the contestants are all in pajamas.”
I surveyed the women at the baking stations. To call what they were wearing pajamas was a gross inaccuracy. They were wearing lingerie—sheer teddies with skimpy, lacy underwear festooned with lots of feathers, sequins, and fur.
“Maybe I need to put on my silk bodysuit with the strategically placed holes,” I joked.
“Do not,” Belle warned.
I settled at the judges’ table while Anastasia sent one girl home then explained the day’s challenge.
“This is the Christmas morning challenge, bakers! Create a fun, festive breakfast dessert that would be a perfect way to kick off a morning of opening presents. And don’t forget that Christmas is not just for kids! Do make liberal use of the Hillrock West Distillery liquors to give your baked goods a punch.”
My eyes swung to Morticia’s station. She was studiously avoiding me.
Now that I had had some time to reflect, I couldn’t fault her for her rant. After all, I hadn’t acted in the most gentlemanly manner. I had, at times, been pretty downright insulting.
It’s your own fault she doesn’t like you.
I wondered if it would be too late to fix things.
After the contestants had started cooking, Belle gestured to me.
“You need to go home and change.”
“Seriously?” I complained.
“One of the production assistants went and bought you some pajamas. They’re waiting in your condo. Go try them on and pick one.” Belle surveyed the contestants. “I foresee a lot of loaded pancakes in your future, so you may want to choose some pajamas with a bit of give.”
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting when I walked into my condo, but a space decorated similarly to my parents’ house during Christmas hadn’t been it. It was like walking into a snow globe. A huge real Christmas tree stood in the corner with impeccably wrapped present underneath it. The tree was trimmed with glass and gold ornaments with big red bows and glittering lights. A number of the ornaments were ones we sold in the distillery’s online store.
Garlands and lights hung from the heavy timber beams on the high ceiling. On the mantel over the gas fireplace (unfortunately, I couldn’t have a wood-burning one) was a miniature Christmas village. Stockings with the various contestants’ names on them hung over the fireplace in a neat row. My whole condo smelled like Christmas, all fresh pine and spices. The table was set for a feast with Christmas china, more garland, candles, and miniature metal Christmas trees, reindeer, and sleigh.
I opened the french doors that led out to the balcony. Outside, Morticia had draped the railings with more garland and lights. There was a small metal café table set with poinsettia, a few Christmas figurines, and an antique oil lamp, one of the tall ones with the glass chimney.
It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me—except Morticia hadn’t done it for me. “She did it because she was paid to,” I reminded myself.
But she hadn’t had to go to this much effort. I mean, a real Christmas tree, real garland—the place smelled amazing! I could just lie on my living room floor with the doors open and breathe everything in.
What if Morticia had gone the extra mile for me because she had known I would love it?
“You need to get over yourself.”
All the contestants and crew were going to be over in my condo filming soon. I had to get dressed.
I grimaced when I went into my bedroom. The production assistant had left a stack of pajama sets in my bedroom. They were not my style. I loved Christmas, but the pajamas looked like those designed for toddlers, just scaled up. There were happy dancing elves making toys on one set, Santa riding on his sleigh on another, and snowmen on the third.
I put that one on first; it seemed like the least offensive. The bottoms were snug. I looked down.
“Maybe I should wear two pair of underwear.”
At least the pants almost fit though. The shirt didn’t fit at all. The seam split right down the side when I tried to tug it over my head. So did the next and the next.
Belle: Are you ready??
Jonathan: Everything is the wrong size.
Belle: Just make do. It’s a twenty-minute segment.
Fuck. I looked around at the shreds of ruined pajama tops. I didn’t want to run around shirtless. With all those girls in their skimpy outfits, it might give a few of them the wrong idea. I didn’t even want them in my condo. Now instead of