Cupcakes and Christmas - R.J. Scott Page 0,23

top of it. We dug out the scarf, each starting at one end and tugging hard to free it from its icy confines. It was like the slow-motion Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene, him pulling one end, me the other, and both of us meeting in the middle. He laughed, and we were so close that if I accidentally slipped or leaned in I could kiss him or fall on him or do something from a rom-com where we ended up falling for each other and—

“Oomph,” he managed to say as we collided in the middle, and I had a handful of sexy baker.

I waited for him to move away, but he didn’t.

I waited for him to say something, but he stood there, looking down at me, and I couldn’t make out the expression in his dark eyes. If he didn’t move I was going to go on my tiptoes and kiss him, but just as I flexed my muscles he stepped away, and we didn’t stay close after that, separating to find the nose and eyes and whatever else we needed. Even though I mourned the missed kiss, I was proud of myself when I found the carrot, the tip of it just visible under the snowfall. It wasn’t long before he found dark stone buttons which I assume were the eyes. Not having a photo of the original to check against made it difficult to know we were doing the right thing or not.

He started to talk as we put the finishing touches on our frosty friend.

“When I was a kid we’d have build-a-snowman competitions, but my brother Joe nearly always won. He’s a sculptor, and he always made his look real. Adam and I, he’s my twin, we’d build together but spent more time fighting and throwing snowballs than we did building. Lacey, she’s my little sister, was the only direct competition for Joe, and it was a close-fought battle to get the family win, which meant a prize of the biggest hot chocolate with marshmallows out of all of them.”

“You missed out on that?”

He threw me a smile. “Nah, we’d all get it, even Lacey, who never managed to finish all her drink. Joe would say he’d gotten an extra marshmallow, which was bullshit because Mom and Dad always treated us all the same. She works with me at 3B.” He used the abbreviation for Bakes by Brody, and I followed what he was saying. “She sure as hell can finish her drinks now.” He smiled at whatever memories were spinning around in his head.

My heart hurt a little. The way he’d casually talked about his three siblings, including a twin, a mom and dad, who treated them all the same, was hard for me to hear. I’d heard things like this before and I generally ignored it.

Last birthday I’d taken over a floor in a hotel in the city and invited thirty of my closest friends. Well, at least people to whom I was connected through business. We’d had a DJ. I got drunk and ended up leaving the party early with this guy named Mick, who was a big name in… I don’t quite recall. I just know we tried to have sex, and I wasn’t into it. He fucked his hand and left after he’d tried to snap a photo of me and him in bed to sell. Pity party for one engaged and ready to go.

“… a name?” Brody asked, but I’d missed most of the question.

“Huh?”

“We should give him a name.” He stepped back and eyed the construction critically, smoothing part of the head, and then frowned. “Jeremy,” he announced.

“Jeremy?”

“He looks like he could be a Jeremy, don’t you think?”

I studied our repaired creation carefully. “He looks like a snowman.”

Brody snorted a laugh. “I know, but a name is vital otherwise they can’t be magic.”

This seemed important to Brody, and I must admit I was smiling at his unbridled enthusiasm for naming this rescued collection of snow and his excitement at the word magic. The smile I gave him was different to normal. I hadn’t considered why I was smiling. It wasn’t because I was laughing at him, but right inside me, there was a sudden burst of warmth as if the joy was coming from deep inside. As if it meant something.

“Jeremy is good.”

I took a photo for my Insta. Hash tagged it with Jeremy, and the various other key tags I needed to get in for my sponsors.