Page 16 of Baby It's Cold Outside

“You’re really missing your family, aren’t you?” Mitch asked.

She nodded. “I’ve sent them presents, and I’ll Skype them tomorrow, but it’s not the same as being there with them and playing all the games.”

“That’s what you do at Christmas?”

“Boxing Day, really. On Christmas Day, we have bookings for lunch. Had,” she amended. “Sorry. After five years, it’s hard to get used to the fact that it’s not my restaurant any more.” She bit her lip. “Tomorrow’s the first year in I don’t know how long that I’m not cooking Christmas lunch for fifty.”

“So catering the kids’ party today was a walk in the park for you.”

“Yes. But I used to love doing Christmas dinner, working out the menu choices and planning what I was going to do for the petits fours.” She shook herself. “What about you? How do you normally spend Christmas?”

“Work,” he admitted. “It’s a chance to catch up with paperwork. The gym’s not open on Christmas Day, but there’s a pool in my building so I can have a quiet swim first thing and go for a run later.”

“And then Christmas dinner somewhere?”

“Probably a TV dinner,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“So food is fuel, not a pleasure.”

“I didn’t say that. I know my way around a kitchen. But I guess work takes up a lot of time.” He paused. “So what would you normally cook for Christmas lunch?”

“The same as what you’d have over here, I’d guess. Turkey, stuffing, chipolatas wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes and parsnips, brussels sprouts and red cabbage.”

He shook his head. “We tend to have the same kind of thing as we do at Thanksgiving—turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, followed by pumpkin pie.”

“You don’t have Christmas pudding?”

He looked blank. “Christmas pudding?”

“It’s a steamed pudding with a lot of dried fruit in it,” she explained. “And I mean a lot. My family hates it, so I only put it on the menu at work because it’s traditional and people expect it as an option.”

“So what would a pastry chef suggest for dessert at Christmas?”

“Something traditional with a twist. Say, an Eton mess made with cranberries instead of strawberries, or spiced oranges with chantilly cream, or a cinnamon crème brûlée.” She smiled. “Though I’m afraid I can’t do anything like that for you tomorrow. Because I was going to visit Betty, I planned to have Christmas dinner from the hospital cafeteria. So you’re just going to have to hope I have a few things in the freezer.”

“That’s fine by me. Are you looking for a sous chef?”

She laughed. “You don’t just walk into a sous chef job, you know. You start as a prep chef—in fact, before that, you start as a pot-washer.”

“Hey. I’ve already been a stand-in Santa. I can do anything. And I know my way around a kitchen. I’ll prove it to you if you like. Give me a knife and a chopping board,” he said, “and I’ll do the onions for the pasta sauce. In fact, I’ll make the sauce.”

“You’re on. And I’ll get you an apron. You get that suit messy, you’re going to be back to the bath towel,” she teased.

As they worked together to make dinner, they kept accidentally brushing against each other. Even though the Santa suit was shapeless and totally unsexy, Ellie knew exactly what the body under it looked like. What it felt like. How it had made her feel.

That, together with those tingling brushes against her skin, made her temperature spike. Just as well that dinner was something they could make fast, she thought. Or she’d be very tempted to suggest that they skip it completely and go back to her bed with a tub of ice cream.

Mitch surprised her with his efficiency in making the sauce. So he’d been telling the truth about knowing his way around a kitchen. Given that he seemed cagey on the subject of his family, she wondered where he’d learned to cook.

Finally, dinner was ready, and they carried their plates through to the dining room.

…

Mitch poured the wine they’d found, then lifted his glass to toast her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” She tasted the pasta and he watched her, wondering whether she’d nitpick and tell him what she would’ve done differently.

“I like it,” she said with a smile. “It has a wonderful texture and a good blend of flavors.”

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