Sugar and Spice (The Glitter and Sparkle Series Book 3) Read online

  I fumble an entire container of cocoa powder into the whipped butter I was prepping for the frosting. Almost cursing, I rip my gaze from his and try to save the recipe.

  “Hey, Harper,” he says with a wicked smile. “Lauren didn’t say you were coming over this afternoon.”

  I can feel his gaze on me, making me all hot and tingly.

  “Cupcakes,” I say as if that’s any kind of answer. Playing all casual and nonchalant, I turn on the mixer…only to have it puff the powdered sugar and newly added cocoa powder in my face. I yip and turn it off, feeling like an idiot.

  Like two wide-eyed chihuahuas, Riley and Lauren sit on the barstools by the counter, their eyes shining with humor. They watch the two of us in complete silence, like we’re the afternoon’s entertainment. I manage to shoot Lauren a glare. She knew her brother would be here—I can see it in her eyes.

  And he looks good. His espresso hair is perfectly trimmed—not because he’s fashionable, but because he’s a creature of habit, and he’s had it cut on the first Saturday of every month since he was twelve. He looks carefree, and if I hadn’t waited so long, he might have been mine. And then this would have been easy.

  Instead of shooting confectioner’s sugar about the kitchen, I would have teased him not to drink from the carton, told him to go take a shower because he’s a sweaty mess and his mother wouldn’t want him lounging in her kitchen in that state. He would laugh and pull me against him, kissing me as a distraction. Lauren and Riley would have protested, but I wouldn’t have cared, because…Brandon.

  Because Brandon.

  Ugh, I’m a mess. An emotional and literal mess. I have cocoa powder and sugar in my hair and all over my shirt. Lauren’s cat, Penelope, eyes me from what she’s dubbed as her barstool, giving me a condescending feline look that could be interpreted as, “Poor clumsy human. She’s going to end up a spinster.”

  And cats know these things. How do you think they find the right women to cozy up to? Some of us carry the crazy cat lady stamp only they can see. I’m only twenty-one, and they’re already eying me.

  “You’re off your game today,” Brandon says, laughing. He grabs a handful of paper towels from the holder, leaving half a ripped-off piece behind. Normally, it would drive me insane, but now I focus on it, trying not to think about the fact that Brandon is right here, in my space, handing me the wadded paper towels and brushing his hands over my hair.

  I mumble something—who knows what—and wipe the cocoa and confectioner’s sugar off my shirt…while I stare at his chest. Which is also right there. It’s a nice chest, especially up close—the defined kind you want to step into…lean against…fall asleep next to while you’re watching movies on the couch.

  My nose comes to his shoulder. I could brush my lips against the side of his neck without even standing on my tiptoes. But I don’t do that for two reasons. One, he has a girlfriend. Two, said girlfriend just stepped into the kitchen.

  Sadie’s eyes widen with surprise, but she quickly schools the expression. Like the sweet little Wonderland runaway she is, she waves at us all, as shy as a kitten, and gives us a soft smile. “Hi, everyone.”

  Her hair-of-many-golden-colors falls far past her shoulders, as sleek as a waterfall. She even has a thin black headband holding it in place, finishing off her Alice-esque look. Could she be any more perfect?

  And Sadie? What kind of name is that? Brandon and Sadie…

  Actually, it’s pretty adorable. That irks me as well.

  Utterly oblivious to the thoughts I was having about him two seconds ago, Brandon steps away from me and pulls Sadie into a tight hug. This, of course, makes her giggle. Finally, Brandon releases her, looping his arm around her shoulders.

  Lauren’s eyes dart to me before she smiles at Brandon’s ever-so-lovely girlfriend. “Hey, Sadie. Brandon said you were going to do some shopping this afternoon.”

  Sadie clasps her hands at her waist. “I finished up early and wanted to spend as much time with Brandon as possible, so I headed back here.”

  Oh, gag.

  Remembering I’m still covered in cocoa, I turn away from the group to clean up.

  “What are you making?” Sadie asks.

  “Harper’s chocolate cupcakes,” Riley says, and I shoot her a subtle glare over my shoulder. No reason to draw me into the conversation. My sister ignores me. “They’re the best.”

