Page 1 of Baby, It’s Hot Inside

chapter one

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 this 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.