Why do I get the feeling the innuendos are just getting started?
“This isn’t about giving,” Peyton snaps. “This is about protecting the reputation of an institution that’s been serving Maine’s finest families for over a century!”
“And now it’s serving something entirely different,” Seraphina smirks, holding up her phone to show what looks to be a photo of Mrs. Pemberton examining a candy cane-striped negligee with intense focus. “I think my followers will find this absolutely delicious.”
“We’re being framed,” someone shouts from the back.
She may not be wrong, and for that reason alone I’m sort of hoping the ground will open up and swallow me whole. This is the exact type of thing that requires a head or two to roll. Peyton and I come to mind. They were good heads while they lasted. And at least I won’t be alone in the unemployment line.
Vivienne Velour steps forward, her brunette waves catching the firelight as she wraps her arms around herself in what would look protective if she weren’t wearing a dress designed to stop traffic. “Now hold on just a minute. This event was supposed to showcase our artistry, not turn us into some social media circus.”She’s worried about her reputation,Vivienne muses to herself internally.If this goes viral for the wrong reasons, it could destroy everything I’ve built. That so-called social media maven needs to disappear before she ruins us all.
“Artistry?” Seraphina’s laugh is sharp as a razor. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because from where I’m standing, this looks more like a garage sale at a gentlemen’s club.”
Honestly? She’s not entirely wrong.
Millie Ashford, baker extraordinaire, appears with her graying brown hair escaping from its practical bun and flour still dusting her apron despite the formal setting. Her kind brown eyes look distressed as she wrings her hands. “Please, everyone, let’s not fight during the Christmas season. Surely, we can work this out peacefully?”
“Peacefully?” Seraphina turns her laser focus on Millie. “Aren’t you the baker who tried to pass off store-boughtfrosting as homemade at the Fall Festival? I believe I wrote something about that little deception.”
Millie’s face goes white, then red, then a shade of purple that would make an eggplant jealous.
After what she wrote about my bakery, calling my confections ‘pedestrian’ and ‘better suited for a gas station,’ she deserves whatever’s coming to her,Millie’s thoughts seethe.Maybe if someone taught her a lesson about ruining people’s livelihoods...
My phone buzzes against my hip, and I glance down to see a text from far too hot, and far too armed plus-one, my boyfriend Killion.
Still on for Christmas tree hunting tonight? Found the perfect place with trees so good they’d make Charlie Brown jealous. Can’t wait to see you covered in pine needles.
Any other time, that text would make my heart do little cartwheels. Tonight, it just adds to my stress level because I’m currently watching what appears to be a full-scale holiday disaster in real time.
The crowd grows frenzied, and judging by the looks on these women’s faces, they’re about to cancel their memberships to the club en masse. Tonight might go down as what will forever be known asLingerie Gate.
“I really think we should all take a step back,” I say, trying to inject some sanity into the situation. “Maybe we could?—”
“Stay out of this, Holiday,” Peyton cuts me off. “This is your fault for letting that blonde tornado turn our polished get-together into a travelingburlesque show!”
My name is Hattie Holiday. I have long dark hair, denim blue eyes, and the unsettling ability to read people’s minds during what’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year. I can read the minds of animals, too, and you bet dollars to Christmas cookies that they have far better things to say than the humans currently engaged in a holiday throwdown.
Right now, though, my gift feels more like a curse because everyone’s thoughts are swirling with enough venom to poison an entire team of reindeer.
I could strangle her with those Christmas lights,Peyton thinks, her dark eyes fixed on Seraphina with the intensity of a woman planning very specific violence.I’d love to wind them around her scrawny neck until she stops breathing and definitely stops blogging.
She’s going to ruin everything I’ve worked for,Vivienne’s thoughts practically scream.Years of building my reputation, and this social media witch is going to destroy it all with one viral post. Someone needs to shut her up permanently.
After that review almost killed my business,Millie’s mental voice is surprisingly vicious for a woman who looks like everyone’s favorite grandmother,people stopped coming after she called my chocolate “uninspired” and my customer service “as cold as yesterday’s coffee.” Maybe it’s time someone returned the favor.
“Well, well, well.” A familiar voice cuts through the tension. “Looks like someone forgot to put ‘peace on earth’ on the catering menu.”
My brother Henry strolls over, his dark hair slightly mussed and his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as if he’s about to say something that will either defuse the situation or make it infinitely worse. He’s wearing his Holiday LobsterHouse chef’s coat, which somehow makes the whole scene even more surreal.
This is better than a front-row seat at the circus,he thinks with barely contained laughter.Although I probably should check on the food before someone uses the lobster crackers as weapons.
“Henry,” I warn, “maybe now isn’t the best time for commentary.”
“Are you kidding? This is the most excitement this place has seen since Clarabelle Harper got into the chocolate fountain last spring.” He grins at me, and I shoot a look to the wily octogenarian because he’s not wrong. “Speaking of which, are you still planning on that Christmas tree hunting expedition tonight? Because after this chaos, you’re definitely going to need some therapeutic pine needle therapy.”
I may have mentioned my hot date with Killion in the family group chat when my mother asked if any of us wanted to participate in the wrapping challenge our church is hosting tonight.
Something is about to go sideways,Cricket mewls as her tail starts twitching with nervous energy.And that social media lady smells like trouble with a capital T.
