Christmasland - Anne-Marie Meyer Page 0,30

realized how close we now were.

“When I was a kid, I thought I would try to make some bread. I’d watched on a kid show how to make bread with water and flour. Or at least, those were the only ingredients that I could remember.” She closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “Bricks. That’s what I made. I made bricks.” She opened her eyes back up and offered me a goofy smile. “My poor foster dad. He felt bad that I was so upset, so he ate the half-baked goo.”

I laughed, imagining Beatrice crying over bricks of flour and water. She swatted my arm as an exaggerated expression passed over her face. “It’s not funny,” she said with a pout.

I raised my hands. “Hey, I’m not the one that thought the way to make bread is by adding water to flour.”

She playfully glowered at me. “Well, I know that now.”

I chuckled. “That’s good to know ‘cause you’re going to have to showcase that knowledge for half the town.”

Her expression faltered. “Right.”

Not wanting her to feel alone, I leaned in. This time, I didn’t police how close I got or how long I lingered. I wanted to be closer to her, and every time we spoke, I grew more and more confident. “All right, I give in.”

Beatrice stilled, and for a moment, I feared that I had overstepped. I peered down at her, hoping she’d give me some signal as to what had caused her to freeze. Then, slowly, she turned her head so that she could meet my gaze.

“You do?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

For a moment, we just sat there, looking at each other. I wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to or if she was convinced that if she stared at me long enough, the answer to her question would appear on my forehead.

Realizing that I was most likely reading more into her reaction than she’d intended, I smiled and nodded. “I do.” She still looked confused, so I added, “I’ll help you.”

“Help me?”

This was the strangest conversation. “Yes. I will help you bake today.”

She shook her head. “Is that ethical? After all, you are a judge.”

“Let’s call it self-preservation. I don’t want to eat glue.” I held up my hands. “But I promise that you will be the one doing most of the work. I’ll just be behind the scenes to guide you.”

She eyed me and then sighed. “I get to do what I want?” she asked, raising her finger just in front of my face and wiggling it.

I raised my right hand. “I swear.”

She pursed her lips to the side, and then a smile slowly emerged. “Fine. Deal. I’ll take your help,” she said.

I nodded, and just before I could respond, Porter and Emilia returned to the table with roasted marshmallows on their sticks.

“What’s going on over here?” Emilia asked as she sat down on the bench and began to pull off the browned bits of marshmallow and slip them into her mouth.

“Ethan kindly offered to help me with the bake-off this afternoon.” Beatrice said it so nonchalantly that I glanced down at her. I don’t know what I was expecting, but deep down, part of me hoped that she would sound a little more excited.

“He did?” Emilia asked with more emphasis that one would expect.

“Em,” Beatrice said. Her voice was lower now, and I could tell she was staring intently at her friend.

Emilia raised her hands. “I didn’t say anything.” When she lowered her hands, her smile remained. “I just think it’s sweet.” She gave a subtle wink to Beatrice, who just sighed.

“Anyway, we should probably get back, huh? Your mom is probably wondering where her helper is, and I need to figure out what I’m going to make.” Beatrice began clearing the table. After the now empty containers were returned to the bags, she turned to nod toward the horses. “Ready?”

I helped Porter kick snow on the fire and the flames fizzled to steam. Once we were sure it was out for good, we climbed back onto the sleigh, and I clicked my tongue to wake up the horses. They neighed and began pulling us back to the inn.

Beatrice sighed as she leaned back and closed her eyes. The sun shone down on her skin, and I couldn’t help but stare at her long neck and creamy skin. I wanted to reach out and touch it—but I resisted. I wasn’t a creep, but these desires were causing me to