  “Sadie likes to bake too,” Brandon feels the need to add. “Maybe she can help—”

  Sadie laughs, spooked. “Oh, gosh—no. I don’t want to intrude.”

  I make the mistake of glancing at Brandon. He gives me a stern look, the kind that tells me I must be nice. I grit my teeth and force a smile.

  “No, please, we’d love you to join us.” I am proud to say the words sound sincere. Sort of. “Take a seat.”

  “Oh…well, okay,” Sadie says, though she throws me an uncertain look. “Let me just wash my hands.”

  She makes her way to the sink, and I give Brandon a tight smile. He narrows his eyes. Because there’s a strange expression ghosting across his face, one that makes me uncomfortable, I walk out of the kitchen. “I’m going to clean up. Sadie, the frosting recipe is on the counter if you want to start over.”

  I escape to the privacy of the Alderman’s hall bathroom and gasp as soon as I look in the mirror. The damage is worse than I thought. My face is smudged with dark brown cocoa powder and splotches of confectioner’s sugar. I look like a little kid, pretending to be a train-jumping hobo for Halloween.

  “Good job, Harper,” I mutter to myself.

  Because Brandon’s mom always has her favorite guest towels on display, I dig through the basket under the cupboard until I find an old (as old as they get in this house) washcloth. After several minutes of damage control, I’m clean. My makeup, however, didn’t fare so well. I study my reflection for several long minutes, silently comparing myself to Sadie even though I know it’s not healthy.

  I’m blond like she is, but that’s where the similarities end. Where her hair is a carefully crafted collection of highlights and lowlights, mine’s one solid shade of wheat. Her eyes are huge and blue; mine are dark hazel—not quite green, not quite brown. I’m taller than she is—only six inches shorter than Brandon, who stands at six-foot-two. And where I do have a nice figure, hers is fuller in areas that tend to appeal to guys.

  I glance at my chest and frown. Am I really comparing bra size? That’s insane.

  Growling, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and prepare myself for the rest of the afternoon. Sadie’s lovely—she really is. I can do this.

  Full of faux confidence, I swing the door open and walk right into the hall. And then I yelp because Brandon’s standing by the wall, arms crossed, eyes trained on me.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, breathless from the scare.

  “We need to talk.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “About?”

  “You said you’d be nice.”

  “I am being nice!” I hiss.

  He takes a step closer—and, oh, I wish he wouldn’t. “What happened to you while you were away this fall? The Harper I know includes everyone. She’s bossy, a know-it-all, a little obnoxious at times—”

  “Hey—”

  “But she’s always—always—kind.” He lowers his voice. “One of the nicest girls I know, in fact. Someone I usually admire very much.”

  And, help me, my eyes begin to sting. I cross my arms and refuse to look at him.

  “But since you came home at Thanksgiving, you’ve been surly, quiet, and downright venomous at times.” He bumps my shoulder. “Help me understand why, so I can fix it. What’s wrong?”

  I look back at him, ready to show him how venomous I can be. “You can’t fix it, Brandon.”

  “Lauren says some idiot guy broke your heart. Is that true?”

  The irony. It’s almost funny.

  “Did she actually say idiot?”

  Brandon grins. “I’m paraphrasing.”

>   “I’m fine, okay? I’ll try harder with Sadie.”

  “Why won’t you tell me what happened?” He looks hurt enough it makes my heart ache. “We used to talk.”

  He wants to talk about it? Fine.

  “I fell for a guy, and he didn’t want me,” I say, stomping my emotions down and threatening them to stay put. “There’s nothing more to it. It happens.”

  Brandon mutters a word that’s a lot more colorful than idiot. “How could anyone not want you? You’re perfect and beautiful and smart…” he trails off, perhaps realizing just like I have that we’ve drifted a little too close together.

  My heart races, and my brain starts screaming. What’s happening?

  “He picked some other girl,” I whisper, as close to admitting the truth as I am able. “And…I’m finding it difficult…to be nice to her.”

  Brandon’s eyes dart down the hall, toward the voices in the kitchen. His face is shadowed with questions—or rather, one question. One very important question.

