How would she get through the night with this Grinch?
Luckily, they’d be with Cole and Carly, but that would only be for a little while. She’d put him to work. That’s what she’d do. After the kids were in bed, she had to assemble the croquembouche. A labor-intensive endeavor, the French dessert consisted of several ping-pong ball-sized profiteroles, a pastry similar to cream puffs, stacked into a tree-shaped tower that’s held together by drizzled caramel. She’d made the many profiteroles this morning, but the real work was in constructing the tower and making sure it held its cone-like Christmas tree shape before decorating it with sugar and almonds.
She’d put him on caramel duty or make him hold the cone that held the dessert in place.
“What do you want me to do with a cone?”
She blinked. “Did you say something?”
He frowned. “No, you said something. You’re doing that thing again where you talk out loud without realizing it.”
She huffed her disbelief. “I do not do that!”
“You just said you wanted my balls in a cone,” he answered without the hint of emotion.
Dammit!
Screw him! No, not screw him!
To hell with him!
She lifted her chin. “I don’t want your balls, Scooter. I was thinking about all the things I needed to get done tonight. You’re going to help me put together a dessert made of many ball-shaped pastries that requires a cone.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Street cones? Like the ones they put on the road? What the hell type of dessert requires diverting traffic?”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He may be all Mr. Surly, but he didn’t know a damn thing about baking.
“It’s a pastry cone used to shape the dessert and hold it in place. And no, it’s not made with an orange traffic cone.”
He sat back and watched her. “You know a decent amount about baking.”
Bridget stared at the man. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“Question.”
She sighed and glanced at the mountain. “I know enough.”
She could feel his eyes on her, taking it all in as if he were weighing her worth.
This had to stop.
She cleared her throat. “Tonight, we need to get the kids to bed and then finish up a few things for the rehearsal dinner. After that, you can do whatever you want.”
He nodded as the gondola came to a stop, and the Kringle Mountain House glowed against the mountain backdrop as the darkening skies crept in.
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
The light snow continued to fall as the wind kicked up, swirling snow across the mountain. They headed to the house only to have Delores open the door as they stepped onto the porch.
“Good! You’re back. The children were asking for you,” she said, ushering them in out of the cold.
Smoldering logs crackled and popped in the roaring fireplace as they entered the main room to find it quite altered. The sofas and loveseats sat bare of their padding, and the cushions and throw pillows littered the ground.
“The floor is lava!” Cole called, adjusting his candy apple red glasses as he hopped from pillow to pillow.
Bridget searched the room. “Where is everyone?”
“Dan wanted to leave a little early on account of the snow,” Delores replied.
Bridget checked her watch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they were leaving for another half hour.”
“It’s no trouble. I was happy to spend some time with the youngsters. I’ll be in my cabin if you need anything. And don’t forget about Frosty. Safety first,” the woman answered with a singsong trill as she headed out the side door that led to the cabins.
What was up with Delores and safe sex?
“Uncle Scooter, your feet are in the lava!” Carly cried, blessedly calling attention away from the condom filled snowman as she leaped from a chair to a couch cushion.
“Save yourself!” Cole cried.
Bridget chuckled, but when she looked at Soren, his green eyes again flashed that deep, agonizing pain. He glanced at her, then back at the kids. He smiled at them, but it wasn’t his Uncle Scooter smile. That grin brimmed with affection and excitement. This one showed a hint of melancholy.
He kicked off his snow boots and jumped onto the pillow next to Cole.
“Birdie, you’re not going to make it. Help her, Uncle Scooter!” Carly directed.
“Can’t she get on her own cushion?” he asked.
“They’re not cushions! They’re rocks!” Cole corrected, getting into it.
“And they’re the only things keeping us from getting burnt to a crisp!” his sister added, not to be outdone by her little