Page 43 of Serving Bunt

Sigh. I get it, America.

“What about holiday traditions?” she asked. “How do two bachelor baseball players spend the holiday season?”

I glanced over at Diaz, who gave me a small nod, letting me take the lead again.

“Well, growing up in Alabama, Christmas was all about my granny’s cooking,” I said. “You’ve heard of the Feast of the Seven Fishes?”

“Sure.”

“Well, in our family, it’s more like the Feast of Twelve Different Ways to Fry a Potato. For as long as I can remember, there’s always been an open invitation for Christmas dinner on the farm. And we’ve never run out of food.”

Penelope smiled. “Sounds like my kind of celebration. And you, Peter? Do you still spend your holidays in Puerto Rico?”

Diaz wiped his hands on a towel and straightened up. “Christmas, no. Día de Reyes, or Three Kings Day, yes. That’s the main event in Puerto Rico, when the kids leave shoeboxes full of grass or hay under their beds for the three wise men’s camels and will, hopefully, wake up to gifts and candy.”

Penelope nodded. “Sounds like the holiday take on the tooth fairy.”

“Sí, but with more singing and my abuelita’s coquito.” He paused, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Actually, since moving to Rose City, I’ve started a new holiday tradition—volunteering at my local community kitchen.”

Penelope’s eyes lit up. “Cooking?”

“Cooking, serving, delivery—whatever they need, really.”

I blinked back my surprise.

I knew Diaz was a generous man, but I was ashamed to say that until now, I hadn’t realized just how deep that generosity went.

He was always the first guy to buy an absurd number of raffle tickets at the Junior Roasters’ annual fundraiser, even when the prizes were things like a signed shoe or portrait made of macaroni.

And then there was Rose City Dog Rescue. They would always have a special spot in my heart for bringing me Mo during a puppy yoga event during my first season with the Roasters, but Diaz was the one who volunteered with them throughout the offseason.

None of that ever made it onto his social media.

He never bragged about it or brought it up unless someone asked first. He just . . . did it.

Because that was who he was.

The same guy who wrote filthy fanfiction in secret and flirted in a third language also spent his holidays making sure people who had nothing still got a little magic.

Penelope looked genuinely touched. “Those all sound wonderful.”

Diaz glanced over at me and smiled. “Traditions are better when you have the right people to share them with.”

Son of a biscuit.

I had to look away before the camera caught the flush crawling up my neck. Penelope ate it up with a delighted little laugh and moved on, but the words lingered between us.

“Bakers, you have two hours to go,” Penelope announced. “If Santa can deliver four billion presents in one night, you all can make one pretty pavlova.

Well, it might not have been the prettiest, but much to everyone’s surprise, our pavlova came in second.

Second.

Jin had been impressed by our decision to add citrus to our raspberry coulis, and Mandy had awarded us top marks for having the “stiffest peaks.” The entire barn lost it after that, descending into a series of erection jokes like preteen boys.

But the warm buzz in my chest cooled when I remembered we still had one more round to survive.

The Great Yuletide Showdown.