Giada's Holiday Handbook Novels & Stories

They had extraordinary talents and advantages from birth, passed down from Ivy and Max. "Hello, guys. I'm back!" Gabriella called out from the foyer door, cradling two paper bags as she smiled broadly, excited to find Jeremiah having a great time with the twins at the dining table. "Well, it's lunchtime. Eat up, you two, so that you can grow up fast. I brought fresh fruits for you." "Hey, are you home yet? How was the shopping?" Gabriella placed her shopping paper on the kitchen counter. "Well. It's very crowded. It's a bit of a line to pay. Anyway, it's a national holiday. Everyone goes out."

It was all a very daunting task, but nothing that hadn’t occurred once or twice during past Yule celebrations. With a series of well-worded requests, members of her staff set to work gathering the information Hilda needed, and she sat down at her desk, tired to the bone as it was. Pulling up her notes, reports and recipes, Hilda tried to make sense of what they had and their traditions. Food for twelve days for only the gods know how many people. It wasn’t a recipe for disaster. All they needed was one of the rare multi-day snowstorms, and it would be a perfect season of disaster.

Marissa felt a surge of gratitude, knowing that these gifts were not just material items but symbols of the love and support that surrounded her. Among the gifts, one particularly caught her attention—a beautifully bound book filled with handwritten recipes from the village's oldest residents. This was a treasure she had always wanted, as cooking had been a cherished pastime shared with her mother. The book was a collection of family recipes, each page telling a story of love, tradition, and the joy of gathering around the table. As Marissa flipped through the pages, she could almost hear the laughter of her family and friends echoing through the years.

“Uh, who does she think she is? What the hell are we gonna eat? Giovanni is the best.” I shrugged. “She said she can cook.” “What? Mac and cheese?” I kept smoking my cigar. “She’s cooked for me a few times, actually. She’s good.” “But it’s Christmas. She’s ruining tradition.” “It’s what she wanted. Giovanni has worked every Christmas since I can remember. Giving him the day off isn’t ridiculous.” “But he could make the food in the morning and then leave. We can pop that shit in the microwave.” “Bates, it’ll be fine. You don’t even care about Christmas.”

But it had all worked out in the end. Gianna cooked them all a massive Christmas dinner that none of them could even begin to finish. They watched a couple of holiday related television programs, Giovanni ripped through his presents like he was two, and Gianna tucked in close to Dante who looked on the very of tears due to happiness. “You okay?” Gianna had asked him softly, watching Giovanni hold up brand new musical composition books as if it were made by the holy grail. “Dante?” Dante’s arms had come more fully around her, and it was nice that Dante hadn’t shied away from physical contact with her even with Gianna’s father in the room.

I teased. "I don't nag." She snapped, "Anyway, I was calling to ask you what day we are expecting you. Gabriel and Mia have already confirmed that they'll be arriving on the eighteenth." My heart skipped a beat and I swallowed, "Uh, expecting me where?" "Home for Christmas." She emphasized slowly. I licked my lips, while my stomach clenched uncomfortably, "Actually, I'm too cramped with work to celebrate Christmas this year." "I called Jeannie yesterday and she was kind enough to inform me that you're closing for the holidays soon," she huffed, "and anyway, you run a pet grooming store, and not a clinic. I'm sure you could have closed shop in November if you had wanted."

SLOANE I woke up on December 28th with a kids’ menu pinned to my fridge and the distinct feeling I had lost my mind. The crayon looked even more ridiculous in daylight. THE HOLIDATE PACT in Jackson’s careful block letters. Twelve holidays. Three-second kiss maximum. No feelings. No exceptions. Our signatures at the bottom, like we’d just bought a house, instead of agreeing to a year-long performance. I stared at it while the coffee brewed, waiting for the panic to hit.

"There's nothing like Christmas in Pennsylvania Dutch Country." "Thanks." Gia flashed her a vague smile. "But you know, it was a command performance. Two of them, actually. First was Christmas with my mom, at my sister's house, complete with tree and church and copious amounts of gifts. A very Christmas Christmas, if you know what I mean. And then I took the train into New York so I could partake in holiday number two, which was a sanitized, PC version. My dad's new girlfriend worships at the altar of Dolce and Gabanna, so it was all very shiny, very modern ...all chrome, no evergreen or holly. And no church. We saw a show on Broadway, went to a cocktail party with all of Isobel's vapid frie

Hilary was getting cheekier as she spoke. Her entire body was covered with the word ‘arrogance’. “Winifred, you must have heard that a ‘Hand of God’ has appeared in this competition. It’s really amazing. To think there’s someone in this world who can design such a holy piece of art like ‘Autumn Field’. Gucci has specifically sent me over to take charge of the business here. In addition, Mr. Mikhael has entrusted me as Gucci’s representative to liaise and work with the Hand of God. Now that I’m talking about it, it’s so exciting. The Hand of God must be really excellent. Winifred, are you envious?”

If he’d been human, he’d have not survived the attack. * * * The morning came early enough for most. A few it was a little too early and their faces showed their feelings. Hilda went about managing the kitchens and breakfast. They’d guests, but that was nothing new. After the holiday season, it was easy enough to deal with. She was still using ingredients and various foods from Christmas to clean up the pantry, etc.