How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

And just like that, the tables have turned.

Thanks to mashed potatoes, first place was earned.

But the winds seem to be changing; is romance really in the air?

In love and Christmas competitions, is all really fair?

Could his crush blossom to something that’s so much more?

Could true love develop in the town’s candy cane store?

“You’re kidding, right?” I say as I look out the window at the snow falling to the ground. “I’m not driving in that.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Taran says. “This is the only class offered before the competition, and you have to take it.”

“It’s an hour’s drive away,” I say. “And if you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing.”

“The roads will be clear,” Aunt Cindy says. “They always take care of the roads here. No need to worry, dearie.”

“Umm, but it’s snowing. I don’t drive in the snow. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Stay on the road,” Taran says, being unhelpful as she maps out more lights on a chart of the house that she created.

“You’re seriously okay with me driving your car through a snowstorm an hour away to Clayton to take a candy cane-making lesson from a guy named Theodore Garvey?” I ask.

Taran sighs and brings her attention to me. “Yes, I am. I can’t take you because I have to take care of Aunt Cindy, and Aunt Cindy needs to do her physical therapy. So I suggest you put your big girl pants on, get dressed, and start driving.”

Irritated with my sister, I retreat to my room and shut the door. This is ridiculous—can’t I watch a YouTube video or something? Wouldn’t that be safer than driving in the snow? I mean, if you’re a seasoned snow driver, then you know the tactics to stay on the road. But this is terrifying. Don’t they care about my safety at all?

I glance out the window and catch the white flakes floating from the sky down to the ground. Sure, it’s not a heavy snow, but it’s enough to worry me. To make me sweat, to create this prickling feeling that goes up the back of my neck, letting me know that this might not be a good idea.

I know Taran won’t let me stay home though, so I grab a pair of leggings, a warm sweater, and fuzzy socks along with undergarments and bring them into the bathroom where I take a quick shower, leaving my hair up since I washed it yesterday.

Once out of the shower, I wipe my hand across the fogged-up mirror, revealing my reflection.

You can do this.

You can drive in the snow.

It’s for the competition.

Do you really want Cole to win?

“No,” I say to myself. “He will not win. You are going to drive to Clayton, you will be fine, and you will learn how to make candy canes. Done and done.”

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die,” I chant, my hands clutching the steering wheel in a death grip.

I’ve turned off my music.

My eyes are as wide as can be.

And despite attempting to have X-ray vision, I can’t seem to see through this snow that has picked up since I left Aunt Cindy’s house.

“Where are the lines in the road?” I shout as my emotions get the best of me and my eyes start to well up with tears.

No, don’t cry, that’s not going to help you see better.

I swipe at my eyes and slow the car down to five miles per hour, turning on my hazard lights and praying that I don’t fall down a ditch.

Maybe…maybe if I pull off to the side for a second and let this heavy snow pass, everything will be okay.

I swipe at my eyes again and very carefully find the shoulder of the road and pull off to the side.

“See, we’ll just wait—” The car bumps, and then jolts downward.

I scream bloody murder, terrified that I’ve fallen into a ditch.

“This is my death,” I scream, waiting for the car to keep falling, but when it doesn’t, I open my eyes and glance out the window. To the right of me, I see a guardrail. Thank God for that, because at least I know I won’t be falling into any sort of mountain death trap. I look up ahead and see a sign that says Lookout Point. Oh, there must be a bigger parking spot there.

I’ll pull forward and rest there.

I press on the gas, but the car doesn’t move.

Um…

I nervously chuckle.

Okay, let me just press a little harder.

Nothing.

No…no no no.

I flip my hood over my head, put the car in park, and then open my door, only to be blasted by Father Snow.

“Mother of God,” I say as I make my way to the back tires to examine what’s going on. I can barely see with the snow pelting me in the face, but when I reach the tires and see that one of them has fallen victim to a decently sized pothole, I realize…I’m fucked.

Quickly, I make my way back to the car and settle into my seat before grabbing my phone.

And would you guess it? Not a bar of reception. Freaking mountains.

I press my head against the steering wheel, tears filling my eyes again.

My worst nightmare has come true.

Deserted, alone, in a winter storm with no cell service. This is exactly why I didn’t want to drive, Taran!

Tears stream down my face as I try to figure out what to do. I have no idea where I am in proximity to any town.

I can’t see a freaking thing.

And the last thing I want to do is stand outside, waiting for someone to come rescue me, because who in their right mind would drive in this snow?

