Passion Amongst the Pastries

Butterflies fluttered against the walls of my stomach like the last leaves still clinging to the trees standing along either side of Main Street before the wind caught a straggler and it spun to the ground. It wasn’t that the Mountainside Holiday Fun Fest was our biggest event of the year. Or that this was my first year running our bakery’s booth solo. Or even that our title for the Fest’s Best Christmas Cookies (for the seventh year in a row) was on the line.

Well, okay. Maybe it was all those things. The more I tried not to think of how high the stakes were, the louder each crack sounded in my head – the sound of my family members’ hearts breaking, one by one, when I inevitably screwed this up for our bakery.

Fine, so I was being a little dramatic. But Mountainside Sweets had been our town’s premier bakery for generations. We were an institution. That left me with a pretty big apron to fill. But I wanted this. For months, I’d begged my mom to let me take the lead this year. She finally relented after realizing I wasn’t her little girl anymore (and spraining her wrist putting the turkey in the over on Thanksgiving). So this was my big moment to prove to my family I had what it took to run the bakery. And really, for all my worrying, I was sure everything would go fine, so long as –

“Hey, Murtagh,” a distinctly annoying voice called from behind me as I carted another box of cupcakes toward my booth for the Holiday Fest. “Need any help?” From anyone else, the offer might have been genuine. Not from him though. If his mocking tone hadn’t given it away, the fact he’d literally been born to make my life a living hell would have guaranteed it.

“I think I’ve got it,” I said casually, spinning to see Jordan Carter smirking at me.

He held his hands up and took a tiny step back. “Well, look at you. Rebecca Murtagh all grown up, running her mommy’s booth all by herself. Sure you can handle it?”

I rolled my eyes, refusing to let him know I had the same question rattling around in my brain. “What’s to handle? It isn’t like there’s much competition this year.”

His smirk slid off his face. Jordan had taken over his family’s booth a few years back. Carter’s Cakes and Pastries had been our rival for as long as I can remember. And in a small town like Mountainside, things like bakery feuds ran deep, ridiculous as that might sound. It all went back to the day the Carters moved to town decades ago and allegedly stole a secret recipe from the Murtaghs. Or so the story went. All I knew was that my family hated his family and the feeling was mutual.

“Just wait. We’re going to destroy you this year. I plan on handling it personally.” He looked so proud of himself.

“Really? Steal another recipe?”

I could practically hear him grinding his teeth, the muscles in his jaw bulging. “You’re one to talk,” he spat. Of course, the Carters counter-accused the Murtagh’s of similar thievery way back. Isn’t that always how blood feuds go?

I really didn’t feel like getting into an argument with him. Or worse, suffer through more bakery smack talk. I had a booth to get back to. Unlike some people, I took my responsibility seriously.

“Leave me alone, Jordan. I’m busy. Don’t you have your own employees you can annoy?” I walked away before he responded, my arms growing sore from holding the box still in my arms the entire time I’d stopped to tell him off.

I set the box down on the table that formed the front of my family’s booth, unpacking the different varieties of cookie onto decorative red and green trays. Soon I had an army of frosted gingerbread people and enough sugar cookies, shortbread, and the ever classic chocolate chip to feed said army. Some were wrapped in shimmering plastic to sell, while most were displayed for sampling. A select few rested under a small white cloche, waiting for the Fest’s Best Cookie Contest.

The rest of my day passed in a similar blur of carting baked goods back and forth and passing cookies out to grinning kids as they raced through the square where the Holiday Fest was held, laughing at the care they took not to lose an ounce of frosting to their mittens. Though the air was expectedly cool and my breath rose in front of my eyes, I didn’t really feel the cold. Something about working the booth, either the physical demand or the joy on my patrons’ faces, made my chest feel a little warmer. Maybe it was both.

Most of my worries about somehow screwing up this year’s Holiday Fest melted away by the afternoon. As the winter’s early dusk started creeping along the edges of the horizon, I ran back to the bakery to bring back yet another box of the day’s favorite: miniature apple tarts.  Walking back to my both, I couldn’t help but smile when the multi-colored lights blinked on all across the square. More than the gifts, or being with loved ones, or even the food, this was my favorite part of the holidays. Something about seeing an entire landscape transform in a moment, suddenly dazzling with light, hinted at something magical, something that could only be captured once a year.

However, the lightness in my steps and the smile on my face faded as I drew closer to my booth. Something wasn’t right. A handful of older kids strolled away from the booth looking almost too casual. I saw they were all Carters, and worry spiked in my stomach. Silly though the rivalry between our bakeries and families was, many took it seriously, especially the impressionable and impulsive younger generation. It wouldn’t be the first time a prank was pulled or property lightly vandalized. Rushing forward, I scanned the entire space for evidence of foul play.

