The Christmas Crush: A Festive Romantic Comedy Novella Read online

  At least it was only Ryan. So why didn’t that stop me running my hands through my curls and popping a breath mint in my mouth?

  I shook the thought away.

  “What are you doing here so early?” I burst into the kitchen. “Oh and please, help yourself to coffee.”

  Ryan looked up from the coffee he was scooping into the machine and grinned cheekily. “Why don’t you go shower and get dressed, then I can tell you our plans for the morning.”

  A feisty retort danced on my tongue, but I swallowed it back. A warm shower did sound appealing. “I’ll be back in ten.”

  “Take your time, I’ve got this.”

  I emerged from the bathroom half an hour later with freshly-washed hair, clean jeans, a cream wool sweater, and a hint of mascara. I paused in the hallway to check my reflection again. This time, I looked passable. Not that I cared.

  What was Ryan up to, anyway? I could hear the faint sound of music coming from the kitchen.

  And was that… bacon I smelled?

  I took a cautious step forward, and my jaw dropped.

  Somehow, in half an hour, Ryan had turned my kitchen into the site of a bomb explosion.

  A very festive bomb.

  Boxes were strewn all over my countertops, spilling ropes of fairy lights, bits of artificial green tree, strings of tinsel, and copious silver baubles. Meatloaf was sporting a pair of reindeer antlers, and a cheerful rendition of Walking in a Winter Wonderland was blaring from my speakers.

  And there, in the middle of it all, was Ryan. He had his back to me, busy frying up bacon and eggs at the stove.

  “Ryan Kennedy, just what is going on in here?” I demanded.

  And then, Ryan turned around. He was wearing a fake Santa beard and comedy glasses that looked like Christmas puddings. A hideous Christmas sweater with a fluffy snowman on the front and the slogan “Up to Snow Good” completed the look. He gave me the biggest grin and clicked a button on the sleeve of his sweater, which turned the garment into a gaudy, multicolored light show.

  “Merry Christmas, Marley Beekman!”

  “You nutter!” I gasped through my laughter. “What’s all this about?”

  “After seeing your entirely unfestive bakery last night, I figured you needed a little Christmas spirit. So here I am.”

  I stared at him in wonder. “Where did you get ten tons of tacky Christmas decorations?”

  Ryan shot me a lopsided grin. “I may have raided my dear mother’s attic.”

  “That explains these.” I ran my finger over a set of creepy snow globes filled with models of caroling children, then flashed my friend a smile in return. “This is amazing.”

  “Catch.” Ryan chucked something red, green and repulsive at me. “This is your uniform for the day.”

  I held up the ugly sweater, which featured a squishy-faced little dog poking out of a wrapped gift box. In huge gold lettering were the words “Bah, Humpug!”

  “It’s perfect!” I exchanged my pretty cream sweater for its ugly stepsister and did a twirl for Ryan.

  He clapped, and placed a Santa hat on my head. “A crown fit for a queen.”

  This goofy, ridiculous man in front of me was so painfully familiar, a far cry from the fancy suits and perfectly polished dress shoes of New York Ryan. Almost unthinkingly, I wrapped my arms around Ryan’s middle, pulling him into a hug.

  “Thank you for this,” I murmured into his chest. He felt so strong, so solid.

  Ryan gave me a little squeeze. “Consider it my way of making up for three absent Christmases.”

  I stepped back from him, a little flushed. Did I linger in that hug too long? Awkward. Needing something to do with my hands, I swiped a crispy piece of bacon and took a bite. “So, what’s the plan for today, Mr. Spirit of Christmas?”

  Ryan smiled and held up a list, looking awfully pleased with himself. “First off, we’re decorating a Christmas tree for you. ASAP. Then we’re going to talk strategy, make a marketing plan for the bakery. Finally, we’re going to eat candy canes and watch the best Christmas movie ever made.”

  I perked up. “Ooh, Miracle on 34th Street?”

  “No, duh.” Ryan looked at me like I was crazy. “Die Hard.”