No one.

No one would drive in this weather.

Only idiots like me from California who are convinced—

Knock. Knock.

I nearly jump out of my skin as I turn to the side and spot a figure standing outside of my car door.

I’m so relieved that there is another human in the area that I don’t even consider if they could be a murderer.

I roll down my window, the wind and snow whipping into my car as the stranger lowers their head.

And that’s when I see him.

Those memorable eyes.

That carved jawline.

Those lips…

“Cole?” I say, wiping at my eyes, honestly too relieved to even care that it’s him.

“Having some car trouble?”

I nod, and I can’t help it, more tears stream down my face.

“Yeah,” I say right before a sob escapes my lips.

“Shit,” he mutters and then opens my car door. “Grab your bag,” he says as he helps me out of the car.

I grab my things and stand next to the car as he hops in, rolls up the window, puts the emergency brake on, and then turns off the engine. He then gets out, pockets the keys, and shuts the door. He takes me by the elbow and escorts me toward his truck that’s parked in front of my car.

I must have been so upset that I didn’t even notice him pull in.

He brings me to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door before helping me in. When I’m in the warm confines of his truck, he shuts the door and that’s when I attempt to wipe at my eyes, but it’s no use, the tears keep coming.

When he joins me, he turns on the heat to full blast and then reaches in his glove box, handing me some tissues.

“Thank you,” I say as I blot at my face, knowing damn well any makeup I put on is probably smeared all over.

“How long were you stuck there?” he asks, his voice terse, almost…angry.

“Not long at all. You were like a minute behind.”

“Good. Are you okay?”

I look up and see the concern in his eyes, the worry etched in his brow and it…it casts him in a different light. Makes me remember the boy I used to talk to on his porch while drinking hot cocoa. This isn’t the same man I’ve been sparring with; this is the boy who I used to think about every Christmas. Even when I was far away in a warmer environment, I often wondered about my blue-eyed friend. The girls at school used to be jealous when I came back from the holidays talking about him. And I missed him. Truly missed him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say as more tears stream down my cheeks. “Ugh, I’m sorry.”

And then to my surprise, he scoots across the bench seat and pulls me close to his chest. I go willingly and rest my head against him as he cups the back of my head.

“You shouldn’t be driving in this snow,” he says softly as he sifts his fingers through my hair.

“That’s what I told Taran,” I say. “But…the candy cane class is today so…she made me go.” I sniffle. “Is that…is that where you’re headed?”

“Yes,” he says tersely. “You should have asked for a ride, Storee.”

I pull back so I can look him in the eyes. “I should have asked you? After all the fighting we’ve been doing? Would you have even said yes?”

“I would have,” he says. “Competition is one thing, safety is another. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You don’t?” I ask.

His hand comes to my cheek. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh,” I reply, not sure what else to say.

After a few seconds of us just staring at each other, he says, “Do you want me to take you back home?”

Yes.

But also…no.

“Umm…you’re headed to Clayton?”

“I am,” he replies as he strokes my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “I know shit about candy canes.”

That makes me laugh. I blot my eyes with my tissue. “Same. Would you mind…um, taking me?”

“As long as you don’t annoy me.”

I smirk. “Can’t make any promises.”

He chuckles.

Actually chuckles. Then he pulls away just enough to look at me better. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” And when I think he’s going to move back to his side of the truck, he stays where he is, his hand moving into mine. When our eyes connect, he says, “You sure you don’t want to go back home? I don’t mind driving you.”

“No, I need to take that lesson. Can’t have you beating me.”

“Yeah, can’t have that,” he says absentmindedly. There he is. There’s the nice boy I once knew. No malice. No snark. Just personable and good-natured.

He studies me for a few more moments before he finally retreats to his side of the truck.

“When we get into Clayton, I’ll let Max know about your car and have him arrange to have someone take care of it.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I can, uh, call…someone.”

“Yeah, and who would that be?” he asks as he takes off his jacket.

“Uh…someone.”

“Nice try,” he says and then offers me his jacket. “I know you get cold, so would you like this for your legs?”

I roll my teeth over the corner of my lip. “You don’t need it?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Okay, sure, I’ll take it.” He hands it to me, and I drape it over my chilled legs, grateful for the extra layer. I glance over at him. “You’re being nice to me.”

“I’m not really a dick, you know.”

“Then why do you act like one?”

He puts his truck into drive. “Defense mechanism.”

“From what?” I ask.