Nothing immediately jumped out at me, though I’d yet to light the tabletop lanterns that would combat the growing shadows, so maybe I’d missed something to the dimness. Or maybe I’d overreacted. The possibility made my shoulders slump with a touch of shame as I set down the box of tarts.

“Freeze!” a voice hissed as I was about to step back from the table in search of the lanterns. I looked down to see Jordan crouched behind the sign for the bakery propped up beside the table. He tried to grab my hand and pull me down next to him.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered back, yanking my hand away. All the suspicion I’d almost let go of came crashing back. I started backing away from him, unsure what his game was.

“No, wait-” He lurched from his hiding spot, grabbing my arm again. But it was too late.

A bucket of ice-cold water splashed down from the awning pitched over the booth. My breath caught as it drenched me, the water like knives cutting straight through my coat. I felt like it was seeping into my bones and freezing, leaving me suddenly stiff. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t alone in shivering misery though. Jordan stood beside me, still half-holding my shoulder, also dripping wet. Had he tried to push me out of the way? Why would he let himself get caught up in his own trap?

“F-freeze. Ha-ha. V-very funny,” I growled, pulling away from him despite the modicum of warmth his body had provided.

“This w-wasn’t me,” he argued, meeting my eyes defiantly. “I tried to warn you.”             

“Why should I b-believe you? You were the one hiding.” I shot back. Despite leaving the fresh apple tarts, waiting to be sold, I stalked back toward the bakery. I needed to get out of these sodden clothes. Inexplicably, Jordan followed.

“I was only hiding so they wouldn’t see me.” I didn’t need to ask who he meant. His siblings and cousins were clearly behind my sudden admittance to the polar bear club. Maybe he was too. “If they knew you’d been warned, they’d just pull another prank.” His voice still shook as he shivered, but seemed to grow stronger the more we moved.

“So what? Suddenly Jordan Carter grows a heart? It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grunted and I looked to see him roll his eyes. “Why are you always so difficult? Do you have to be a prissy princess all the time? Or for once, can you just say thank you?”

“Thank you for what? Trying to give me hypothermia?” What did this guy want from me?

“I told you, I had nothing to do with the bucket. If you’d held still like I said, you wouldn’t have knocked into the awning and tipped it over. I was trying to help.” His breath came in little huffs as he explained. He ran a hand through his wet hair and it crunched, the tips frosty from the cold air.

“Why?” was all I could manage to say. Before he could answer, we’d reached the door to my family’s apartment, which resided above the bakery. Though I no longer lived there, I knew where to find towels and some dry clothes. My own place was several blocks away. I’d be a popsicle if I tried to walk all the way there.

Loath to leave even my mortal enemy (or rather consistent annoyance) to freeze, I motioned for him follow me up the stairs. He seemed to look around before walking in, pulling his jacket collar a little closer around his face, though his wince as he did so made me think a rivulet of ice water dripped from the collar down his back. That made me grin and forget a little of my anger. It seemed unlikely this was part of some larger plot. Even if it was clear he’d rather not be seen with me, between his hiding earlier and his paranoia now.

“No one’s watching,” I assured him when we made it upstairs. I’d been worried enough about dying from embarrassment before the cold got me after the bucket had dropped, but no one at the Fest has seemed to notice.

He cleared his throat. “No, I wasn’t… er, well I was just making sure my loving family didn’t come around looking for an encore. They can get a little carried away.”

I snorted as I tossed him a towel from the hall closet. “Uh huh, right. It couldn’t have been about being seen with the competition and revealing that you tried to undo all their hard work.”

He nodded along before seeming to realize what he was doing. “So does this mean you believe me now?”

“It does seem like a lot of trouble to go to, just to get doused,” I admitted, sighing.

“That wasn’t part of the plan.” He shot me a crooked half-smile as he said it. I wondered again why he’d done it. What was his game? Jordan was far from a bad guy, more aggravating than anything. But he’d never struck me as the hero type, especially if it meant going against his family. And yet, he’d tried to help me.

We’d fallen into a tense silence. At least, it was tense for me. In the back of my mind, a tiny voice thought there could be an explanation for his actions. I told that voice to shut it because it was being ridiculous.

“I’m uh, going to get changed,” I said eventually, gesturing to the bathroom behind me. “I’ll see if I can find some for my dad’s old stuff… for you.”

“Thanks.” He looked surprised by the offer.

I shrugged. “Yeah, well, thanks. For trying to warn me. Even if you failed spectacularly,” I couldn’t help adding, though I returned his little half-smile to let him know I wasn’t holding it against him. He just shook his head.