  8

  Ryan

  Operation “Deliver Christmas Spirit to Marley” had been a roaring success. Her apartment was now beautifully (read, enthusiastically) decorated. We’d watched Elf as a Christmas movie compromise. And we’d come up with a solid plan to help market Beekman’s Bakery: Bake 100 sample cookies, and deliver them to prospective customers around Evermore.

  Operation “Bake the Actual Cookies” was another story. Mostly thanks to me.

  “That’s not sugar!” Marley shrieked, as I almost added a full cup of salt to my bowl of cookie batter.

  I wiped a palm across my sweaty forehead, leaving a flour handprint. “Man, this is so much harder than it looks.”

  Marley slid a huge bag of white sugar towards me. “You’re making it look harder than it is.”

  I laughed and added the sugar, then wiggled a whisk around the bowl to mix it in. A little too enthusiastically, it turned out, causing a bunch of gingerbread mix to tsunami over the edge.

  I was a mess. Marley, meanwhile, had rolled out three neat sheets of incredibly-scented gingerbread dough, and was now meticulously pressing a cutter into it, creating rows of perfect little gingerbread men.

  I loved watching her work. Her wild curls were tucked back into a hairnet, and she was swathed in a gigantic white apron. When she was concentrating extra hard, she’d squint slightly and bite her lip.

  She was super talented. And she deserved all the success in the world. “Hey, Mar?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I had another marketing thought.”

  “What’s that?” Her hazel eyes met mine, curious.

  “I was thinking about the bakery name. I wonder if it could be part of the problem. It’s not very memorable.”

  Marley frowned at me. “But it’s my name. For my bakery.”

  “I totally get that. I just mean that when people order a cake or treat from a bakery, it’s usually for a personal celebration. You know: weddings, baby showers, birthdays —”

  “Being top of your class in med school,” Marley added.

  “That’s weirdly specific, but yes. You get the gist. So, my thought is, if you pick a name that’s personal, or invokes an emotion people associate with happiness, it may make your business stand out. It will subconsciously make people associate happy things with it.”

  Marley set down her rolling pin and wiped her hands on her apron. “That’s actually pretty smart.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I couldn’t believe how much her opinion meant to me. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  “Any actual name ideas then, Mr. Marketing Genius?” Marley grinned playfully.

  “Sweets by Marley?” I tried.

  She pulled a face. “I don’t want my first name to be featured. ‘Marley’ makes everyone think of dogs thanks to Marley & Me.”

  I laughed. “Dogs generally make people happy. Speaking of, how about Meatloaf’s Place?”

  “Sounds like a butcher shop.” Marley rolled her eyes. “What about Sugar Rush?”

  “Closer.” I smiled. “Maybe a little too generic?”

  “I agree.” Marley slid a tray of gingerbread men into the oven.

  I touched one of my floury cheeks. “Flour Power?”

  “Hah! I like that.” Marley smiled.

  “Let’s have a look, then.” I pulled out my phone, and typed the name into Google. “Ah, there’s already a bakery in Eastmount with that name.”

  “Probably a bit too close to home.” She looked up at me, and her smile turned wicked. “How about Eat Your Food, Don’t Wear It?”

  I held her gaze, then slowly, dramatically, reached into my bowl. Scooped up a handful of flour... And threw it.

  SMACK!

  It landed right
in Marley’s face, making her look like a startled ghost.

  I blinked at her innocently. “Sorry, you were saying?”

  Marley seized her spatula and charged at me.

  9

  Marley

  “I come bearing sugar!” Ryan barged through the door of Beekman’s Bakery, precariously balancing a cardboard drink tray.

  “You’ve come to the right place.” I grinned. “Perfect timing, too.”

  I’d just finished adding the final ribbon curl to the last decorative bag of cookies. It had been a long night, but we had managed to bake 100 perfectly decorated Christmas cookies. Ryan, despite being a terrible baker, had actually been a massive help for morale. And the eye serum my sister Katherine had lent me hadn’t hurt my appearance this morning either.