He glances in my direction and then focuses back on the road. “Nothing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” I say.

“Because you can probably see right through me, and that scares me, hence why I said nothing.”

Wow, okay, so he’s being really open and honest. This is such a stark contrast from the man I saw the other day at the Fruitcake Festivus. So what’s changed?

“That’s a heavy statement,” I say.

He just shrugs. Clearly, if I push him too far, he might shut down, so I decide to leave it at that.

I like this side of him. This open, warm side, and I don’t want to lose that.

So I change the subject. “This snow is pretty heavy,” I say. “You’re okay driving in it?”

“I grew up here, Storee. What do you think?”

“I would take that as a yes,” I say. “But don’t you ever get scared?”

“If you allow fear to take over your actions, then you’re never going to accomplish anything.”

“You say that as if you have experience in the matter.”

“Maybe,” he says his eyes fixed on the road.

“Perhaps you’ll tell me what kind of experience.”

“And give you insight into the competition?” he playfully says. “Nah, think I’ll pass.”

“Doesn’t seem very strategic to save your competition from a snowstorm.”

“As a matter of fact, it is,” he says. “If I left you there to freeze to death, then it wouldn’t be a competition at all. I’m not one to win because of a forfeit—I want the challenge.”

“Ah, I see, so saving me back there was a selfish move?”

He glances over at me for a split second. “Probably in more ways than one.”

Cole

What the fuck are you doing, Cole?

It’s a question I keep repeating to myself over and over as I glance toward Storee, checking for the hundredth time that she’s okay.

When I saw her car pulled off to the side, I felt my entire being go hot with fear. I knew immediately that it had to be her. I’ve seen that car parked in the driveway next-door, and it was headed the same direction as me. It had to be her, and when I saw her tear-stained face, well…fuck, it made me drop the animosity, the pent-up anger, and all I wanted to do was help.

Protect.

Make sure that she wasn’t scared.

Make sure that she was okay.

I went into helping mode.

And when she continued to cry in my truck, visibly shaking, she broke another wall that I had erected between the two of us, and before I knew it, I was holding her, stroking her hair, wanting to remove all the fear that was taking over her body.

Because I know that fear.

I feel it every time I drive in the snow.

It’s the way my parents died…driving in a snowstorm.

Nearly ten years ago. I got that phone call, telling me what happened.

Altering my life forever.

And it’s times like these that I wish I’d been with my parents and hadn’t been left alone.

The fear is so strong, so prevalent during the winter that I make sure to drive in the snow. I make sure to practice. I make sure I don’t allow the fear to turn me catatonic, because that’s what it would do if I allowed it.

So when I woke up this morning and saw that it was snowing, I didn’t even think twice about driving to Clayton. If only I’d checked in on Storee first to see if she was going. Selfishly, I didn’t consider her. I was so focused on myself, focused on conquering the fear once again that always pricks at the back of my neck when I travel in the snow.

I should have asked.

“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Sorry for what?” she asks, sounding confused as she blots at her tears.

“For not checking in with you before I left, seeing if you needed a ride today.”

“Oh…why would you?”

“It would have been the right thing to do,” I say as I look her in the eyes.

She glances away, staring down at her lap. “You don’t need to apologize, Cole.”

“I do. I really should have checked. That was shitty of me.”

“Cole,” she says, a note of trepidation in her voice. “You owe me nothing. It’s not like we’re friends, right?”

Yeah…I guess we’re not.

I look out toward the snow pelting my windshield, the wetter flakes dragging streaks of water across the glass and collecting on my wipers.

“Right, Cole?” she says again, almost sounding unsure. “We’re not friends.”

I bring my attention back to her. “We were…a while back.”

Her lips press together as she slowly nods. “We were. I miss that side of us.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Yeah, me too.” And then because the mood seems to be tense, I say, “You know, we do have a good rapport going on in town. Everyone seems to think we get along just fine. Maybe we’re friends and we don’t know it.”

I glance at her and catch the way the corner of her lip tilts up, joining me in lightening the mood. “I mean, it is friendly of you to stop by my car on the side of the road and check on me.”

“That was awfully kind of me,” I reply with a grin.

“So are you trying to tell me that maybe, possibly, we might be friends?”

I shrug. “Isn’t that what they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“Yes, but there needs to be a third involved for that to be true. So if both of us were enemies with Atlas, then we would be friends.”

“I see. Then perhaps the candy canes will be our enemy today, which then would make us friends.”

