The Christmas Cookie Wars

by Eliza Evans

Genres: General Fiction; Holiday books; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

Give a man a cookie . . . and he’s yours.

Melody Monroe will do anything to get her nine-year-old twin boys to muster up the holiday spirit. Especially since they lost their father, the boys have started questioning the point of Christmas at all.

When Melody learns the school’s cookie committee has disbanded due to dissension in the top ranks, she can’t let the boys lose another ounce of Christmas joy, so she decides to take over the cookie committee herself, even if it means dealing with the infuriating school principal, Jonathan Braxton.

Soon, a small argument turns into a town-wide bake-off between her and Jonathan, and before she knows it Melody finds that her competitive spirits have turned romantic. Love isn’t supposed to be in the recipe for Melody. But with a little holiday magic, she and Jonathan might just bake up something special.

Release date: October 22, 2024

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons

Print pages: 320

Sample

One

Melody Monroe woke up facedown on the kitchen table, a snowman-shaped sugar cookie stuck to her forehead.

She blinked a few times, bringing the room into focus. Sun streamed in through the window above the copper farmhouse sink, illuminating the crystalline frost that clung to the glass.

Oh no. What time was it?

Heart lurching her out of a sleep-induced haze, she lifted her head and found her twin ten-year-old boys staring at her from across the room, their dark, curly hair still askew from their pillows. Surprisingly, they were already dressed in their typical school-day uniform-sweatshirts and athletic pants.

"Dude . . . what happened to you?" Tate eyed her the same way he did when she rocked out to Def Leppard in the car-with one half of his mouth grimacing in embarrassment while the other side rose in amusement. Someday soon, she feared the embarrassment would totally win out.

"Why'd you sleep on the kitchen table?" Finn asked, bulldozing past her to retrieve a Pop-Tart from the pantry, knocking into the chairs on his way.

Why indeed.

Melody peeled the cookie away from her forehead and tossed it into the nearby trash can before picking sprinkles out of her eyebrows. "You two were supposed to help me decorate the five dozen sugar cookies we signed up to bring in for the bake sale today. Remember?"

But there'd been those two birthday parties they'd had to go to on Saturday and then they'd gone sledding with their friends on Sunday, not remembering until last night that they had book reports due today too. "I had to frost all of them myself." A cold splash of reality doused the irritation smoldering beneath her breastbone.

Not so long ago, Finn and Tate would've dropped everything to decorate sugar cookies with her. They wouldn't have cared about birthday parties or sledding with friends. Cookie day had always been a big day-a day they wouldn't have missed for anything.

She and Thomas had started the tradition with the boys when they'd been old enough to sit in their high chairs, though back then they'd gotten more frosting on themselves than on the cookies.

The memories descended the way they always did, like an echo-mostly in sounds. She and Thomas laughing, the boys screeching with excitement while they licked the frosting off their spoons. Christmas music had hummed in the background and her husband would circle his arms around her waist while they snapped pictures of the two boys they'd struggled to conceive for five years. I love you. I love us, he'd always whisper.

This year would mark their sixth Christmas without Thomas, but she hadn't let any of their Christmas traditions die with him. Each holiday season, she and Finn and Tate still sat around the kitchen table together, slathering buttercream frosting onto the (slightly burnt) cookies they'd rolled and cut out into festive shapes. They always had a contest-because everything was a competition with her boys-to see who could create the most lifelike Santa and the most artistic snowflake. Then, when the sugar rush kicked in, Finn and Tate would chase each other around the house threatening to decorate their faces, while she half-heartedly scolded them.

That was how things had been. Every holiday season. But this year, she felt the icy winds of change blowing in.

"Are we going to school today or what?" Finn sat across from her at the small round table chomping on the strawberry Pop-Tart.

Various sprinkle canisters and bowls of frosting and bits of the cookies she'd ruined in her haste to finish the task still littered the entire surface, but she would have to clean up this mess later.

"Of course you're going to school." Melody couldn't shake the gnawing heartache as easily as she shook the cookie crumbs from her lap when she stood. "I just have to get-" Her gaze landed on the oven clock.

Eight o'clock?

Eight o'clock!