  “Harper—”

  And I’ll never know what he was going to say because my dear, darling sister starts shrieking like a banshee from across the house.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brandon and I race into the kitchen, nearly tripping over each other. All kinds of things run through my head with the way my sister is screaming: fire, someone chopped their hand off with a butcher’s knife, Sadie fell down a rabbit hole.

  Before we even reach the kitchen, Riley has me by the arms, and she bounces up and down, her eyes sparkling. I haven’t seen her this enthusiastic since she gave up cheerleading. “You have to enter, Harper. Please say you’ll enter!”

  It slowly dawns on me that no one is dead, bleeding, or has disappeared into an alternate dimension.

  “Enter what?”

  “The HBN Christmas Cookie Bake-off. They’re having auditions at the Harbinger!”

  Lauren and Sadie wander in behind Riley. Lauren’s smirking; Sadie looks cautiously amused.

  I grab Riley by her shoulders to make her stop hopping. “Since when do you care about cookie contests or the Home Baking Network?”

  “Mason Knight,” Lauren answers for Riley.

  Baffled, I shake my head. “The facts don’t compute.”

  Riley’s still too starry-eyed to explain, so Lauren steps forward. “The radio just announced that Mason Knight is going to be one of the celebrity judges in the annual Bake-off, and they’re holding the last set of auditions at the Harbinger this Saturday.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I ask.

  “You have to audition,” Riley says, coming back to her senses. “Oh, please, Harper. Mason Knight.”

  “How old are you again?” I ask her. “Thirteen?”

  She smacks my arm, grinning.

  “You know the chance of making it onto the show is slim to none, right?” I tell her.

  “Not for you.” Riley shakes her head so hard, her blond braid smacks her face. “You’re amazing.”

  I watch the Cookie Bake-off every year, and Riley’s forgetting something important. “Teams compete, not individuals. I’d have to have a partner to even audition.”

  Immediately, Riley swirls to Lauren. “You can do it!”

  “No can do, Riley Roo. I’m up to my neck with the Christmas countdown on my blog, and Carla has me on eight Christmas parties.”

  Riley’s shoulders sag. She doesn’t even volunteer to help—the point is winning, after all.

  “I could do it,” says a tiny, female voice.

  The room goes completely silent, and every one of us turns to Sadie. Her cheeks blush pink, and she looks scared to death. “I mean, if you want.”

  My eyes flicker to Brandon. He’s watching me, clearly uncomfortable, and that question he almost asked in the hall lurks in his eyes.

  Sadie continues, slightly more confident, “My grandmother and I used to watch the competition every year. We even talked about entering…but she passed away last November.”

  Of course.

  “I would love to audition with you, Harper,” she finishes, looking all wide-eyed and hopeful.

  “Great,” I finally say because I am not a troll, despite what Brandon might think. “Yes.”

  “It will be fun, right?” Sadie asks, desperate to integrate herself into Brandon’s world.

  “So fun.”

  “That’s a yes?!?” Riley screeches, grabbing me again. “I have to tell Linus!”

  And with that, my sister races into the other room to phone her boyfriend and announce that I’m going to try to win her a chance to meet her schoolgirl crush. All I can do is shake my head.

  Lauren nibbles her lip, slightly less confident this is a great idea. She adjusts her plaid scarf, tucking it so it lays just right over her cropped brown suede jacket, and then she runs her hand down the dark-wash skinny jeans that are her idea of casual attire.

  Brandon’s sister is dramatic and vibrant, but she’s not usually fidgety. Something tells me she doesn’t think me pairing up with Sadie is the best idea.

  She shares a glance with her brother, and it’s obvious neither thinks I can do it.

  I’ll simply have to prove them wrong.

  ***

  “Since this is a Christmas cookie bake-off, I think we should audition with a variation of a gingerbread cookie,” I say as I pour through the various cookbooks I’ve collected over the years. The one I’m looking at now is yellowed, and the pages are torn. There are even a few smudges of flour and butter stains here and there. It’s my grandmother’s favorite, passed down from her grandmother, and she made me swear that I would be careful with it.

