Page 36 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Later then.” With a smug grin, he reaches for the bottle of cherry liqueur he’s decided is the hero ingredient for our Christmas cocktail entry. There’s a flicker of determination in his expression, a hint that behind his casual charm, he wants to win this as much as I do. I thrust the jigger at him and go back to my part of the task.
I break another egg, separating the white carefully like my mum taught me, and grab up the little whisk. Beating the crap out of the egg white until it turns to foam helps keep my mind off Teddy’s teasing innuendo and the other couples’ near-complete cocktails. I want nothing more than to go three up in this competition. The aching in my arm only hardens my resolve to give this challenge my all.
Despite the competitive tension, the smell of cinnamon and cloves wafting from a syrup Liv has simmering on the cooktop fills the air with a festive feel. Ollie and Sam are bickering as usual, this time over whether to replace rum with brandy, and Haley and Christian are making cow eyes at each other as they take it in turn to sip from a wide-mouthed glass. They may be our rivals, but it’s funbeing here with this lot in the vast kitchen. Still going to kick their arses, and clinch the third win.
Teddy and I finish a few minutes ahead of the deadline. Tommy pokes his head through the kitchen door and gives a brass handbell a jaunty ring. Time’s up. We all carefully lift our cocktails, taking slow steps while trying not to slop anything on the floor or dislodge the garnishes.
In the formal dining room, we line up before the judging table. Teddy cradles our glass in both hands, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a thread of concentration creasing his brow. Loreena’s pen hovers over her notepad; Tommy’s stopwatch sits beside the bell.
I watch as Ollie presents their creation with a flourish, Sam beaming beside him while Loreena and Tommy nod appreciatively. My stomach clenches. They look confident.
Liv and Garrett go next, and I see the judges smack their lips together in approval from their first taste.
Watching Loreena and Tommy drink the entire contents of Haley and Christian’s glass, I’m really worried, but it’s too late to do anything now. “Worry is a wasted emotion,” my father says, and much as I hate to agree with him, I shove mine aside.
When Teddy proudly sets our finished cocktail in front of the judges, all my frustration with him and my doubts about our chances seep away. The brief was to make a Christmas cocktail, and ours looks more like Christmas than any of the others.
The combination of ginger beer, vodka and cherry liqueur is a deep jewel-like red that catches the light. Floating on top, the inch-high layer of glossy foam glistens bright white. Balanced on the edge of the glass is a whole red cherry, like a giant holly berry. Wrapped around it is a sprig of rosemary. I braved the cold, venturingout to the herb garden just beyond the kitchen to find it. It was worth freezing my tits off. It looks like a tiny pine bough, the perfect finishing touch.
Our judges say little, taking it in turns to sip at the glass thoughtfully, closing their eyes in pleasure, licking dots of foam off their lips. Now they jot notes, and murmur between themselves, before adjourning to behind the large board where they’ve been keeping the points. They scribble away, the squeak of a felt tip determining our fate.
We all stand, watchful. The sound of Christmas carols drifts from a small speaker, filling the tense silence. I can hear the thump of my own heartbeat over the gentle melody. The air feels thick with the kind of anticipation kids feel on Christmas Eve. I know the others are going to hate us if we win again, but I can live with that.
However, it seems Loreena and Tommy can’t. When they flip the scoreboard, they’ve given Haley and Christian ninety-five points and the win. The rest of us are tactfully all tied for second place with ninety-two.
I suck it up and make sure I’m the first to wrap my friend in a hug.
“Congratulations, love,” I say, my arms tight around Haley’s shoulders. “You deserved it.” I draw back and point a determined finger at her. “But I’m still coming for you next time.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, Rache,” Christian says with a wry smile. I punch him on the arm and then hug the big lump anyway. I kind of love this guy who’s made my friend so happy.
Everyone else crowds in, and I make space so they can give Haley and Christian credit for the win.
I wobble over to one of the sofas. The only thing I’ve eaten since breakfast is the spice cookie I nicked two hours ago, and all thattaste-testing has gone to my head. Teddy settles beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“I’m sorry we didn’t win,” he murmurs against my ear, his warm breath brushing my neck. “And I’m sorry if it was my fault.”
“Not your fault,” I slur, dropping my head to rest on his comfortable chest. “You did great. Except…think I’m a little pissed.”
He chuckles. “Well, you did insist on checking every step.”
“But I had to check,” I mumble, my eyes growing heavy. “Can’t trust you.”
“Small sips, Trouble, not great big gulps.”
“Who’s Trouble? I’m delightful.” I try to lift my head; the ceiling swims. “Why’m I… Trouble?”
He hums something soothing. “Later,” he says.
“Right. Later,” I agree, immediately losing the thread.
I feel the rumble of his laugh; it settles me. He’s so warm, so nice, so…
I wake with a jolt, disoriented. My feet don’t feel like they’re on the ground. It’s as if my body’s floating. No, I am floating. I’m being carried, bump, bump, bump up the stairs, my head lolling with each step. The swaying motion makes my stomach flip-flop—whether from the alcohol sloshing inside it or from being cradled against a muscular chest, I can’t tell.
I prise my eyes open and find Teddy’s face above me, mouth in a determined line, eyes fixed ahead.
“Teddy,” I moan, and his eyes jerk down to me.