She spun and banged her knee on the table leg, gagging back a word that would put her in the hole with the swear jar yet again. So far, she'd had to pay out more than either of the boys. "Why didn't you boys tell me we were late?" They couldn't be late! She was already skating on thin ice with Mr. Braxton. The principal had personally called her about the boys' tardies last week, and she'd assured him they would be on time every day through the end of the year.

Tate shrugged and calmly sat down next to his brother. "I thought you knew what time it was."

"I didn't know!" She flailed around the cramped kitchen, stumbling to get the rest of the cookies packed up in the box she'd set out on the counter last night before apparently passing out facedown in a pile of frosting.

"Get your backpacks ready," she called on her way up the steep, narrow stairs. When she and Thomas had bought this old Victorian, the pitched roof and the wraparound front porch and the turrets had charmed her into believing it was a dream come true, but she'd lost count of how many times she'd tripped going up the ancient staircase.

Inside her room, she quickly shed yesterday's sweats and pulled on a pair of somewhat wrinkled jeans and an asymmetrical tunic sweater she'd designed for her boutique. There'd be no helping her hair now, though, so she left her messy bun intact and practically skied back down the steps, gripping the railing so she didn't crash.

Finn and Tate had gotten their backpacks on but were currently playing Frisbee with one of the cookies.

Melody intercepted the confection midair and slam-dunked it into the trash can. "Get in the car, you two." Swiping the box of cookies off the counter, she managed to snatch her purse off the hook by the door and followed them into the garage, nearly tripping over Finn's bike, which lay right in her path to the driver's side.

"Sorry, Mom." He aimed his repentant smile at her, batting his thick dark eyelashes for good measure, and wisely moved the bike before a word could escape her lips, the little angel.

"Buckle up," Melody advised before easing the car out of their garage. A new layer of snow blanketed the driveway, so she'd better take it slow.

Don't look at the clock . . .

But it was too late. They were officially thirteen minutes behind schedule. The bell had already rung and the rest of the kids would be sitting in class when Finn and Tate ambled in. Again.

"Are we gonna have to go to Mr. Braxton's office?" Tate uttered a heavy sigh. "We were already in there four times last week."

"Yes, I'm aware." Melody paused at the stop sign and waited for their neighbor, Mr. Munson, to cross the street. Even with her blood pressure spiking, she buzzed down the window and called, "Good morning!" because the poor man had lost his wife two months ago.

"Nice to see ya, Melody." He waved. "And you too, boys. Drive safe. It's real slick out this morning."

"Will do. Have a good day." She buzzed the window back up and blasted the heat.

"I still don't see why we had to go to the principal's office for trying to set the ants from Mrs. Altman's ant farm free," Finn mumbled. "They shouldn't be stuck in one dirt tunnel. They should be able to live their lives outside of captivity."

That was the thing about her boys. They didn't mean to get into trouble. It was like she'd told Mr. Braxton on more than one occasion: they were spirited. And curious. And busy. But they were also respectful kids and they listened to authority. For the most part anyway.

"The ants belong to your science teacher, though, so you can't set them free without permission." She shot a stern glance into the rearview mirror. "And can we make a pact? How about we refrain from any more visits to the principal's office for the rest of the year?" After today, that was. That would be the best Christmas gift she'd ever gotten.

Lately, she'd spent entirely too much time with Mr. Braxton. Seriously. She hadn't received this many lectures since she'd been ten years old. She and the principal were roughly the same age-so she'd heard-but every time she sat in that overstuffed chair across from his desk, she regressed.

"It's not our fault Mr. Braxton is so strict," Tate complained. "He's no fun at all. I don't think he even knows how to smile."

He tended to be long-winded too. During a lot of their "talks" she smiled and nodded but then found herself analyzing his taste in books from the crowded shelf behind him. He appeared to like mysteries and suspense novels, so maybe they could give him the benefit of the doubt. "There could be more to Mr. Braxton than we can see."

"I doubt it," Tate mumbled.

"Well, let's keep an open mind." She'd do her best, even while she endured another one of the principal's sermons on the importance of punctuality today. "And I'd like you to do your best to stay out of trouble. You wouldn't want to be on Santa's naughty list this year, would you?" Speaking of . . . "You two still haven't written your letters to the North Pole yet." She watched for their reaction in the rearview mirror and, sure enough, the boys exchanged a pitying look.

