CHRISTMAS CANAPÉS & SABOTAGE

Part 2

"I made a sausage and green chili strata for you," Amy said as Alex walked into the kitchen in search of his morning cup of coffee the next day. He didn't need to know he was pouring his mug from the second pot of coffee she had made that morning. "I set a couple of new hot sauces I picked up last week on the island if it isn't spicy enough for you."

"You didn't need to make breakfast for me when you have so many things to do for the contest." He winked as he spooned sugar into his mug. "I'm perfectly capable of breaking out my credit card and hitting a drive-thru."

"There's no reason for you to go hungry just because I'm a little busy." Alex was a successful, but insanely busy, entrepreneur who treated Amy like a cherished queen. He loved her unconditionally, so she cooked for him whenever she could, as a little way to show how much she loved him. "I had a loaf of bread that needed to be used up. Besides that, you've always told me you hate fast food. Have you been lying to me?" She waggled her eyebrows. "Do you have a secret addiction to greasy burgers and over-salted fries?"

"Nope. I have an addiction to making you happy, and if I have to eat a greasy breakfast sandwich, I'm willing to make the sacrifice so you can give the contest your best shot."

He used a fork to push the small, single-serving casserole dish onto a silicone hot pad and carried it to the kitchen island counter. As he settled onto one of the stools, Amy opened the oven to check on the muffin tops. She was still trying to decide what to call the bite-sized baked goods. A moist, orange muffin batter was dropped onto a cookie sheet, instead of spooned into muffin cups, so the results were closer to a tender cookie than a muffin. A coating of sugar would make them sparkle like glittering coins. "Which sounds better, Orange-Kissed Mini Muffin Tops or Citrus Coins?"

"Citrus Coins. It's more unique. Might make them stand out with the judges if they have a catchy name." He squirted a spicy stream of hot sauce onto the eggy casserole. "When did you get up? I see at least three things that look to be fresh out of the oven, and it's barely eight a.m."

"I don't know. I couldn't sleep well thinking about all of the things that are going on at the hotel." Amy donned oven mitts and pulled the cookie sheets covered with little orange mounds from the oven. She set the sheets on cooling racks. "I suppose the problems could be coincidental, a random cluster of bad luck, but I barely slept last night wondering if it's something more sinister. What if everything is connected?"

That was a headache-inducing question. If the incidents were linked, who was causing the trouble and why? That was another loaded question that was heavier than a pan of lasagna from Popper's Pizza. Both the food and the prospect of facing more snafus made her nauseous. Adding a bottle of antacid to her bags would be a good idea for the day.

She jumped when Alex's warm hands slipped around her hips and settled on her stomach. He gently guided her to the second stool at the island. While she'd been yammering about muffin names and thinking about strange happenings, he had placed the second strata there, along with a knife and fork. She had been so busy connecting the destructive dots she hadn't even noticed him preparing the spot for her.

"It looks like you have enough done. I think it's time to take a break and eat some breakfast. It's even more important for you to eat since you didn't get much sleep." He patted the stool in front of her breakfast. "Sometimes it helps to talk things out. Tell me what you think is happening, get it off your chest, and maybe you'll feel better. The holidays are chaotic enough without worrying about things that are out of your control. I want to enjoy the holidays with you. Not worry that you'll have a nervous breakdown."

Could anybody not be stressed out at Christmas? Maybe a man could, but a woman...not a chance. Party planning, gift buying, cleaning, cooking...cooking, cleaning, fighting crowds to discover the perfect gift sold out hours ago, engineering parties that would make a professional planner envious. Amy was spinning like a Tilt-A-Whirl run by a psychotic carnie. She hopped onto the stool. Hopefully, Alex was right. Putting her ideas about what was happening at the contest into spoken words would help empty out the mess of thoughts clogging up her brain. She needed to concentrate on preparing food.