  I grabbed the drinks tray and sniffed each cup suspiciously.

  “What are you doing?” Ryan laughed. “They’re both the same. Our traditional Christmas special: white hot chocolate, extra marshmallows.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What happened to herbal tea?”

  He looked at me sheepishly. “To be honest, I hate herbal tea.”

  “Cheers to that.” I could barely keep the smugness out of my voice. “Give me refined sugar any day.”

  He held up his hot chocolate and we knocked cups.

  “Let’s get these delivered, then.”

  Main Street was bustling with Christmas shoppers, children careening down snow hills on tiny toboggans, and the rich smell of honey roasted peanuts. The crisp, cold air stung my cheeks.

  “I forgot how nice Main Street is at Christmas time.” Ryan said as we fell into step together.

  “Almost as nice as New York?”

  “Pretty much the same.” Ryan shrugged. “Minus the hordes of tourists, abundance of petty crime, 24-hour subway system, and insane cost of living.”

  “You really know how to sell a place. Never become a realtor.” I stopped outside Notes Music Shop, where a huge wreath with decorative silver music notes adorned the door.

  “It’s an amazing city in so many ways.” Ryan hesitated for a moment. “Ready for Theo’s engagement party tonight?”

  I got the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me. But I didn’t push it. Now wasn’t the time. “I’m kind of excited to see your mom, actually. It’s been ages.”

  Ryan laughed. “She’ll be over the moon to see you.”

  After dropping off treats to a dark and moody teenage shop assistant in Notes, we made our way further up Main Street, unloading goodies to the stationary store, the gardening shop and the Town Hall.

  When we reached Peak’s Crossing Frozen Yogurt, I stopped in my tracks. “Should I deliver cookies here?”

  Ryan wrinkled his brow. “Why not?”

  “Because they sell, you know, sweet treats. Like I do. Wouldn’t it be… weird? Like I was stepping on their toes?”

  “Not at all. It’s a perfect chance for two local businesses to work together, Mar.”

  “You think?”

  Ryan puffed out his chest and placed a hand on the doorknob. “Watch and learn.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we exited Peak’s with two extra-large eggnog froyos with peanut brittle topping, and a meeting booked with the manager for the first week in January. We were going to discuss the custom cookie crumble topping I would be making for them.

  “You were amazing in there!” I grabbed Ryan’s arm in sheer glee. “Where have you been hiding all that talent?”

  “I didn’t have to do anything.” Ryan smiled graciously. “It was your product that sold the whole thing.”

  I flushed with happiness, his words wrapping me like a warm blanket. Maybe Ryan was right, and I should just put myself out there a little more. Believe in myself.

  Fueled with early success and copious amounts of sugar, we spent the next few hours in Ryan’s rental car. We visited all of Evermore’s local businesses, including the schools.

  When we finally pulled up outside of Evermore High, I felt a thrill of anticipation. I hadn’t been back to my high school in years.

  Next to me, Ryan was gripping the steering wheel tight. “Feels weird to be back here.”

  “Agreed.”

  This particular trip down memory lane did feel weirder than the rest. Ryan and I had been attached at the hip since we were kids, but high school was when we’d gotten really close. We spent day after day sitting in the back of classrooms pretending to pay attention, eating greasy pizza in the cafeteria, and going to every football game. Ryan had gotten his driver’s license six months before I did, and every day for that six months, he’d picked me up for school so I didn’t have to ride the bus. We’d spent more than a few evenings parked somewhere away from it all, sometimes up by the lake, and simply talked the night away.

  Sometimes we’d just sit in silence. That’s how you knew you loved someone – you didn’t have to say anything at all.

  Wait, what?

  No, not love. I was just overtired. Practically delirious. I meant friendship, obviously.

  If I was completely honest with myself, it was at that time in high school when I’d secretly wished for more than friendship with Ryan. But he’d never said anything to make me think he felt the same, so I squished those feelings deep, deep, deep down inside. Never to be seen again.

