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“You’re done livestreaming?” Landon asked.
“What happens next? Do we need to continue the livestream on our phones?” she asked, recalling the attorney’s description of the challenge, when a rhythmic snuffling floated into the kitchen. She glanced into the living room and found the source of the sound. “Your uncle is asleep,” she whispered, stating the obvious as Schuman’s head drooped to the side.
The baker was out for the count.
Tanner nodded. “He’s had a lot going on. That’s why I’m here helping out.”
Landon looked between the uncle and the nephew. “So, you know how to bake?”
“Totally,” Tanner whispered. “Back in Kringle Mountain—that’s where I’m from—I work at the Cupid Bakery in town, and I help in the kitchen at Kringle Mountain House. I also oversee other agricultural endeavors utilizing candy and baked goods.”
There he was with that cryptic “agricultural endeavors” lingo again.
Whatever! She had to put that out of her head.
“I’m glad you know how to bake, because we don’t know anything about making cookies from scratch.” She pointed to the box. “Is that everything we’ll need?”
“That’s right, take-a-penny-leave-a-penny lady. Those are the ingredients.”
Landon scanned the items. “Can you help us get started?”
Tanner’s easygoing disposition darkened. “Ooh, dude, that’s a no.”
“No?” she and Landon chimed.
“I have to leave. I’ve got an MJ issue to address,” the guy said, edging toward the door. “You know, aMary Janesituation.”
It wasn’t a surprising issue for a guy with a beanie reading High AF.
Tanner reached into the box and removed the plastic bag filled with lollipops.
“What should we do?” she asked, eyeing the suckers.
She could really go for another.
Tanner removed a timer from the box and handed it to Landon. The device flashed one hour and twenty-four minutes.
No, one hour and twenty-three minutes.
“Is this how much time we have to bake?” Landon asked.
“This is how much time you have to bake and drive to the challenge,” Tanner explained.
She shared a look with her heartthrob. “That doesn’t seem like a lot of time.”
“You’ll be cutting it close, but it’s doable. Follow the recipe. You’re making Uncle Schuman’s famous sugar cookies. The contest people should have emailed the deets.”
She nodded. Oddly, she wasn’t as freaked out as she thought she would be.
Maybe she was walking on baking sunshine.
And the thought of making cookies now sounded hella amazing.
She’d never been a fan of sugar cookies. She was a chocolate girl through and through, but she could sure chow down on a half dozen cookies or so.
Landon checked his phone. “I see the email,” he said, staring at the screen like he’d opened the message that contained the answer to the meaning of life.
Another good sign.
