A Very Merry Enemy

Chapter 1

HOLIDAY

The bell over the glass door jingles with too much cheer.

Happiness spreads like a never-ending laugh track.

The air smells like cinnamon as Christmas music plays from a speaker shaped like a snowman that’s hidden in the corner of Jolly Cookie Shop.

A pine wreath hangs in the front window, glitter catching the early morning sunlight.

I adjust the row of peppermint snowflake decorations on the marble countertop, then take a step back to look at the case full of beautifully decorated pastries that I worked my ass off to make, starting at four this morning.

There are sugar ribbons on gingerbread bows, star cookies with cranberry jam shining inside like stained glass, and my famous shortbread dipped in white chocolate and crushed candy canes.

Baking has always been my escape. Now is no different.

My hands shake for three seconds, and I press them against my apron, breathe through it, and pretend they’re steady. I can do hard things. I have done really hard things. Returning to Merryville after fifteen years of avoiding this place is at the very top of my list.

Through the front windows of the bakery, I can see that the tree lot is already busy with employees setting up before customers arrive. Lucas is out there right now with his chain saw and bad attitude, pretending I don’t exist, fifty yards away.

Or worse…wishing I didn’t exist.

“You’re a pastry godsend,” Emma says from the doorway of the kitchen, one hand on her belly.

Only Emma Jolly would stubbornly open a brand-new bakery on one of the busiest Christmas tree farms in Texas while pregnant with twins.

“No way I could’ve pulled this off without you, Holiday. I’m so grateful.”

She’s married to Lucas’s older brother, Hudson. They met last year, and with some help from the magic of Merryville, fell madly in love. Emma always talks about how much she adores Hudson and his five-year-old son Colby. They’re the perfect little family.

“Yeah,” I say. Can’t say I love the circumstances that brought me back, but I’m happy to be useful to someone. “Hudson’s mama wouldn’t have let you fail. Neither would his cookie queen champion of a grandmother. Jake and Claire would’ve helped you, too.”

I give her a smile. Jake is the middle Jolly brother who’s marrying her sister Claire the weekend of Thanksgiving. I grew up with all the Jollys. Lucas was my twin brother Sammy’s best friend first, but it quickly became the three of us.

Lucas is the same man who never wants to see my face again.

After all these years, I’d hoped he’d at least be indifferent. But indifference would require him to stop caring about what happened when we were eighteen. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that Lucas Jolly holds grudges like his actual life depends on it.

He will never forgive me, and I accepted that a long time ago.

“Are you nervous about today?” Emma asks, her red glitter headband sparkling under the lights.

“No. I was born for this. I managed one of the greatest bakeries in Paris, which employed world-renowned pastry chefs. I competed professionally and baked with the best. Tree season doesn’t intimidate me.”

I straighten cookies in the glass case, breathing in sugar and butter and the hint of peppermint. The smell is full of nostalgia and reminds me of being young and in culinary school. That was the last time my life felt like it was mine. Before everything got complicated and out of control.

The door jingles, and Mrs. Edna Parker walks in with her two sisters, Melinda and Brenda. The official Merryville Gossip Squad are wearing matching sweaters with sparkly reindeer.

“Holiday,” Edna announces, leaning across the counter, glancing at my left hand. At one point, there was a big shiny ring on it. Not anymore. All that’s left is a tan line where it was. “Welcome home. It’s been far too long, honey.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Parker.”

She was my middle school home economics teacher, the one who helped me realize how much I loved to bake. At thirteen, I’d won the pie contest at the county fair. I still have the trophy.

Brenda leans over and points at a cookie through the glass. “What do you call these? They look too pretty to eat.”

I laugh. “Cranberry star windows.” I slide the case open. “They taste like snow days and good life choices. With coffee, it’s an experience.”

Melinda makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “I usually like a simple sugar cookie with sprinkles.”

“Live a little. I’ll let you try one,” I say, because my pastries are like a drug. Once the sugar touches their tongue, the brain instantly wants more.

“Me too,” both of her sisters say, and Edna laughs, knowing where this is leading.

“Why did you laugh?” Brenda asks Edna.

