Page 36 of Miss Humbug
Each year over the second Saturday of December, we ran a small event featuring wagon rides, a craft station for kids run by a local volunteer group, and a single food truck offering hot chocolate and fun-flavored doughnuts.
I took in the farm. Once we had more space, we could amp up our event. A line of food trucks. More kid crafts and more decorations to sell aside from the trees. Actual tree farm merch like T-shirts. My parents liked what we had now—small and manageable. They couldn’t envision the bigger picture.
“Been seeing more of your brother lately than you,” Dad said. “Thought it odd is all.”
Rob agreed to fill in the gaps Saturday while I went to the Tasty Bake competition with Marlowe. It wouldn’t be much of an issue anyway. The baking competition happened earlier in the day. I’d only miss an hour or two tops of the afternoon event at the farm. No big deal.
Dad mumbled a few instructions I already knew by heart before taking off. He had a point. I needed to focus. He just didn’t need to know where my focus landed.
The following day was game time. Tasty Bake time.
I headed to Marlowe’s house—well, her family’s house, it wasn’t hers yet. Inside, I helped prepare the cake for transport like we’d researched online. The cake was fortified with toothpicks and set on a non-slip baking mat inside a cardboard bakery box. This cake wouldnotslide. Google, thank you for your service.
Marlowe looked me over. “You seem stressed.”
“I do? I’m not stressed.” Buzzing with excitement, more like. Possibly annoyed at texts about farm stuff I’d already went over with Rob in detail when I wanted my focus on the competition. I texted my brotherFigure it outto a question he should have known the answer to. “Everything’s good. Ready to go?”
Returning to my truck, we headed into downtown Crystal Cove.
I glanced over at my now familiar passenger. “You’re not going to complain about the music?”
Marlowe didn’t answer right away, letting the 1940s crooner belt out his holiday jingle. “I don’t hate this one. It’s charming.”
Progress. Definite progress.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked.
I had a lot on my mind. More than usual. “Hey, I’m sorry again about calling you—”
“It’s fine,” she cut in. “I know you didn’t really mean it.”
“You do?”
She took on the physical posture of the worldduh. “Ethan. You know I hate being called a kid and you’ve never once called me your sister. We got into a familiar groove this week and my guess is that sort of popped out.”
I sighed in relief. “That’sexactlywhat happened.”
Plus the whole brain protecting me thing. Last night I’d startled awake from some random noise, only to toss and turn, dreaming of Marlowe living her best life somewhere else without me. What was my problem? I rarely dreamed at all or remembered my dreams. It was like my whole life had upturned and even my brainwaves were out of whack.
We arrived to the town square. Visitors already packed the sidewalk surrounding the holiday shops. This would be a busy weekend for tourists getting their dose of holiday action.
A large white tent stood at one end of the square welcoming us with greenery garlands, red bows, and white lights. A decorated Christmas tree greeted us inside the tent, courtesy of Sawyer Farms. We were directed to a line of tables to set up the cakes.
I found our spot and carefully placed the cake box on the table. “Landing confirmed.”
Marlowe’s cousin Riley approached holding a covered cake carrier. “Congrats on the bake sale win. You two make a good team.”
Was that a compliment? I glanced to Marlowe.
“Grans seemed in her prime.” Marlowe set aside our bag of emergency supplies. “I doubt she actually cares about the points.”
Riley let out her breath in a whoosh. “You know, I was thinking the same. She’s always deferring to that teenager for the judging criteria. I swear, they are making it all up as they go.”
Marlowe laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past her.” She eyed Riley’s container. “What did you make?”
“Peppermint cream cake. I wanted to do a lemon layer cake, but Reece here reminded me lemons are for summer.”
Riley’s daughter, who’d been lurking behind her mother, perked up. “Rookie mistake, Mom. You don’t stand a chance at winning without me.”
