Dang, the man had impeccable manners.
“How are you, Mrs. L? I haven’t seen you for ages,” Poppy greeted her.
“I’m fabulous.” She rubbed her hands together eagerly. “I’m excited to taste some gingerbread. I hope you brought your A game. Competition looks tough this year.”
“Our A game?” Darius asked, rising to his feet and rolling up the straps. “We’ve brought our A, B, and C games. All of them. All the way to Z. Nobody’s going to beat us.”
A shiver of foreboding scraped down Poppy’s spine. What if he was wrong? What if they lost? She couldn’t afford a new oven without that money and she couldn’t risk running on only one for much longer. Something was bound to go wrong, it always did. She was an optimist by nature, but she was also a realist.
“We’ve going to win,” she assured Mrs. L. “I need this. I need that prize. We’ve prepped for weeks. We’ve got this down perfectly.” Her words poked into her brain and heart, easing the anxiety hiding there.
Slowly and carefully, their supplies were unpacked and examined.
“What’s this?” Mrs. L asked, holding up a plastic bag containing holiday fabric.
“I have no idea,” Poppy exclaimed. “I’ve never seen that bag before.”
“Team aprons,” Darius exclaimed with a grin. “I picked them up at Stella’s. I had her embroider our names on them.”
He opened the bag and held up a barbecue style apron. The bottom was covered in gingerbread men. The bib was forest green with their names in bright red, above an embroidered gingerbread cookie. Mrs. L. laughed.
“Oh my. They’re adorable.” Poppy grinned up at Darius. “What a thoughtful gift. I love them.” She threw her arms around him for a hug. She held on too long, she knew it, but couldn’t force herself to let go. Being tucked under his arm felt too right.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “Best let go, Poppy. People are staring. Including the mayor who’s ready to make his opening speech.
She pulled away and glared at her feet, hating the heat rising in her face. She longed for some icy winter air to chase that heat away. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” he murmured back. “I liked it.” He reached down and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip. She could have gotten away if she wanted to. Instead, she wrapped her other hand around theirs.
The mayor’s speech was blessedly short, despite the television cameras focused on him. With a bold wave, he declared the contest open.
Mrs. L., who had stayed by their sides for the speech, looked at Poppy and Darius. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, that if anything else appears at your station or you are suspected of using unsanctioned items, you will be disqualified. Right?”
Poppy and Darius nodded.
“Then what are you waiting for? Get baking. Your oven is pre-heating. Check the temperature. I don’t want to be sampling burned cookies. I’ll be back to taste your dough.” She leaned in and whispered. “Win this thing, for your grandmother.”
“Will do.” Poppy hugged her old family friend.
“Come on girl,” Darius nagged. “Get mixing. Time’s a wasting.”
Every kitchen had basic baking supplies, including a top-of-the-line mixer, provided by the local hardware store. During the course of the contest, contestants and spectators had the opportunity to bid on the mixers in a silent auction, with the money raised going to charity.
The first couple hours flew by in record time. Cookies went in, cookies came out. Walls, men, horses, gingerbread men for the judges. They worked as quickly as they could without risking screwing up due to haste.
Two children raced through the kitchens, whooping and hollering, their upset mother chasing after them, shouting for them to slow down.
Allowing spectators to stroll through the kitchens was new this year. So far, it had been uneventful. The area was cordoned off with ropes. People walked past or stopped briefly to watch the bakers at work. But with the duo of rowdy kids distracting her, Poppy wondered if allowing people so close was a great idea.
Oh well, it was what it was. There wasn’t anything she could do about the minor distraction. The ability to view the houses as they were created might increase the bids when they were auctioned off live after the judging was complete. The funds raised would be split between the women’s shelter and a food and gift drive for the less fortunate. Last year, the houses alone had raised over four thousand dollars. Poppy’s modest, okay tiny, house had raised almost three hundred. The contest winner had brought in over a thousand dollars.
In no time, Poppy and Darius had stacks of cookies to work with. Two trays of small circular support cookies were in the oven while they rolled out the first wall pieces.
The morning flew by. Roll, cut, bake. By noon, a large portion of their pieces were ready for assembly. Poppy fought the exhaustion that was taking over. Her arms burned from rolling the dough and her legs ached from standing in one place so long.
“What’s up?” Darius asked. “You’re slowing down. Are you okay?”
