Gingerbread Kisses Read online

  Gingerbread Kisses

  A Christmas Novella

  Kat Baxter

  Contents

  Title Page

  Gingerbread Kisses

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading!

  Excerpt from Knocking Up His Best Friend

  About the author

  GINGERBREAD KISSES

  by

  Kat Baxter

  Gingerbread Kisses

  Kat Baxter

  Copyright 2019 by Kat Baxter

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Edited by: JADE

  Book cover: Earthly Charms

  http://www.earthlycharms.com

  With regard to digital publication, be advised that any alteration of font size or spacing by the reader could change the author’s original format.

  Created with Vellum

  DEDICATION

  For my mom who always made Christmas such a magical time of year.

  Gingerbread Kisses

  The hot guy…

  The first time I see Ginger Starr after four years of being abroad, she is wearing a hideous Christmas dress. But the obnoxious monstrosity does nothing to hide her generous curves. One thing becomes perfectly clear: I’ve never wanted a woman more.

  …and the curvy bookworm

  Brock Daniels might be ridiculously hot, but he’s also my high school nemesis. I’m prepared to hate him and find him annoying with his washboard abs and toothpaste commercial smile. What I’m not prepared for is how he’s looking at me…like he wants me.

  …just might find their forevers underneath the mistletoe

  Our parents are jointly hosting a 12 Days of Christmas party and we’re stuck together. Pretending to be civil isn’t that hard and one spontaneous kiss might change everything.

  Chapter 1

  Ginger

  I nearly choke on the swallow of coffee I’ve just sipped. “I’m sorry what did you say?” I peer into my coffee cup to see if there are bones or rocks in there that I might have choked on.

  “Brock. He’s coming back to town.” My mother answers while piping icing on a snowflake shaped cookie.

  Brock Daniels has always been a thorn in my side. Hot, arrogant and pretty much a dick. Me? I’ve always been about twenty pounds too heavy for my just barely over five foot frame which makes me seem dowdy and plain. I’m also far too sassy for my own good.

  I’m Ginger Starr. Yeah, I know, it’s a terrible name. But my parents are crazy about Christmas. As in my dad always plays Santa at the local mall, my mother is a wiz at cutout sugar cookies and their annual Christmas party is the event of the neighborhood.

  It just so happens that I do have red hair but, honestly, I don’t think that played too much into their naming decision. Case in point, I have an older brother named Kris (yeah, like Kris Kringle) and an older sister named Holly. So Ginger isn’t terrible in the whole scheme of things. I guess I should be happy they didn’t name me Candy Cane.

  “And he’ll be here? Tonight? At this party? Tonight?” Why is my heart beating so fast? I’m not a kid anymore. He can’t tease me if I don’t let him.

  She glances up at me and does nothing to hide her grin. “Yes, Ginger. Tonight. Why are you acting so strange?”

  “Not strange mom, annoyed. You know Brock and I don’t get along.”

  She chuckles. “It’s called foreplay, darling.”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “You cannot talk about sex stuff. Ever.” I swipe a cookie she’s only partially iced. “Besides, Brock tormented me in high school - that is not foreplay.”

  “Whatever you say. Judy and I will just quietly disagree” She goes back to her cookies.

  Judy is Brock’s mom and my mother’s partner-in-crime. They’re like a slightly more competent Lucy and Ethel. And the two of them have had fantasies since Brock and I were born—only three months apart—that we’d grow up and fall in love.

  “Did you get the dress I sent you?”

  “Uh yeah. I’d have to be blind to have not seen it.” It’s a simple black mini dress because I’m roughly the size of a Hobbit with a flared skirt. But on said skirt someone—probably my mother—has painstakingly affixed giftbox bows all over it. They’re in red and green and gold just in case you might not catch on that it’s a Christmas dress.

  She’s not yet wearing her ugly sweater, but her plain white t-shirt is covered with one of her many aprons. I swear my mother has more aprons than I have pairs of shoes. This one is red with an image of white fur trim and it boldly says, “We WHISK you a Merry Christmas!” and the letter ‘I’ in ‘whisk’ is in fact an image of a whisk. Her dark hair is cut short and has not even a hint of a wave to it. I got my hair color and curls from my father, but I can claim my mom’s big brown eyes.

  “I’m surprised it doesn’t play Christmas songs when I walk.”

  She stands upright and her mouth falls open. Then she grins. “That’s a brilliant idea!”

  I hold up my hands in protest. “Absolutely not. It’s already going to be embarrassing enough looking like a walking present.”

  “You’ll look adorable,” she says. “Your poor sister is devastated that she can’t participate this year.”

  “I know. But when she finally has that sweet baby, all this forced bed rest will be forgotten.” In truth I loved the holidays just as much as my parents did. It was hard not to when I’d been raised by Sand Dollar, Texas’s equivalent of Mr. and Mrs. Clause. I wasn’t too wild about the dress, because it was pretty form-fitting, at least up top. And I didn’t like to draw attention to myself any more than my hair and short stature normally did. But I’d wear it because I loved my mom and it would make her happy. Plus it was in keeping with the “ugly” part of ugly Christmas sweater night.