  “Hmmm…” Sadie browses the cookbooks, gravitating toward the ones with the pretty pictures. “I think a lot of people will go with gingerbread. What about a linzer cookie bar?”

  “No one likes fruity cookies,” I argue, regretting yet again agreeing to do this. I’m not a partner person. I’m an “everything will go smoothly if you follow my orders like a good minion” person. But Sadie, despite her vacant expression and wispy giggle, is proving to be less than stellar minion material. She has ideas. And thoughts. And opinions.

  Which, frankly, are three things I don’t need in a lackey.

  She looks up, her eyes bright. “Yes, but what about a chocolate raspberry linzer cookie with almonds?”

  I purse my lips. “Where did you find a recipe for that?”

  Excited, little Miss Alice snaps the cookbook shut. “I didn’t—we’ll make it ourselves!”

  Needless to say, we discuss it (argue) for the rest of the afternoon. Brandon hovers nearby like a chaperone ready to sweep in if I even think about hurting darling Sadie’s feelings. He’s binge-watching old Christmas movies in the living room like an eighty-year-old woman, and the familiar chatter and music drifts into the kitchen, a comfortable background to an otherwise awkward afternoon.

  He wanders in now, looking bored to death. I avert my eyes as he squeezes Sadie’s shoulder, trying not to remember a time when his casual touches were all for me.

  On a commercial break, the television blares Mason Knight’s Christmas song. I’ve seen the advertisement so many times, I can visualize Mason and the model they paired him with, all decked out in designer coats and scarves, trotting through the snow and laughing as the announcer proudly proclaims the store has gifts for everyone in the family. On cue, she’s interrupted by a barking dog, and she laughs in such a real way, it can only be fake. “Yes,” the voice-over says, “even your furry best friend.”

  Limited time…exclusions, exclusions…blah blah blah.

  But this time, the commercial doesn’t end there. Before it cuts out, the woman adds, “And don’t forget to watch Mason Knight as a guest judge on HBN’s Christmas Cookie Bake-off!”

  Leaving the kitchen, I stand in front of the television, frowning. Mason stares back at me and the rest of America, grinning that lopsided, dimpled grin that made him a household name and had fourteen-year-old Riley
smitten.

  He is good-looking, I admit to myself grudgingly. More so now than when he was young. He has a knack for singling you out, even through the camera, with his gray eyes trained right on you, the corners crinkling in a genuine way. Flakes of fake Hollywood snow cling to his cool, ash-brown hair. He wears it short, but it's a touch longer than Brandon’s. Though it’s not as artfully messy as Harrison’s, it’s definitely held in place with some kind of product.

  “Do you think he’ll be at the tryouts?” Sadie asks from my side.

  I jump, startled to find her next to me. “I doubt it. In fact, I bet he only makes a few short appearances for the cameras. The contestants probably won’t see him more than a handful of minutes, tops.”

  The woman rattles off dates and times, and then the commercial finally changes. A demon child appears on the screen, gleefully tossing milk on the floor in a paper towel advertisement.

  Shaking my head, I walk back to the kitchen. The Alderman’s counter is littered with cookbooks and handwritten recipes.

  “Hey,” Brandon says when Sadie excuses herself to the bathroom. He hovers in the doorway, hesitant to enter.

  I look up from an old Christmas dessert-themed magazine.

  His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his shoulders are slightly hunched as if he’s trying to make himself as small and unassuming as possible—which is funny considering how tall and assuming he is.

  Brandon looks at me like I’m a grizzly, ready to tear him to shreds. I narrow my eyes and wait for him to speak.

  He shifts his weight. “I know this is…uncomfortable for you. But it means a lot to Sadie, and I wanted to” —he clears his throat— “thank you for including her.”

  Brandon looks so vulnerable and unsure, I immediately want to ask him why it would be uncomfortable—attack when he’s weak. But then I shake the thought away. What’s wrong with me?

  “It’s not a problem.” I flip a page. “It’s not like we’re going to make it onto the show anyway.”

  He studies the garland greenery hanging in the arch. “Say, we, uh, never got a chance to finish our conversation yesterday.”

  “What conversation?” I say, the words purposely brusque.