Melody braced herself. She'd known this was coming, after all. Tate and Finn had spent most of last December asking questions about Santa, which she'd expertly deflected. In an effort to keep them believing, she'd also gone to great lengths to make their elf Barney extra convincing. She'd even snuck into their rooms after they'd fallen asleep to take selfies with Barney and them on her phone.

But this year they'd mainly ignored poor Barney. A weight pressed against her heart, crushing her hope. Were they really giving up on Santa? They were only in fifth grade. They had their whole lives to learn that magic wasn't real.

"If Santa knows everything, we shouldn't have to write him a letter to tell him what we want," Tate said wisely. "Besides, I was doing some calculations about how long it would really take to drive a flying sleigh around the entire earth and, even if he went the speed of light, he'd still never be able to stop at everyone's house. The whole thing goes against physics."

Physics schmysics. "Santa is magic." The words wobbled out. "He doesn't need physics." That was the truth. Christmas should be full of magic, even if it only truly existed in the traditions they'd always shared. Every year, late Christmas Eve night, Thomas had gone outside to make reindeer prints and Santa's boot prints in the snow. He ate the goodies the boys left out-cookies for the big man himself and carrots for the reindeer, leaving the remnants, and he'd even written them each a note in wacky handwriting.

"Right. Santa is magic," Finn recited loyally. "He only needs us to believe. Don't worry, Mom. I'll write a letter when I get home from school. All I really want this year are those lit Beatbox headphones."

"Oh, is that all?" The headphones that happened to cost three hundred dollars? Boy, she missed the days of Hot Wheels and yo-yos and candy canes in their stockings.

"Yeah, all I want are the headphones too," Tate said. "Silver for me."

They might as well be made of real silver. "We'll have to see." She'd need to come up with some magic of her own to be able to afford those headphones plus a few other small gifts they could open.

Holding back a sigh, she slowed the car on a particularly icy patch of asphalt on Main Street. "It looks like the city finally got the decorations up." The familiar sight of the Welcome to Christmas in Cookeville banner settled her. "I can't wait for Cookie Daze." Her tone turned so wistful and sappy, she wouldn't be surprised if the boys started gagging in the back seat.

She couldn't help it. No matter what else changed, their town would always be the Cookie Capital of the Rocky Mountains. The claim to fame had started back in the early 1900s when Edmund Heinrich, a German baker, opened a cookie factory for the miners. Word spread and people started to travel from all across the country to taste his cookies.

In the early seventies, the town had even been listed in the Guinness Book of World Records when more than half the residents got together to make the biggest chocolate chip cookie ever recorded. That was how the Cookie Daze festival had been born, along with a host of other holiday-themed events that she and the boys attended every year. Even though the factory was long gone, the elementary school's cookie committee had closely guarded the traditions, partnering with local businesses to raise money for extra programs and supplies at the school.

"Cookie Daze is awesome." Tate undid his seat belt before she'd even finished parking in the school lot.

"Yeah, Cookie Daze'll be a ton of fun!" Finn scrambled to get out of the car first, and the twins raced to the sidewalk.

Well, at least they still had something to look forward to. She'd take it. Melody climbed out of the car, collected the cookies from the back seat, and followed Finn and Tate into the school, trying to keep a low profile in case they happened to see-

"Good morning." Mr. Braxton appeared in the hallway outside the office, stern frown already in place. Today, he appeared even more buttoned-up than usual in a crisp gray shirt covered by a charcoal sweater vest and black slacks that had not even one tiny wrinkle. The dark-rimmed glasses were new. Maybe he'd recently started needing readers too.

The principal made a show of looking at his watch. "Running late again?"

"Sorry. But it wasn't our fault this time." Tate shrugged off the blame. "My mom passed out at the kitchen table last night."

"Tate!" A high-pitched laugh squeaked out. "I didn't pass out," she clarified. "I fell asleep. I mean, I don't even drink much. Maybe an occasional glass of wine but certainly not enough to pass out." Her weird laugh was not helping her case here. "I learned my lesson after one party in college . . . Anyway, while I was decorating the cookies for the bake sale"-she held up the box so he could see she'd been hard at work doing her parental duty-" I must've gotten sleepy. We were a little short on time this weekend, what with birthday parties and sledding, so . . ." She let an awkward silence fill in the blanks.