  “I cannot wait!” She gives a little squeal and wiggles her fingers as if she’s getting ready to tickle the baby’s belly.

  “I know you can’t. I’m pretty sure you’ve wanted to be a grandma before you were even a mom.”

  She winks at me. “Don’t be late tonight.”

  “I won’t. Promise.” Knowing that that arrogant jerk is going to be there tonight means I’ve got to get home and...and hell, I don’t even know what I can do to prepare for seeing him again.

  You know what? Not a damn thing. I don’t have anything to prove to him. He’s the one that changed. One day we’d been friends, afterschool playmates, and then middle school had hit and everything changed. We went to our first school dance together, as friends, planning to roll our eyes at our classmates. Instead, he’d danced with the most popular girl. They’d made-out under a table in the cafeteria and I’d left alone.

  Needless to say, it had been a pretty shitty night. Our friendship had never been the same. That night cemented our respective high school reputations. From then on out, he was mister popularity with the hot cheerleader girlfriend. I was the hopeless nerd, standing alone in the corner.

  So back to this holiday party... Normally it’s just a one-night thing. But th
is year my mom is using the party to launch a fundraiser for the new children’s hospital wing. So instead of one party, they’re doing a multi-day event all over town. Twelve Days of Christmas with each day having a different theme.

  Tonight launches this festive shindig at my parent’s house. They’ve jumped on the bandwagon and the theme is ugly sweater. Cliched and dumb, but there you go. Which is why I’m currently wearing some obnoxious monstrosity made of thousands of those cheap stick-on bows. It’s an A-line dress, one that might even flatter my curves if it didn’t look like I’d been dipped in frosting and then rolled in tinsel. At least it shows off my best feature; my legs. They might be short, but they’re shapely.

  My parents’ best friends, Judy and Calvin Daniels, live right next door. Oh, did you recognize that last name? Yep, my nemesis growing up was my next door neighbor, Brock Daniels. He tormented me for years, pulling on my hair, putting frogs in my locker and using that infernal nickname he’d given me: Gingerbread. As if I didn’t know I’m rounded like a loaf of bread. Bastard.

  Anyways, he’s been away--like out of the country away--finishing up his degree somewhere in Europe. Frankly, any time his name was mentioned, I tried not to pay attention.

  Again, I eye myself in the mirror. I’m too damn short, too damn curvy and my wild red curls are ridiculous. I look like that Scottish princess from that animated movie. Though she at least had a cool accent. I have no cool accent, but I do have a pretty cool life.

  I love my job. I teach kindergarten at the same elementary school that I attended. I have a tiny garage apartment, and a relatively decent social life. I go on the occasional date, though it’s hard to meet people when you’ve lived in the same smallish town your entire life. But my girlfriends are the best. Annie has been my very best friend since third grade when her family moved to town.

  She knows all about my history with Brock Daniels which is why I’m making her come to the party tonight so that I have backup for when he shows up. My mother made a point of reminding me he was coming at least three times before I left the house. The Daniels are so proud. He’s their only child and just a shining star - so they say.

  Insert dramatic eye roll.

  By the time I arrive back at my parent’s house, a few cars line their circular driveway. I scan the vehicles looking for Annie’s car, but don’t see it yet. I head inside to find myself a cocktail, a little proverbial liquid courage, if you will.

  The only people here so far are my parents’ friends, which of course include the Daniels.

  Judy pulls me into a tight hug. “Ginger, you look absolutely adorable.”

  That’s me. The adorable one. Not like my older sister who is taller so her curves are more proportional. And she has normal hair. And no freckles. But me, I’m the cute one. “Thank you,” I manage to say it without rolling my eyes.

  “Brock is really excited to see you again,” she says.

  I’ll just bet he is. Excited to find something new to tease me about. I wonder who he’s been tormenting all these years he’s been away. I give her a tight smile and nod, keeping one eye on the door watching for Annie.

  “He hasn’t had much time to see many old friends since he’s been in town,” she continues.

  I nod and take another sip of my drink.

  The doorbell rings and I excuse myself hoping I’ll find Annie on the other side of the door. But when the heavy wood swings open another familiar face greets me. His face splits in a grin. Those perfect white teeth, dimples peeking through the scruff on his cheeks, dark hair and Christmas green eyes. Damn, why does he have to be so pretty?

  “Gingerbread,” he says with that sexy grin.

  And I slam the door in his face.

  Chapter 2

  Brock

  Merry Christmas to me!

  I laugh when she slams the door in my face, but don’t let it stop me from opening it and stepping inside. Ginger has now moved away from the foyer and into the main living area where I see her parents chatting with mine. But I can’t take my eyes off of the redheaded bombshell across the room.

