Page 30 of Holidate Scramble
Henrietta circled me once, then pecked at my judging notes, cocking her head as if reviewing my scores.
"Is she... checking my work?" I asked, only half joking.
"Probably," Logan said with a straight face. "She takes these competitions very seriously."
At station twelve, Henrietta hopped onto an empty chair, stretched her neck, and snatched a crumb of gingersnap from the display plate before anyone could stop her.
"Henrietta!" Maisie scolded, hurrying over with a tray of coffee and cocoa. "That's cheating."
The chicken merely fluffed her feathers and gave what sounded remarkably like a satisfied cluck.
"What does that mean?" I asked, genuinely curious about this fowl behavior.
"It means try the gingersnaps," Maisie said seriously. "Henrietta has a thing for ginger. She's the real judge here—I'm just saying."
I dutifully sampled the gingersnaps, which were indeed excellent—crisp outside, chewy center, perfectly balanced spices.Henrietta bobbed her head rhythmically, as if in agreement with my assessment.
"Your chicken has excellent taste," I told Maisie.
"Don't let her hear you call her 'my chicken,'" Maisie warned with a grin. "She believes she owns the place. We're just staff."
By the time I'd visited all fifteen contestants, a clear winner had emerged in my mind—and apparently in Henrietta's, as she'd returned three times to station seven, where an elderly gentleman stood nervously adjusting his bow tie.
Piper approached as I tallied my final scores. "Well? Have we got a winner?"
"I believe so," I said, showing her my rubric. "Contestant seven—the rosemary shortbread and orange cardamom stars."
"Walter Mackenzie," she said, glancing at her list. "The retired art teacher who ran the ornament workshop. This is his first time entering—he always said he wasn’t talented enough to compete.
"Well, he's got my vote. And my mother's. And apparently Henrietta's."
Piper's lips curved into a smile. "Three endorsements? Can't argue with that."
As we prepared for the announcement, I noticed Piper in an animated conversation with the mayor near the door. Her professional demeanor had given way to genuine excitement—eyes bright, hands gesturing expressively, body practically vibrating with enthusiasm. The mayor's expression shifted from surprise to delight as she squeezed Piper's shoulder before moving to address the crowd.
"Before we announce our winner," Mayor Reeves said, "I'd like to share some exciting news. Thanks to Piper's extraordinary work with the Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge, we've raised over twenty thousand dollars for Alzheimer's research—more than double last year's total!"
The café erupted in cheers and applause. Piper stood to the side, a blush rising to her cheeks as she accepted congratulations. Her surprise seemed genuine, as if she hadn't quite believed she could pull it off despite her confidence and planning.
My mother turned to me, her eyes clear and focused. "That young woman is remarkable, Everett."
"She is," I agreed, my gaze drawn to Piper as she fielded questions about the campaign's success.
"And she cares for you," my mother continued, her voice lowered for privacy despite the surrounding noise. Her gaze was shrewd, missing nothing despite her condition. "I may be forgetful these days, but I've known you your entire life. I see how she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching."
"What do you mean?"
"The same way you look at her." She reached over to take my hand, her fingers cool and slightly trembling but her grip surprisingly firm. "The way your father used to look at me."
The comparison startled me. My parents' marriage had been one of genuine partnership and deep affection—something I'd never achieved with Adrienne despite decades together.
"Mom, I—"
"Don't waste it, Everett." Her eyes held mine, suddenly intense and lucid. "True love is a rare blessing. And life is shorter than you think."
Before I could respond to this unexpected insight, Piper called for attention.
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for—the winner of this year's Christmas Cookie Competition!"