I walked awkwardly to my sister’s room to borrow some clothes, my body still numb. Then, in the bathroom as I changed, I couldn’t keep that little speculating voice quite any longer. Maybe somewhere along our tumultuous back and forth, something had changed for Jordan. It wasn’t like I’d never thought about him before. With his dark, curly hair and easy smile, he was probably one of the best looking guys in town. Unfortunately, he knew it too. If the antagonism between our families hadn’t been enough, though that was part of what made it tempting too, then his attitude did it. Arrogant and delighted to annoy people, or at least me, he quickly quashed my ill-fated fascination years ago. And yet now, I wondered.

Hoping the red spreading across my cheeks could be blamed on the cold, I rushed from the bathroom to hand Jordan a pair of old jeans, socks, and a fleece hoodie that my dad hadn’t worn in years. I could tell they’d be a little big on him, but he still nodded gratefully as he took them.

While I waited for him to change, I tried to comb the damp tangles from my hair. My hands still shook. Though it was comfortable in the apartment and the dry clothes were a huge improvement, I still felt like I couldn’t fully warm up.

“You okay?” At some point, Jordan had left the bathroom to find me sitting in the hall, knees pulled up to my chest, still shuddering from time to time. I’d given up trying to tame my hair in favor of tucking my arms inside the sweater I’d borrowed from my sister.

“Just trying to warm back up. You might have heard, but I recently took an unexpected shower with a bucket of ice water. In December.”

He chuckled and sat beside me. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

I wasn’t really mad anymore. At least, not at him. But before I could say so, another shiver shook me and he put his arms around me, holding me against his chest. I opened my mouth to argue, but he was somehow so warm. It was a little unfair how well he retained body heat when I my fingers were still numb.

“Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” I finally managed to ask, though I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. That little voice that had suggested why Jordan suddenly took a non-antagonistic interest in me perked up with more self-satisfaction that I had thought possible from my own mind.

Still, I tried to ignore it. I – I had a booth to get back to, responsibilities. I didn’t have time to cuddle with Jordan Carter of all people, no matter how warm he was.

His voice was gruff when he eventually responded to my not-quite-as indignant-as-it-could-have-been question. “What, you’re freezing. Just trying to help.”

“I am still trying to wrap my head around a helpful Jordan Carter,” I told him, sitting up straight. Our arms were still touching, but I was no longer cradled against his chest.

“Hey. I’m helpful,” he argued.

“Maybe. But not to me. Not usually,” I pointed out.

He looked defensive, but couldn’t deny the truth. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

I studied his face, searching his eyes for some punchline that I at last had to admit was simply not there. They just burned with a sudden kind of intensity that made it hard for me to think. Gently, he took my hands from where they were pulled into my sleeves and rubbed them, friction not the only thing sparking at his touch and heating my icy digits. I glared at my rebellious hands, daring to respond like that. But it wasn’t their fault. It was my rebellious heart I should’ve been angry with, beating twice as fast as it had been moments before.

“Jordan…” I said hesitantly, ready to pull my hands away.

“Is it our families? Because I do not care what they think.” He said it so earnestly, I almost believed him. Still, raising a skeptical eyebrow, I remembered him hiding behind my booth and looking around to make sure no one saw us walking together. He relented. “Alright, fine. I care a little. But… Rebecca, I think I care about you more.”

It wasn’t the words themselves. It was how unsure, how open, he was. Where I once might have been disappointed by his uncharacteristic lack of confidence as he professed his feelings, admitting to me he wasn’t quite sure of those feelings yet is what told me he was being real with me. After years of teasing and general animosity, telling me anything else would have wrung unbelievable.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned closer. His hands stilled over my, but didn’t let go. “I think I might care about you too.” And I hoped my words were as true as his. Even our stand off from this morning took on a new light the longer I looked at him. Deep down, I kind of enjoyed our back and forth. Deep down that little voice had always wondered what if?

Jordan broke into his usual grin. “Well thank goodness for that. Otherwise I took a bucket of ice water for nothing.” He laughed and I joined him even as I punched him in the shoulder. Good-naturedly, of course.

We sat in the hall longer than I’d intended. Every time our eyes met, we started laughing again. Eventually, I heard the door to the bakery downstairs open.

“Rebecca?” My mom called up the stairs.

Jordan and I froze, for the second time that day, his panic mirroring mine.

“Well… Tis the season for miracles…?” he eventually whispered, looking toward the stairs.

We both grinned and I shook my head. “Not even the power of Christmas is that strong.” I pointed toward the window. He was still laughing as he climbed out.