“From what I heard about candy cane making, I have a feeling that might be true,” she replies, relaxing into her seat, crossing one leg over the other.

“Are you warm?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah, you could probably turn down the heat. I’m sure you’re hot.”

“Yeah, I’m about to sweat out of my flannel,” I say as I turn down the dial.

She chuckles. “You know, you can be kind of funny when you allow it. Reminds me of our conversations when we were younger.”

“Ah, so you do remember me,” I say. “Here I thought I was Connor to you.”

“That was a stupid joke that didn’t quite hit the way I thought it would. And then of course I saw how irritated it made you, and I just…kept going. Who knows why.”

“Because you’re the instigator. I recall you driving your sister crazy when we were younger…and me for that matter,” I say, thankful the snow is lightening up as we head over the mountain pass. Clayton is not that far away now.

“I still drive her crazy. And apparently you as well.”

“Seems to be a theme with you,” I say.

“Guess once an instigator, always an instigator.” She turns slightly toward me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends,” I say as I switch on the radio, letting Christmas instrumentals lightly play in the background. I feel like I’m transported back to ten years ago when conversation flowed easily with her.

“Depends on what?” she asks.

“If I want to answer the question or not. I have the right to veto.”

“That’s fair.” She shifts so she’s fully turned toward me now. I can feel her eyes on me, and it takes everything in me not to look in her direction, because I know if I do, I’ll want to look for a beat longer. “When I first came into town, why were you so upset with me? Did I do something wrong? Was it because my family hadn’t visited in ten years? Was it because you saw how sad Aunt Cindy was?”

“None of that,” I say, my throat growing tight. I’m not sure I want to have this conversation.

“Okay, then what was it?”

My grip on the steering wheel grows tighter as the snow breaks, and only flurries now fall over us. The worst of the storm is behind us, its wake evident in the powdered trees and mountainsides that surround us.

“Seriously, Cole, what did I do?”

“You know, I don’t think this is the sort of conversation we should be having right now.”

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because it’s probably something I should tell you when I look you in the eyes.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well…then pull over.”

“Pull over?” I ask. “We don’t want to be late.”

“We won’t. Pull over, Cole.”

Knowing she’s not going to let this go, I do as she says and put my hazard lights on even though, there’s probably no one else driving right now.

When I put the truck in park, she tugs on my hand, forcing me to look at her. “Talk to me, Cole, because I don’t like this…this animosity between us. It’s tiring. The constant fighting, battling, the fake façade. I’m just…I’m overwhelmed, and I can see that warm side of you come out, that side I used to know.”

She presses her palm to mine, and I entwine our fingers before I look her in the eyes.

Crystal clear.

Not a hint of treachery in them like she’s waiting to strike when I open up, ready to take me down.

There’s genuine care.

Concern.

And it breaks me because it’s been…fuck, it’s been lonely during this time of the year.

And it’s my doing. I’ve secluded myself. I’ve neglected to participate in activities with the town. I’ve been hiding in a hole, only coming out at Christmas to spend a few days with the Maxheimers. I’ve actually been surprised I haven’t received a million side-eyes from the townsfolk. They must be shocked at my abrupt change in personality. Yet they’ve…welcomed me.

But seeing Storee here again, it’s reminding me of all those Christmases when we would build snowmen in our front yards. When we would walk around the town, never holding hands, but enjoying each other’s company while looking at the lights. She’d be freezing, and I’d offer her my jacket. She’d ask questions about what it’s like to live in such a secluded, kitschy town, and I’d reciprocate by asking her what it’s like having access to a beach all the time.

In a weird way, I’ve associated Storee with Christmas. Whenever I saw her family pull up in the driveway, it felt like the season truly started, and, well…after my parents died and she didn’t come to visit anymore, it darkened the season for me, to the point that I didn’t celebrate anymore. Couldn’t. Because there was no joy left for me to celebrate.

“Please, Cole,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Tell me what I did.”

I wet my lips and lean my back against my door. “It was the last Christmas that you were here.”

“The Christmas where I knocked Mrs. Fiskers into the river?” she asks.

“Yeah, that Christmas.”

“That was such a horrible Christmas for me. I was in such a foul mood. If I said anything mean or stupid, I’m sorry. I was embarrassed, I was mad, I was confused about what I wanted to do with my life, and, well, I didn’t have the best Christmas that year. I ended up leaving Christmas Day because I was over it. Taran took me to the airport. Why, what did I say?”