She chuckles again. “Holiday has a special skill. One taste is all it takes.”

“I should make that my personal slogan,” I say with a smirk. It’s true, especially when it comes to men.

The sisters each take a bite, chew, and swallow. Their eyes widen.

“I’ve eaten so many of Holiday’s cookies while we worked on the menu,” Emma says from the chair behind me, “I think when the babies come, they’ll call her mama.”

I snort. “I’ll cater their first birthday party.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Emma says. “Edna is my witness.”

“I heard it,” my old teacher confirms.

Once the cookie is gone, the three sisters pull out their credit cards and each asks for a dozen.

I sigh. “Wow, looks like I only have ten dozen left of these for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll take them all,” they say in unison.

“We can split them,” Edna explains. “Down the middle.”

They nod, and I load every star window cookie into three large boxes. All that’s left is powdered sugar and crumbs.

When they leave, Emma’s shocked. “How did you do that?”

“Not to be cocky, but I’m good at what I do. You said as soon as everything was sold out, I could go home. I give it an hour.”

Emma gasps. “No way. You baked five hundred cookies.”

“I did. And they just bought one hundred fifty-six of them. Five minutes and word will spread. Edna will give every kid she sees a cookie. Just watch.” I lean against the counter, my eyes on an analog clock with candy cane arms above the door.

At the four-minute mark, a line forms at the counter.

Bethany comes out from the back, eyes wide. “Um. Where did all those cookies go?”

My sixteen-year-old niece—my older sister Tricia’s daughter—is doing half days here for school job credit. With a thirteen-year age gap between me and my sister, Bethany feels more like a little sister than a niece.

“Sold ’em,” I tell her. “Run the register, just like I taught you. I’ll box orders.”

“Okay,” she says, still looking confused. It’s her first real job, and I’m trying not to be too militant even though professionalism has been drilled into me. I want her to have fun and learn what it takes to grow a start-up.

For thirty minutes, I place dozens of cookies into boxes until we sell out completely. The line is out the door, but all that’s left are crumbs.

I clear my throat. “Okay, everyone, I’m sorry! We’re sold out for the day. You’ll have to come back tomorrow at nine when we open.”

The groans are loud.

“We’ll have a new menu, too. Once they’re gone, they’re gone for good!” I say.

I move everyone out of the shop and lock the door. I flip the sign over to “Sold Out.”

“I don’t know what to say. You just sold five hundred cookies in an hour. That’s…unheard of,” Emma says.

“Isn’t that incredible?” I grin. “I think we need to triple our amount. While it seems like a lot, there are hundreds of people who visit the farm throughout the season. You couldn’t have picked a better location, but you might want to consider getting two more ovens.

Bethany, Bella, and Wendy can handle it this season. ”

“Okay.” She opens the register and pulls out the money we earned for the day. “This is for you.”

“What? Absolutely not.”

“Yes, because you’re going to be busting your ass for two months to keep up with this demand,” she says.

“No. I’d do this for free,” I tell her, not taking the cash. “Become a sensation and sell out every day, then we expand in town, then worldwide.”

Emma blinks at me. “How are you so good at this?”

Bethany laughs. “She worked in Paris at a fancy-schmancy luxury bakery. For, like, over a decade!”

I roll my eyes. “That’s enough. I swear, I’ll tell your parents you snuck out last week to be with Trent.”

“Oh, please don’t. My mom will kill me.”

I give her a smile. “I’m not a snitch. Use protection.”

“We’re not doin’ it. We’re just friends,” she says with a laugh and removes her apron.

“Yeah, I know how that is,” I say, the comment going over everyone’s heads, thankfully.

“Hudson is here to get me,” Emma says, standing carefully, one hand on her lower back.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Just tired. The twins are heavy.” She gives me a hug. “We sold out! Every single cookie on day one! Thank you.”

“Tomorrow we’ll triple the batch,” I tell her.

“You’re amazing. Lock up when you’re done?”

“Of course.”

Bethany grabs her backpack. “I’m gonna head to school.”

“How many hours did you work this week while we were prepping?” I ask.

