Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,15
I asked.
Emma made a face. “You didn’t say that it lights up. That sounds dangerous.”
I showed her and Lilith the picture.
“I’m not sure I want to shove anything shaped like a Christmas tree up there. Seems like a disaster waiting to happen,” my twin remarked.
“I don’t know,” Emma said. “Seems like you’re going to need something to take the edge off if you’re going to survive The Great Christmas Bake-Off.”
“The plan is not to survive,” I reminded them as we lugged my trunk up the stairs to the door of the shared apartment. Last year, The Great Christmas Bake-Off had been in the Quantum Cyber tower. They’d had a whole penthouse.
This year?
“Guess a billion doesn’t go as far as it used to,” Lilith said as we peered into the small apartment.
The space was in a renovated loft above the main studio where we filmed. There was a great room with an open kitchen and two doors off of the large common area to what I assumed were bedrooms.
“This place is in need of some sage.”
“I think you’re going to need a lot more than incense to make this place habitable,” Emma said.
The place had been trashed. Whoever said girls were neater than boys was lying. There was dried nail polish on the rug. An empty mug of tea with the tea bag fused to the bottom sat atop a stack of Christmas plates shaped like reindeer. My blood pressure was rising.
Through the large windows, Jonathan’s company headquarters gleamed across the street.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Keeley gushed. “I love that we can watch him come in to work in the morning. You can see right across to the conference room where he works sometimes.” She sighed longingly. “I’m learning all his habits for when I become Mrs. Frost.”
“Because that’s not creepy.”
“Maybe you should try getting a job,” Lilith added, “instead of stalking any man that crosses your path.”
“And maybe you two should stop acting like weird teenagers, fix your wardrobe, and start behaving like someone a man would want, and you wouldn’t be unemployed and homeless.”
“We aren’t homeless,” Lilith insisted. She had had it just as bad as I had from our cousin.
“Really?” Keeley scoffed. “Then why are you bringing your cat here?”
“Emma can’t have cats on her lease. Salem is staying with Morticia.”
“Be careful,” I told my cousin. “He likes to talk to ghosts.”
“You were always strange and off-putting. No wonder all the boys hated you. And I don’t know why you’re even bothering being in this competition. I knew you couldn’t bake. Those brownies were such a stupid idea. I’m going to easily beat you.”
That was the point, I tried to assure myself, but my competitive nature was rising. I should have made them with pomegranate. Then they would have been red.
My twin and my friend shoved me into my new bedroom before I could lose it.
Lilith took a bundle of sage out of her purse and lit it, waving it in front of my face.
“And we’re inhaling and we’re exhaling. We are calm like the ocean,” Lilith intoned.
The room was more like a prison cell. Oh, the exposed brick walls, tall windows, and heavy timber beams did make a nice space. However, it would have been nicer without six bunks crowded into the bedroom.
“At least you aren’t bunking with Keeley,” Lilith reminded me as I gingerly set my purse on the empty bunk bed then opened Salem’s carrier. He hissed, yellow eyes wide as he took in the surroundings.
“Hopefully you’ll be out of this purgatory soon,” Lilith said. “Use this trauma to fuel your art.”
“Or you could just use Jonathan!” Emma said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Gross! I don’t want him anywhere near me.”
“Really?” Emma wheedled. “Not even a little bit? Because you two seemed hot and heavy in the bar.”
“He’s got some sort of fascination with women in furry suits.”
“Could be fun,” Emma mused. “You could branch out a bit.”
Salem extended one black paw out of the carrier.
Out in the common area, the other bachelorettes were shrieking and laughing.
“I will be eliminated tomorrow. I am sending positive thoughts to the universe, and I will be eliminated tomorrow,” I chanted.
“If not,” Emma said, “you should totally make maple-glazed bacon donuts. I bet that would have Jonathan after you. You know, give him some meat for his meat.”
“I do not want to think about Jonathan’s meat,” I said flatly.