  We walked down Evermore High’s locker-lined hallways. School was already out for the holidays, so the place was deserted. We pointed out memories as we went.

  “Oh my goodness, do you remember the constant coffee stain on Mr. Adebayo’s shirt?” I asked as we passed an English classroom.

  “And Coach Clarence’s purple face every time the other football team scored a touchdown?” Ryan laughed.

  By the time we arrived at Principal Potter’s office, I was tingling with nerves. There was something about being back in your high school for the first time in years that made you feel the weight of your own failures in life.

  The door flew open. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t Marley Beekman and Ryan Kennedy!”

  We shook hands with the smiling Principal. He was just as I remembered — plump, balding, and bumbling.

  “Come in, come in! I can’t believe how long it’s been,” he said.

  To be honest, I was surprised he remembered us at all. We were hardly star athletes or honor roll students.

  “How are your sisters, Marley?”

  Ah. That explained it.

  “Both well, thank you.” I replied, sinking into an uncomfortable chair. “Katherine is practicing law and Annika is in med school in Denver.”

  “Oh yes, talented girls they both are indeed.” The Principal adjusted his glasses. “And Ryan, I hear you’re in New York?”

  “Yes, sir. I work in Digital Marketing.”

  “Very impressive. And Marley, you have a… cake shop?”

  “A bakery on Main Street,” I corrected him.

  “Hmm,” he replied. It was a non-committal sound that carried neither judgment nor praise. I felt myself shrinking in my chair.

  “Marley’s bakery is phenomenal, sir,” Ryan said. I shot him a look. Unfazed, he continued. “She makes the best cakes and cookies around. People from all over come to buy her treats. Peak’s has even commissioned her to make a custom frozen yogurt topping.”

  Principal Potter’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”

  “Try for yourself!” Ryan produced a bag of cookies with a flourish, and set them on the desk in front of him. “Best cookies in Evermore. Guaranteed.”

  “I love your enthusiasm,” the Principal said. “You’ve certainly persuaded me to try one.”

  He picked up a fat, smiling gingerbread man, and bit his leg off.

  I held my breath.

  He closed his eyes and made a groaning sound. “Oh, Marley! These are delectable.”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Ryan said.

  “Outstanding!” Principal Potter sprayed crumbs as he spoke.

  I blushed. “Thank you.”
<
br />   “You know what, Marley? I would like to commission you to bake the cookies for the upcoming Christmas Crush dance. It’s in two days, if that will work with your schedule?”

  Between Christmas orders, my sister’s stethoscope cake, and making my regular bakery fare, I’d be hard pushed to make it work. But I couldn’t turn down an opportunity this big.

  “I — I’d love to.”

  “Fantastic.”

  We spent the next few minutes finalizing the order size and delivery instructions. I was buzzing with excitement — this was my biggest commission ever. And it was all thanks to Ryan.

  “Wonderful, wonderful.” At the end of the meeting, Principal Potter stood and shook both of our hands again. “It was a pleasure to see you both.”

  “Likewise,” Ryan responded.

  The Principal’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, and dare I say — myself and the rest of the staff here, well, we always did think you two would eventually get together. The teachers will all be delighted when I tell them.”

  My face boiled and I waved my hands, flustered.

  “Oh! Uh—” I fumbled, at the same time as Ryan said, “No, um—”

  We both stopped dead, looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Ryan turned his gaze away.

  “We’re friends,” he said, buttoning his coat. Meanwhile, my cheeks blazed and my mouth had gone completely dry.

  “Oh dear me.” Principal Potter put a hand over his chest. “Dreadfully sorry. My mistake.”

  Mistake, that’s right.

  Calm down, Marley… it was an honest mistake.

  There was nothing going on with Ryan then, and there was certainly nothing going on with him now.

  10

  Marley

  Mistake.

  The word echoed as I took a shower. It stayed with me as I styled my hair, as I applied mascara and bronzer and lipstick. As I removed said lipstick and re-applied, more careful not to smudge it the second time around.