Page 25 of Perfectly Complicated
“Oh, I’m feeling something, all right,” I growl.
Mrs. Claus turns away to make our hot chocolate as Janie faces me. “Seriously, Rourke,” she whispers. “Could you dispense with the running commentary on poor Mrs. Claus?”
“Well, after seeing what she charges, she’s definitely not poor,” I mutter.
We walk away with our overpriced hot chocolate, and she shoots me a side-eye.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“You know what,” she huffs. “You literally suck the Christmas spirit from this place.”
“Hey, I’m just providing honest consumer feedback,” I say, taking a sip of my drink, andwow, it’s actually good, which I’ll take to my grave before admitting to Janie.
“Your version of honesty sounds a lot like complaining,” she notes.
“And your version of Christmas spirit sounds a lot like throwing money at strangers in Santa costumes.”
She stops walking so abruptly, I nearly collide with her. “Youknow what? Fine. If you think this is all just overpriced nonsense, let’s see you do better.”
“Do what better?”
She tips her chin up as she gestures toward a building with a sign announcing: “Gingerbread Couples’ Competition.” Inside the door, several elaborate gingerbread creations on display look like they belong in an art museum.
“There’s no way I’m doing that,” I say immediately.
“What’s wrong, Riley?” she taunts. “Scared you’ll lose to a kindergarten teacher?” She lifts an eyebrow, and the challenge in her gaze makes my competitive side flare to life.
“I’m not scared of anything, Bennett. Especially not you with a pile of cookies.”
Her eyes narrow. “Really? Then show me.” She steps closer, her mouth curving into something daring me to try. “Unless the big tough hockey player is afraid of a little friendly competition?”
The way she’s staring at me makes me want to do something incredibly stupid. Like say yes to this terrible idea.
“What do I get when I win?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“When you win?” She snort-laughs. “That’s cute, Riley.” She starts to walk away, but I catch her arm.
“No, really, Bennett. I’m competitive by nature. I’m not doing it unless I know what’s at stake.”
She lets out an annoyed sigh. “Fine. Winner picks the next activity. Is that enough for your competitive ‘nature’?”
“Perfect,” I say, knowing that either my whole day is about to get much better or I’m about to end up in an elf suit against my will.
“This is going to be fun.” She claps her hands together. “Especially watching you lose.”
“You have no idea what I can do with frosting and sheer determination, Bennett,” I fire back. “I’m about tocrushyour gingerbread dreams.”
She laughs and whirls around.
This is insane. But somehow I’ve always been drawn to insanity when it comes to this woman.
A volunteer leads us to a table covered in gingerbread cookies, bowls of frosting, and enough candy to feed a small army of Santa’s elves. I swipe a finger through the frosting and bring it to my mouth.
She stares at me. “You just stuck your finger in the frosting? What are you, six?”
“I had to test it first,” I say. “Quality control. And this stuff is basically cement.”
She smirks. “Too bad I can’t use it to glue your mouth shut.”
