“I’m here on New Year’s Eve with homeowner Matilda Lawson who’s ringing in 2021 in a rather unusual way. Can you tell us what happened?” She thrusts the microphone into my face. I clear my throat.
“Today, I learned that cookies are actually flammable.” I give a self-deprecating smile. They can’t laugh at me if I force them to laugh with me.
“Wow!” She shoots a stunned expression at the cameraman. “How did you manage that?”
“Somewhere in the process of cooking production, the broiler was turned on.” I widen my eyes comically. “You can imagine what would happen to cookies after the recommended fifteen to sixteen minutes in the oven.” I cringe. “If you can’t, I assure you it was nothing good.” The cameraman snickers, and Brittany’s eye twitches. Nice try. I know how to spin things. I learned at least that much from being married to a local celebrity.
The interview takes all of ten minutes, but I swear it equated to an eternity in hell.
“I guess you’ll need us to keep Clem longer, considering ...” Brittany gestures toward the house.
“No. It’ll be fine once it’s aired out.” My jaw clenches, but I keep my tone steady and calm.
“Pity. We made cookies for the new year, you know?” Her immaturity keeps her from working with Jackson and me to create a calm, cohesive environment. It’s going to end up being a problem.
I smile and nod.
“She told us how you two were going to enter the bake sale.” She looks at the retreating fire truck. “Don’t worry, Matilda. I’ll be sure to help Clem, so she’s not embarrassed or disappointed.”
My daughter is not a prize to be won. I resent Brittany’s continuous attempts to turn her into one. She might be my daughter’s stepmother one day, but she’ll never take my place.
“I got it, actually,” I say.
“Oh, I’ll be there covering it anyway. It won’t be a problem when you change your mind.” She winks and moves to help her crew pack up.
Oh hell no. I’ll do whatever it takes to show up at the bake sale and redeem myself with a smile on my face and cookies that put everyone else to shame. I’ll just need help to do it.
Later, on the couch, as I’m looking at cookie baking tutorials, I land on a local baker’s channel.
“Welcome to baking with Anders Rivera.”
My lady parts tingle as I sit up straighter. The handsome, olive-skinned man with facial hair and soulful brown eyes wasn’t what I expected. I can’t look away as his deep voice gives clear, concise explanations. His cookies are beautiful, and his offer at the end of the video seals the deal in my mind. This is the man I need. As the clock turns to twelve, I make a vow: New year, new me. And this version of myself will bake a damn good cookie.
ANDERS
“Are you going to do it?” Vander whispers into my ear as I nod.
Turning in my resignation before Christmas break was the hardest thing I’d done to date. R.A.A. Advertising had been built with the sweat, blood, and tears of my mom and dad. Their goal had been to create a legacy for my brothers—Evander and Winston—and me. The eldest at thirty-five, I remember the struggle to the top clearly. I’d grown up within the walls of this office.
Mom had picked me up after school and brought me here to do my homework in the conference room. Eventually, we’d all had cots set up for sleeping when they burned the midnight oil. The rise had been a slow climb to the top. Beautiful and painful to watch, it taught me work ethic, perseverance, and positivity paired with a can-do attitude will take you far. I’ll be forever grateful for all the sacrifices they’ve made on my behalf. Proud doesn’t begin to cover the way I feel about their success. But this has never been my dream.
“Please tell me Mom and Dad already know.” Winston’s worried voice comes from my right.
I shake my head and avoid meeting his dark brown eyes, so like our mother’s. Even at thirty, my baby brother worships the ground Papa walks on. Cut from the same cloth, the two have a special bond. They can speak to each other without words. Which makes my decision to leave hard for him to wrap his head around. This is his idea of heaven—a job he loves, operated by his family, and respected in the community.
“I can’t believe you left it to the last moment like this.” Evander’s voiced is laced with disapproval and disappointment.
I study his wrinkled brow and the hurt in his whiskey brown eyes. With his square jaw and aquiline nose, he’s a mixture of both parents.
“It was this, or ruin the holidays. I figured slipping my resignation in between the holiday breaks would be the lesser of two evils. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, so don’t ride me,” I snap.
“Why now?” Evander presses.
“You’ve been juggling the show and work for years.”
“And it cost me.” My shoulders droop. “I was exhausted, irritable, and stretched too thin. Remember how dark the circles under my eyes got? And how I was constantly dragging?”
“Yeah,” they chorus.