Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,21
bottle…it was art. Well, arty enough to go on a magazine page and sell two-hundred-dollar bottles of whiskey. I snapped the photos.
Jonathan turned his head to me and grinned. “Like what you see?”
“You make an attractive pairing,” I grumbled.
“I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get from you,” he stated with a dramatic sigh and passed me the drink.
I took a long sip. “Perfect.”
Jonathan and the bartender gaped at me.
“What?”
“Usually, women want…” Jonathan gestured helplessly.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Just—” Jonathan said, tripping over his words, “they want, you know, fruity, fun drinks.”
“They want juice with a little alcohol. That’s not a cocktail,” I said bluntly. “A cocktail is alcohol, alcohol, more alcohol, and a citrus peel. Honestly, the cherry is a little much, but,” I said, plucking it neatly out of the glass tumbler, “there’s something about booze-soaked fruit that melts my black little heart.”
“Oh, Jonathan!” Keeley cooed in the fake sexy baby voice that made me want to suffocate myself with a gingerbread house. “Are you making drinks for everyone?”
“Yes,” I said, leveling my gaze at him, “he was just telling me how much he enjoys a woman who likes a sweet, fruity drink.”
“I love craft cocktails,” Keeley said, punctuating the words with her high-pitched, braying laugh.
I took Salem and my cocktail to enjoy it by the window in peace. In the daylight, my window still looked clutch. The brownies were still there, artfully arranged. I snagged one.
“Still good,” I told Salem. “That’s why you need the cream cheese and the pumpkin—it keeps it gooey.”
Though I was glad I was about to be kicked off the show, a part of me was…well, not sad to be going, but I would miss having a bar right across the street.
The rest of the contestants filed into the establishment.
“Before we start shopping for our next big Christmas bake-off challenge,” Anastasia announced, “one of you, unfortunately, is going home. Morticia, please step up.”
Salem, my drink, the rest of my brownies, and I went to stand in front of Anastasia and the cameras.
“Morticia, the judges were not impressed with your fall-themed brownies. Pumpkin is a Halloween item, and the judges also felt your dessert wasn’t impressive enough.”
I took a big bite of the brownie and chewed it noisily then slurped my cocktail for good measure. Damn, I was going to miss this.
“Keeley, please step up. You were the winner of this round. The judges loved your cake. It felt fun and surprising,” Anastasia said.
Keeley preened.
“You are the winner of the baking challenge. However, Keeley, you lost the fan favorite challenge by a large margin,” the hostess continued.
I snorted a laugh. “Guess Chloe stans didn’t like that you stole her idea,” I said.
I was going home, and Keeley got owned? I guessed this was going to be a good day after all.
“That means you both tied for a middle-of-the-pack placement, and neither one of you is going home,” Anastasia said.
Keeley’s eye twitched. Mine wasn’t much better.
“Someone has to be sent home,” Keeley said shrilly after a tense moment. “Those are the rules. And it needs to be Morticia.”
Anastasia ignored her and surveyed the rest of the bachelorette bakers.
“Fatimah,” Anastasia called. A girl wearing a colorful headscarf came up. “While you made a passable dessert, the judges thought your deconstructed Turkish delight was a bit rubbery. Though you did not have the worst fan score, but because your baking score from the judges was so low, unfortunately, we have to send you home. I hope you and your family have a lovely holiday.”
Fatimah was teary eyed as she hugged the new friends she had made. Meanwhile, I didn’t know whether to gloat at Keeley or fall into a sobbing, drunken mess on the floor. How was I here for another week?
“For our remaining baking bachelorettes…Jonathan is still the prize. While we all love an attractive man with money, I’m sure we all want to take a peek under the hood. Therefore, the next date is going to be a hot tub party! So suit up. We’re going shopping, ladies, but not for bathing suits—for baking ingredients!”
“I can’t do a hot tub party!” I groaned to Lilith. She and Emma had met me at the fancy imported food store, because I now needed to have them babysit Salem for me. Again. Because I was in The Great Christmas Bake-Off for another round. Again.
“Do you even own a bathing suit?” Emma asked me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go