“Eighteen. I’m below my twenty-hour limit.”

“Perfect. See you Monday?”

“Yep!” She waves and follows Emma out.

I watch them leave. Emma moves toward Hudson’s truck, and Bethany strolls to her car, already on her phone.

The shop is quiet now. It’s just me and the Christmas music and the smell of sugar.

I start cleaning up, boxing the leftover supplies, and wiping down counters. The rhythm is soothing, familiar. This, I can control.

As I walk into the kitchen to grab the broom, the bell over the front door jingles.

“We’re sold out!” I holler, turning around. “Sorry, you’ll have—”

A cold draft drifts over my skin, and the air changes when I meet Lucas Jolly’s green eyes. After all this time, my body still recognizes him before my brain catches up.

He’s taller and more muscular than I remember. Time has been annoyingly kind to him. A wool hat is pulled low on his head, and messy dark hair sticks out from underneath. His flannel shirt is open over a thermal that stretches across his chest. Stubble sprinkles across his chiseled jaw.

He looks like a lumberjack who’d rather chop me down than talk to me.

His eyes move over the bakery like he’s assessing a problem he plans to solve with an axe.

I straighten my spine. “We’re closed.”

“Good thing I don’t want cookies.” His voice is rough and cold. He still doesn’t look at me. Just scans around me like I’m part of the furniture.

“Then what do you want, Lucas?”

“I want to know why the hell you’re here.”

My jaw clenches. “Emma hired me.”

“I know that. I’m asking why you took the fucking job.” Now his eyes land on me and I nearly freeze in place. They’re stormy green, wild as a West Texas sky right before it hails. “You had no problem leaving Merryville behind and pretending like nothing here exists. Why come back now?”

The words hit like a slap. “That’s none of your damn business, is it?”

“It is when you’re working on my family’s property.” He takes a step closer. “So, I’ll ask again. Why are you here, Holiday?”

“Because I want to be. Oh, that makes you mad?” I’m being overly sarcastic. “Boo-hoo. Get over it, Jolly.”

He narrows his cold eyes at me. “How’d Paris work out for you? How’s your famous fiancé? Oh, wait.”

I hate that he knows. Hate that everyone in this town knows my engagement fell apart. Small towns don’t keep secrets.

“You can go fuck yourself,” I snap.

“Trust me when I say I don’t have to. Plenty of women are lined up.”

I sarcastically clap my hands. “Good for you. Now, are you finished throwing a Jolly little tantrum? Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’ll see about that. You always run.”

The air between us crackles. I want to throw something at him. Want to scream. Want to grab him by that stupid flannel and—

I don’t dare to finish that thought.

“Get out,” I say instead. “As much as you want to control everything, you don’t get a say in what I do.” I move toward the door, ready to physically remove him if I need to.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” He backs away like I’ve got the plague.

The rejection stings more than it should.

“Trust me, touching you is the last thing I’d ever want to do.” The lie tastes bitter.

Because even now, even with all this anger boiling between us, I notice things I shouldn’t. Like the way his thermal pulls tight across his shoulders. The veins in his hands. The sharp line of his jaw beneath that scruff.

I hate that I notice.

“Good. Keep it that way.” He turns toward the door, then pauses. Looks back at me with an expression that’s full of disgust. “Do us both a favor and stay out of my way this season.”

“Gladly. I’d rather choke on candy canes.”

“Wish you would.”

I scoff as he walks out. The door slams and the bell crashes against it.

I stand there, frozen, watching him disappear into the crowd of customers. His stride is confident, cocky, and the asshole doesn’t look back.

And the worst part? Some stupid, traitorous part of me wanted him to.

I lean against the counter and close my eyes.

Fifteen years since that summer after graduation. Since our secret nights together, since I left for culinary school, and he stopped answering my calls. Fifteen years, and he still looks at me like I’m the one who ruined everything.

Maybe I did. I was young and stupid.

I push off the counter and finish cleaning. The faster I’m done, the faster I can go home and pretend today didn’t happen.

Merryville may sparkle like Christmas all year, but when I’m around Lucas Jolly, my surroundings go cold as ice. And this is just day one of the season.