I glance out the windshield, feeling all that pain come back. Because I remember looking for her the next day, despite everything she’d said, hoping to find her, talk to her, have her get my mind off the pain I was feeling, but she wasn’t there.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

She had left.

“Cole,” she presses. I try to release her hand, but she doesn’t let me. “Please tell me.”

I let out a sigh and just go for it. “That Christmas Eve, when you talked to me on the porch, you said that you hated the town.”

“Oh.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t mean that. It was—”

“And that was when my parents went missing.”

“Wait…what?” she says, sitting taller.

“I was out on the porch, hoping to run into you because I was scared, nervous. They couldn’t find my parents after a big snowstorm. They were supposed to come back that day, but no one had heard from them. When I saw you, I was relieved, but then…”

“Oh my God,” she whispers as tears fill her eyes again. “I went off about the town, how it was so stupid and how I didn’t understand why anyone would want to spend day in and day out celebrating Christmas.”

“Yeah,” I say lightly.

“Cole…” Tears fall down her cheeks. “I’m…oh my God, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was numb,” I answer. “I didn’t want to fight with you. I didn’t even want to defend the town that was trying to help find my parents. I just…I slipped into another frame of mind.” I wet my lips. “And then the next day when I wanted to tell you what happened, you weren’t there. You had left, and I just…I don’t know, I took that as your goodbye. You were done with Kringle—you were done with me.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. Oh my God, I’m so selfish and stupid. I’m so sorry, Cole.”

I shrug. “It was ten years ago. When I saw you come back into town, it just brought back all that animosity I was feeling, and then when I heard you were going to try to become the Christmas Kringle, I thought how dare she. And, well, the rest is history.”

She scoots closer on the bench seat and brings my hand to her chest. “I’m sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have asked what was wrong. I was so caught up in myself, I neglected to think about you. And then…God, not coming back. You must hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I say.

Not even close, Storee.

Not even a little.

“Cole, I’m sure you do—”

“I don’t,” I say with conviction. “I really don’t, Storee.”

She presses her lips together. “Well, you should.” She glances down at her lap and lets out a sigh. “I’m just so deeply sorry. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t. I can’t imagine what it’s been like. How lonely you must have been. I mean, I don’t see my parents much these days—they have their own adventurous life now—but if I want to…well, I can see them.” She pauses, and I can see how deeply she’s grieving for me. Her presence is somewhat soothing in this moment. But then she looks up. “God, I didn’t even know. I’m wrecked that I didn’t know what you were going through. I’m—”

“Because I made Cindy promise not to tell you.”

Her eyes shoot up to mine. “You did? Why?”

“Because I was angry with you at the time. I didn’t want your sympathy. I just wanted to deal with my new reality on my own. Plus, I knew you were headed to college, and I felt like you leaving that Christmas was you starting a new journey. You were done with Kringle, and I needed to accept that.”

“I would have come back if I’d known.”

“And that’s exactly why I made her promise. You weren’t into this town, this life, and I didn’t want your pity. It…it just was meant to be that way.” I drag my hand over my face. “And when you came back, I treated you like shit, and I’m sorry. I was just, hell, I was surprised. I didn’t know how to handle my feelings and I acted childishly. I’m sorry, Storee.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be. You had every right to act the way that you did.”

“Losing my parents doesn’t give me the privilege to be an asshole.”

“How about this, we’re both sorry for separate reasons, and we both accept the apologies?” She squeezes my hand, and it makes me smile. “We can move on from this, Cole. We don’t need to live in a past of apologies, because that is not going to do anything but make us go around in circles.”

“You’re right,” I say, clearing my throat.

“So let’s accept what we’ve said, and move forward from here.”

“Yeah, I think I can get on board with that.”

“Good.” She glances out the window and back at me. “Now, that doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy on you. You’re still going down…Snow Daddy.” My brows shoot up and she chuckles. “Atlas told me about his nickname for you. I was just waiting to use it. Has a nice ring to it, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a Max nickname only.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that.” She releases my hand. “I’m partial to it.”

I shake my head and then put the truck in drive.

“Hey, Cole?”

“Hmm?” I glance over at her.

“Thank you for telling me.”

No, thank you, Storee, for coming back, for caring, for helping me smile again.

“Thanks for listening, Storee.”

Storee

“Sooo, this looks just like Chadwick’s Candy Shop,” I say quietly to Cole.

“Yeah, sore subject.”

