Never Been Under the Mistletoe by C.M. Kars

Author:C.M. Kars [Kars, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-12-20T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

The week before Christmas

I burned the cookies, and now the whole place stinks. Moving to the patio door, I have a straining fight with it as the ice finally decides to give way, and I She-Hulk the sliding door open to let in some air. The fan above the oven is on full blast, sucking up all the sickly-sweet burnt smell.

Pinterest fail. I had such high hopes for this recipe.

I’m trying to find some diabetic-friendly dessert recipes, and these cookies made with applesauce to replace some of the flour was going to be my golden ticket. I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider, I don’t want to alienate either of my boys when it comes to the dinner we’ll be hosting on the twenty-sixth.

Matty and Hunter are doing some shopping, which means Christmas shopping before the stores get too clogged up next week, and I found myself daydreaming over what my present could possibly be. Unlike what I used to get, I know Hunter and Matty would get me something, no matter how big it is, that I could readily use and would love.

It wouldn’t be jewellery. Unless that jewellery was worn by a fictional character in one of my books, or movies or shows, then yeah, I’m all behind that. But the shiny stuff that sparkles? Sure, it’s pretty, but it doesn’t really mean anything.

I was so wrapped up in my fictional gift that I forgot to set the timer, and proceeded to do a deep cleaning of Matty’s room, hoping against hope that it’ll stay that way until next week when we have company over. Then again, Matty is four years old and cleanliness isn’t really high on his list of priorities. I put some laundry in the washer, and that’s when I smelled that all my hard work went to hell (with Adam Winchester), and left behind these smoking little rock hard turds that were supposed to be cookies.

And the pin looked so delicious.

Febrezing every single room, and keeping the patio door open longer than necessary, I shove the offensive cookies in the garbage and rub my hands through my hair, letting my fingers flex around my scalp.

I’ve pulled up my Christmas music playlist, and am currently listening to God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen by Pentatonix, while I try to figure out my menu for next week.

“You should have done this last week,” I tell myself. “But nooooo, you were too tired after work to get your brain in planning mode. So now you’re stressing.”

Okay, okay, okay. Nothing that I can’t fix.

So what do you need to make an epic Christmas dinner?

Turkey. You need a turkey. Salad is good, too. Mashed potatoes, an absolute must. Stuffing. And gravy. Maybe cranberry sauce, yeah, definitely cranberry sauce. What other sides do I need? Or do I just double my quantities?

Thinking of Dean and the sheer size of him, I multiply everything by three. That should be enough. Maybe I’ll make some pizzas in the oven the night before, and just re-heat them when the time is right.

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