  I haven’t seen Ginger Starr since the night we graduated from high school. There were things I’d meant to say to her before I left and just never got around to it. Though back then she hadn’t been too keen to hear much of anything I ever said. But God I thought of her so many times over the last several years. I have a stack of postcards I bought her from every city I visited, addressed and stamped, but never mailed.

  Still the same wild mane of red curls that I want to thread my fingers through. Same freckles and big brown eyes. Same short stature, but her curves are more pronounced and the maturity in her expression is intriguing. Fuck, if she’s not sexier than I remember her being. Of course she’d been only eighteen then. Now, she was all woman.

  Ginger glances down at her phone, then winces. She looks across the room, directly at me and I smile. Can’t help it. She’s adorable.

  So I make my way over to her. Once I reach her, I nod towards her phone. “Bad news?”

  She blows out a breath. “Annie has food poisoning so she can’t make it.”

  “Annie Fitzpatrick? Y’all still friends?”

  “We are,” she says with a nod.

  “I always liked her.”

  Her warm cinnamon-colored eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why are you being friendly?”

  An instrumental version of Jingle Bells plays in the background. “Am I not allowed to be?”

  “Not to me.” Her arms cross over her chest which just serves in squeezing her already fantastic tits further together. Damn, she’s cute when she’s pissed.

  I chuckle. “Since when?”

  “Since forever.” Her words come out in a hiss. “You don’t like me. You’re not nice to me.”

  “Gingerbread, we haven’t seen each other in years.”

  She closes her eyes. “Ugh, that nickname.”

  “Here let’s do this right.” I hold out my hand to her. “Brock Daniels, nice to meet you.”

  Again she watches me through narrowed eyes, but finally she extends her hand.

  The moment our palms touch I swear some sort of electrical surge pumps through the room. But none of the lights flicker. She clearly feels it too, though, because she quickly pulls her hand back.

  “We used to be friends, yeah?” I ask.

  “When we were little kids.”

  “You were my favorite person to run around with outside.” I smile at her again. “You look good, Ginger. Really good.” I let myself take in her curves, and my eyes get caught on the sexy as fuck cleavage she’s showing.

  “Until you decided I wasn’t cool enough for you.”

  I sigh. She’s not entirely wrong, but I guess I’d hoped we could just forget about high school and it’s stupid teenage politics.

  I nod to the empty glass she set next to her discarded phone, on side table behind her. “Where can I get one of those?”

  “This way.” She spins and walks out of the room.

  And I follow because damn if that dress isn’t doing amazing things for her body. Which frankly doesn’t make sense because the bow-encrusted monstrosity is ugly as hell. Looks like Christmas threw up all over her skirt. But it still hugs her just right, accenting her narrow waist and hips that I could really grab onto.

  She brings me into the kitchen where I find a sizable display of food and drinks. But she waits, standing in the entryway.

  “You should be able to find whatever you want in here.”

  I look down at her and take in her face. She’s really pretty.

  “None of your crowd will be here tonight.” She tugs on one of her curls and I find myself longing to do the same. “Your mom said you hadn’t seen anyone yet.”

  “I wouldn’t call them my crowd. Just people I hung with in high school.” People I let dictate who I was because I was too chicken shit to stand up to them and be myself. I admit, I got wrapped up in the whole popular stuff. I played football and dated the head chee
rleader and we were Homecoming King and Queen three years running. That seems like a lifetime ago and I don’t think about those people anymore. Ever. But Ginger…

  She tilts her head back, and gasps, and I follow her gaze.

  Mistletoe. “I’m right where I want to be with who I want to talk to.” I smile down at her and lean in for a kiss. But at the last minute she turns her head and my lips press into her cheek.

  I chuckle and she squeezes past me to leave the room.

  She evaded that kiss, but I know one thing for sure. I’m not done with Ginger Starr.

  Chapter 3

  Ginger

  The first thing I realize when I wake up is that I overslept and it’s because I don’t have my phone. I search my bed and the nightstand, but there’s no sign of it. The clock across the room lets me know that it’s already ten-thirty. I never sleep this late.

  I probably slept in because I was awake half the night replaying my interaction with Brock. Why was he being so nice to me? And why was he looking at me like I was a delectable piece of dessert he was dying to try?

  That kiss, too. If I hadn’t turned my head, he would have kissed me. Like for real kissed, with his lips on mine. Like an idiot, I realize my fingertips are pressed to my mouth right now.

  Get it together, girl!

  I climb out of bed and race through my small apartment looking for my phone, but it’s nowhere to be found, which means one thing...I left it at my parents’ house. I quickly shower and throw on some shorts and a t-shirt because even though we’re really close to Christmas, this is south Texas and it’s still hitting the nineties at the heat of the day. This sultry weather might not seem Christmassy to some, but it’s what I know, and it works for me. Especially since I’ve had my Christmas playlist going since the beginning of November. I know! I’m one of those.