“I don’t get it,” I say as we wait for Theodore Garvey to bring out the ingredients from the back of the kitchen. “Why would Mr. Chadwick send us here for lessons when clearly Theodore is stealing all his ideas from Mr. Chadwick?”

“I think it’s many things. One, Jefferson doesn’t have to deal with us. Two, people can see how Theodore’s is a rip-off. And three, if we fail, Jefferson has a reason to hate Theodore more.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

Since Cole and I showed up together, they put us as a group. Jimmy and Ursula are in a group as well. Beatrice didn’t come—apparently, she knows what she’s doing—and there are two other couples who are here that seem to be out-of-towners, based on the number of photos they’re excitedly taking.

Just like Chadwick’s back in Kringle, the store is white with red accents. Red-and-white striped curtains in the window, a display case of candies that stretches across the back of the store, and even the logo is the same: an oval with red lettering. Whereas Chadwick’s advertises that his store was established back in the early 1900s, Theodore’s is the early 2020s. What a joke.

But despite all of that, it feels kind of odd, but also nice, being here with Cole. The conversation in his truck was heavy, and I’m sure it’s going to weigh on my chest for a very long time, because I wasn’t there for him when he needed a friend. And that’s not something I think I will ever get over.

But since we accepted each other’s apologies, things feel…different.

He’s not so uptight.

He’s smiling more.

Friendly.

Talkative.

It’s as if he was holding on to the past, what happened between us, and it was building and building into a dark cloud that hung over him, and the minute he let it out…it all dissipated.

It’s a relief.

“Have you done this before?” I ask him as I take in the copper bowl in front of us.

“Never,” he says. “But I heard it’s not easy, so good luck to us.”

“Great,” I say as Theodore reappears. His assistant brings trays with our ingredients and then hands us a recipe.

“There you have it,” he says. “I’ll be around if you have any questions.”

Uhhh…what?

What happened to the lessons? Does he really expect us to do this ourselves?

Jimmy’s the first to speak up. “Are you not going to demonstrate?”

“No,” Theodore says. “I’ve heard rumblings that Chadwick is waiting for all of you to fail due to my teachings. Therefore, I will not be teaching, just offering you the opportunity to practice. For those of you who are not part of the Kringle competition, please step in the back with me and I’ll be giving you a private lesson.”

“But…we paid for this,” Jimmy says. “And if you’re in the back, how can we ask you questions?”

“Let one of my assistants know, and they’ll call me if they think the question is important enough.” And then with that, he moves to the back of his kitchen with the non-Kringle-ees.

I turn to Cole. “Well, that’s rude.”

“Rude, but it feels right. Their feud is pretty heavy, so I’m not surprised this is how we’re being treated.” He picks up the recipe. “Well, might as well give this a shot. Okay, we need to grab the water, sugar, and cornstarch, dump it in the pan, turn on the burner, and then stir and let it boil until it’s 320 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“That seems simple enough,” I say. As we work, I ask, “Why didn’t Atlas come with you? Isn’t he your holly jolly sidekick?”

“He is,” Cole says as he starts stirring. “But he had some things he needed to do on the farm today. So he told me to take, in his words, ‘copious notes.’”

“I don’t see a pen and paper,” I say.

Cole taps the side of his head. “All up here.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s going to love that.”

“He’ll bitch, but that’s nothing new.” He hands me the wooden spoon. “Want to stir?”

“Sure,” I say. “How do we know the temperature of the mixture?”

Cole lifts up a thermometer. “I think with this thing. The instructions say to set it on the side of the pan but to make sure it doesn’t touch the bottom.” While I carefully stir, he adjusts the thermometer, and then together, we watch the heat rise. “Huh, this isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah, I was going to say the same thing. Although I think it’s the second part that’s the hardest.”

“You might be right,” he says. “Good thing you have me helping you—you know, since I’m so good at this Kringle stuff.”

That makes me dramatically roll my eyes. “Says the guy who made a Hawaiian fruitcake.”

“Hey, that was on Max, not me. He was heavy-handed with the pineapple, and I tried to tell him, but he insisted he knew best.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t let your sidekick take charge.”

“Ehh, he’s into this maybe more than I am. I have to throw him a bone every once in a while.”

“That’s very holly jolly of you.”

“Hence why I’m the front runner for Christmas Kringle.”

“You’re in third place,” I say. “That is not the front runner.”

“That means nothing. We will get back up there, especially after this candy cane competition.” He takes the spoon from me and stirs. “Look, I’m winning already.”

“You’re so stupid,” I say with a laugh.