Let your group know that they’ll have their cookies in less than an hour.”
The woman clapped her hands. “Thank you! And can you deliver them to the pavilion in the Kringle Square?”
“Absolutely,” she replied as a heady rush of resolve coursed through her veins.
The woman released a sigh of relief. “You’re an angel! Thank you! I can’t wait to let everyone know,” she said, then hurried out of the shop.
The door slammed closed, and Bridget felt all eyes fall on her.
“How will you make all those cookies?” Lori asked.
Bridget brushed her hands together, removing the bits of dried frosting.
It was vixen baker time.
“It’s going to take all of us to get this done in under an hour. Who’s in?” she asked, surveying the group.
“Me, me, me!” Cole and Carly chimed as Lori and every Abbott raised their hands.
“What about you?” she said, eyeing Soren.
“What about me?” he asked with a cocky grin that, God help her, made her toes curl inside her boots.
“Are you in?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The air crackled between them. The banter was back.
“No, sir, you do not have a choice. Take out your phone. We need holiday music, STAT.”
Soren bit back a grin but followed orders like a good soldier, and she took on the role of cookie captain.
There was no going back now. It was cookies or bust time!
Soren tapped on his cell as Bing’s voice rang out, and she started calling out orders.
“The wedding cake goes in the refrigerator. Russell, that’s you, and then you’re on dish duty.”
Better to keep the handsy uncle busy.
“Yes, ma’am!” the man called, snapping to it.
There was no time to lose.
She and Lori whipped up the royal icing and the cookie dough as the Abbotts, plus her sexy scrooge washed up. When the group was ready to go, she assigned them to teams. There were Abbotts rocking rolling pins, Abbotts cracking with the cookie cutters, and Abbotts icing and applying sprinkles.
Like a finely tuned machine, the cookie assembly line hummed as everyone sang and swayed to the beat.
“Cole and Carly! Let’s see your dance moves. We need to add plenty of good holiday vibes to our cookies,” she called as she applied a dollop of frosting.
The kids busted out their moves as the adults chuckled.
“We’re running low on sprinkles,” the judge called, shaking a near-empty container of the tiny multicolored balls.
“Let me see what I can find,” she replied as she wiped her hands on her apron.
She searched the shelves and spied a canister up high near the back of the shop. Stretching to reach it, she pushed onto her tiptoes but stilled when a presence came up behind her, and a tingle ran down her spine. She’d know this energy anywhere.
“Allow me,” came the sexy rasp of the man she could not figure out.
He’d joined in the cookie assembly as if he actually cared—and maybe he did, or perhaps he was pretending, playing the dutiful best man in front of the Abbotts. Either way, she had to keep her guard up. The highs and lows with this cat-eyed Romeo could give a gal whiplash.
She glanced over her shoulder. That Soren sex tractor beam was downright irresistible—especially when he was wearing an apron.
“Sprinkles,” she breathed, because that was all her sex mushed brain could come up with.
“Sprinkles,” he replied.
Perfect! They had one word between the two of them. That would get weird fast.
She parted her lips, not sure what would come out. Perhaps, she’d repeat sprinkles when Carly giggled.
“What is it, honey?” Grace asked her granddaughter.
“Uncle Scooter and Birdie have to kiss,” the little girl chimed.
“Why would you say that?” Soren asked, his cheeks growing pink.
Carly pointed to the ceiling. “You’re under the mistletoe.”
She glanced up and, yep, there was mistletoe.
“It looks fake,” Soren said with an uncharacteristic hoarseness to his voice.
Was he nervous?
“Fake or real, if you get caught under the mistletoe, you have to kiss. It’s Christmas rules,” the judge offered with the hint of a grin as the rest of the Abbotts egged them on to offer up a kiss.
“I didn’t see the mistletoe. That’s not why I came over to help you,” Soren said without a smirk or a glare.
“I didn’t notice it either,” she whispered back.
“Go on, Birdie! Tame the beast!” Tom teased.
“I could take your place, Scooter,” Russ offered, throwing her a leisure suit Larry leer.
“No, you couldn’t,” Soren said softly, for only her to hear, as his breath tickled her lips.
Her pulse hammered. Her heart felt too large for her chest. His