number glowed with more LED bulbs than I could count. A large, hand-painted banner declaring Season’s Greetings Fallbrook hung above the three bay doors, each of them surrounded by real pine branches decorated with gold and purple ornaments.
Someone had framed the doors with strings of red and green lights, and giant cartoon Rudolph, Santa, and Frosty the Snowman decals had been stuck to the upper windows, making it seem as if they were peering outside. If Anita and I had lived in Fallbrook as kids, we’d no doubt have begged Mom and Dad to bring us here daily so we could stare at the place in wonder.
We headed through one of the open bay doors, where a tall, uniformed firefighter stood with his back to us. As we got a little closer and he turned around, a familiar smile spread across his face.
“Joe.” Anita waved at him as a distant bell rang in my head. “I hoped you’d be on shift.”
“Anita, Callie.” He walked over, surprising me with the fact that he remembered my name while I unsuccessfully tried to recall his, and where we’d met. “What brings you here?”
“Cookies from Central Kitchen to add to your bake sale.” She passed him the first box and stacked mine on top. “Please take these before we eat them.”
When I heard Joe’s laugh, things finally clicked into place. I’d met him at Fallbrook’s Lions Valley Park on a warm Saturday afternoon in May, when I’d gone there for a walk with Anita. The breakup with Oliver had been less than a month old, but my sister had insisted that I go out with her for a literal change of scenery.
I’d argued at first but had been grateful in the end because we’d hung out with a bunch of people she knew, playing volleyball and barbecuing burgers. When Anita had introduced me to Joe, whom she’d met during a rappelling course, I hadn’t paid a lot of attention. Now it was hard not to appreciate his defined arms, head of auburn curls, and sparkling azure eyes.
“You’re Joe, the volleyball king,” I said.
“Not sure about the king bit.” Grinning, he set the boxes of cookies on an empty table behind him. “Although I spent too many hours on the court rather than studying in high school.” He beamed at me, his eyes sparkling some more. “That was a fun afternoon last spring. How have you been since?”
“Pretty good,” I said. “Hoping I’ll survive my first Fallbrook winter.”
“I won’t lie, it gets dicey,” Joe said. “Ready for the holidays? Are you two sticking around?”
“I’m going back to our hometown, Pineville, in Virginia,” Anita said. “Missy here refuses to come.”
“How about you, Joe?” I asked, desperate not to get into the why part of that statement. “Got any travel plans?”
“No. I’ll either be on shift or on call,” he said. “Since we’ll both be here, maybe I’ll see you around town.”
“Joe,” one of his colleagues called out as he walked into the room. “Cap needs you.”
“Got to go,” Joe said. “Thanks for the cookies.”
After we said our goodbyes, Anita and I walked home. When I glanced at my sister, she had an unmistakable spring in her step. “What’s up?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
“I think he likes you.”
I burst out laughing and gave her a playful punch in the arm. “Jeez, not this again. Marco doesn’t like me.”
“I meant Joe . You should ask him out. I mean, I like Marco for you, but there’s nothing saying you can’t pursue both.”
“Seriously? You promised you wouldn’t set me up with any more guys.”
“I’m not. I’m giving you some sisterly advice. But okay, if you insist.” Anita made wide eyes at me as she pretended to zip her mouth shut.
“You know you’re infuriating, don’t you?” I said with a giggle, although I couldn’t deny the fact that my heart was warmed by how much my sister cared for me, even if her methods of showing it could be a little reminiscent of our mother’s ways.
“I love you, too-oo,” Anita replied in singsong, looping her arm through mine, and as we both laughed and walked down the street, I had a sneaking suspicion this wouldn’t quite be the end of it.