A Christmas Boyfriend Recipe (Sugar Creek)

I’ve got the perfect recipe to find a boyfriend for Christmas.

The funny thing is, I wasn’t looking for one.  I went to Thanksgiving dinner with the boss's son and came home engaged.

Now I’m spending the month of December with my fake fiancé and his twin in Vermont while they get ready for a big-shot celebrity chef cooking competition. Jonah’s got all the ingredients to make a perfect boyfriend, so it’s too bad that this engagement has a built-in expiration date. 

He’s not the kind of guy who gives up that easily, and he’s developing a secret sauce of his own to win me over. Even though things are heating up between us, there’s no way this relationship is anything but a half-baked idea.

 Because I’ve got a secret of my own simmering, and if it spills over, there’s no way to clean up this mess.

Jonah did it again. It has to be him. I’m standing in the break room and there’s no one else in the entire office building.

            I lean my head against the wall and groan as I wait for my tea to steep. Of course, he has to be thoughtful. If he’s off-limits, naturally, he’s perfect.

            “Brie?”

            I whirl around. “Hey, Jonah.” I
brush my hands down the front of my business-casual slacks. He has no right to start the electric kettle for me every morning, so I’ll have hot water when I get to work.

            “You okay?” The deep brown eyes squint adorably until I can’t breathe.

            I whirl around. “Great. Thanks.”

            He glances at my “Shrimply Amazing” mug. “Tea again? You know the hot cocoa is free. On the house. Tarragon, lavender, cracked pepper, chili-cinnamon…”

            I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t like his signature flavor combinations. “I never drink before noon.”

            A tiny grin lifts one side of his
mouth, and something tickles my ribs. “Alright.”

            He jams his hands into his pockets.

            This is my favorite part of the
morning, and the reason why I’m early every day. “How did your barbecue beef turn out last night?”

            Dimples appear in his cheeks.
“Good.”

            It’s also the most awkward part of the morning when I’m not sure if he wants to talk to me or not. Jonah glances at me. “I tried mesquite this time.”

            I shrug. “I’m telling you. I lived in Texas for six months, and you’re never going to regret mesquite.”

            Jonah leans against the doorframe, a challenge twinkling in his eye. “Those are fighting words to any Southerner.”

            “But you live in Boston.”

            His mouth ticks up on one side. “I’ll try Kansas-City style next.”

            “You’ll go back to mesquite.”

            We grin at each other. “What about you? What did you make last night?”

            I take a wax-paper covered square out of my bag and hand it to him. “Cheddar scones.”

            Our fingers brush, and I don’t know if he even notices. His grin widens to a smile, though, when he unwraps the scone and tries a bite. “Wow. Thanks.”

            “Sure.” I pick up my mug. “This should be ready now.”

            He pushes up the sleeves of his suit. A hint of skin shows below the cuffs. He didn’t take the hint that I’m about to leave. I’m not complaining. Some mornings are like this. I take what I can get and ask a personal question this time. “So, did you always want to be a chef?”

            He glances up from staring at the cheddar scone. “No. Everyone expected me to join the family business. I’m the oldest, so I had to rebel.”

            I settle into my seat. “And what wild, rebellious thing did you do?” I eye his button-up shirt and carefully groomed brown waves. His face is absolutely smooth, and I get a whiff of some pine cologne.

            His mouth lifts in a half-grin. “I went to art school for a few months.”

            I take a sip of my tea before it cools too much.

            Jonah continues. “But I spent all my free time cooking or thinking about food, so I quit and joined Jake in a culinary arts program.”

            This is one of the rare mornings where he opens up. “Do you ever regret it?”

            Jonah straightens, and I know he’s about to leave. I’ve gotten too personal. He shakes his head. “Never. I decided that cooking is a creative act, and every dish would be my work of art.”

            I bite my lip. Are we done talking?

            “What about you?” Jonah asks. “Did you always want to be an accountant?”

            I laugh. “I trained as a sous chef in your grandpa’s kitchen, then I was a head chef in the Air Force. They sent me to culinary school, actually, even though I was just an airman and a sergeant, and you know. I was enlisted in the Air Force before I cross-trained and learned accounting.” I take a huge breath.

            “You trained as a chef?” Something sparks in his eyes.

“I did.”

We stare awkwardly at each other, and wow. Those eyes of his.

            But that’s way too much information for Jonah to process, and sure enough. He’s out of there.

            “That explains why these scones are so good.” Jonah grins at me. “Why all your treats are… Well, thanks.” He waves and leaves the workroom. As soon as he’s in the hallway, he takes another bite
of scone.

            Not that I’m watching his mouth.

            I call after him. “See ya, Chef,”
but I think that very attractive mouth of his is too full to answer.

            He certainly doesn’t flinch at my nickname, like he did when I first met him. He simply wanders down the deserted hall to his glass-walled office. His perfectly tailored suit hits him just right everywhere. He’s like a model walking down a fluorescent-lit runway, and I’m the only one who arrives early enough for the show.

            I drop my head on the slick surface of a shiny melamine table. It’s not fair. Some people have money and looks and manage not to be total idiots. Unlike me. See ya, Chef? What was I thinking?

            “Yo, Brie.”

            Also, unlike Jonah’s twin, who’s also a morning guy. Unfortunately.

            I pull my head off the table and stir some sugar into my tea. “Jake.”

            He fills an oversized travel mug with pebble ice, then fills it with Mountain Dew. It’s snowing outside, and he’s drinking fountain soda? I don’t get this guy.

“How’s life?” He settles at my table
without asking.

            I pick up my cup. “Great. I’m going to drink this at my desk.”

            He pops back up to walk with me. “Where are you going for Thanksgiving?”

            I shrug. “Don’t know.” I point to my cubicle. “This is me.” I slip into my office chair and focus on my laptop and extra monitor. Jake has that kind of Ken-doll attractiveness that is so beautiful it’s hard to look at. He wears polo shirts and more casual attire than his brother, but he still smells like money.          

            He lounges with his arm on the top of the upholstered gray office divider. “How can you not know? It’s tomorrow.”

            “I’m just that spontaneous.” I wait for him to leave.

            He doesn’t.

            I turn to him and smile. “Well,
Happy Thanksgiving. Have a great time, wherever you go.”

            He starts to tell me a long story about his family’s traditions, and I turn back around to my laptop. “Un-hunh. Sorry, I’ve got work to do before the break. I don’t mean to be rude.” Except that I do.

            I didn’t arrive early so I could
spend my time listening to him talk. A lot.

            Jonah yells from the other end of the hall. “Jake!”

            The story stops midsentence. “I’ll catch you up later.”

            “Mmm,” I mutter indistinctly, and scroll through my Inbox.

            I don’t even work for Jake, but his dad has all of his companies in the same building, so I’m stuck with him and his perfectly tousled blond waves. If only his personality matched his chiseled jaw and piercing green eyes.

            At least I also get to see his twin. His dark-haired, broad-shouldered, broody twin. I shake my head to clear the image of both Butler boys and force myself to focus on the computer screen.

            I’m halfway through emptying my Inbox when my coworker arrives.