Chapter 4
LUCAS
I’m standing outside the bakery an hour before it opens, and I can smell sugar seeping through the cracks. The scent pisses me off.
There was a time when Holiday and I planned to enter the annual Merryville cookie baking contest together. When we’d talk about sharing the trophy and taking turns keeping it at our houses. That was back when I believed we’d share a lot of things, before I learned her promises meant nothing.
Through the glass, Holiday places cookies in the display case like she’s handling precious diamonds. Her brown hair is twisted into a messy bun. It’s the way she used to wear it when we were teenagers. I used to reach up and tug it loose when we were alone in the barn.
I bury the memory down deep where it belongs.
The faint smell of cinnamon drifts in the cold morning air, mixing with fresh cut pine from the precut lot across the way. Frost clings to the windows and sparkles in the early sunlight. The whole scene looks like a damn Christmas card.
She smiles at something, probably herself, and I hate how she thinks she can waltz onto my family’s farm like this. I told her to stay away from me. I will never, ever let her forget what she did.
Nine o’clock sharp, she flips the sign to Open and unlocks the door. “Silver Bells” plays from inside the shop. It’s cheerful and bright, completely opposite of how I feel.
When she sees I’m first in line with twenty-five people behind me, her smile vanishes.
I love ruining her day as much as she’s already ruined mine.
“What do you want, Lucas?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“Just in the mood for some sweets.” I follow her inside, taking my time scanning the case. Peppermint bark brownies, butter cookies with icing, and sugar cookies shaped like Christmas trees. Behind her in the kitchen, I can see racks of more cookies cooling.
Bethany appears from the back, tying on her apron. “Lucas!” she says, actually excited to see me.
I give her a kind smile because it’s not her fault her aunt sucks.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’ll take everything.”
“Excuse me?” Holiday’s voice cracks.
“Every cookie. Every brownie. All of it. Whatever you have in the back, too.” I pull out my card and tap it against the counter. “Ring it up.”
Her face goes from confused to furious in three seconds flat. “You cannot be serious.”
“Emma told me you get to leave when you sell out. I was serious when I said I want you gone.” I smile, giving her the fake one I save just for her. “Start boxing it up, Peaches. Or should I call you HoHo?”
“Don’t you dare call me either of those,” she nearly growls.
The last one is the nickname I gave her when we were kids. The one I whispered against her neck in the dark. The one that used to make her laugh.
“Oh, it bothers you. Great, that’s the only way I’ll address you going forward.”
The Christmas music switches to “Peace on Earth,” and the irony isn’t lost on me. There’s no peace between us. There never will be.
“This is low, even for—”
“You refusing me service?”
Her jaw tightens so hard I think I can hear her teeth grinding. The muscles in her body tense.
The guy behind me groans. “Just ask for her number already. Damn.”
“Lucas, hurry up,” Janet Miller calls from six spots back.
Behind her, the line stretches out the door. I can already hear the complaints starting.
Holiday slams cookies into boxes, lids snapping shut like gunfire. Her movements are violent, angry. “Sorry, everyone. Lucas Jolly decided to selfishly buy everything.”
“Everything?” Janet’s face falls. “But I promised my book club I’d bring two dozen of your brownies—”
“Blame him. He bought everything.” Holiday’s voice is saccharine sweet, and her eyes throw deadly daggers at me. She smirks as the crowd behind me groans and glares. They look at me like I’m the villain.
But she’s the bad guy. She always has been.
The grumbling gets louder and someone else mentions needing cookies for their kid’s birthday party tomorrow.
“But,” I say, raising my voice and turning to face the crowd, “I’m giving them away for free just for being on the farm today. Give me one second and we’ll head to the picnic tables by the snack shack. There are plenty to go around. You can take as many as you want. My treat.”
I turn back to Holiday. “How many did I buy?”
Her mouth is a tight line. “Twenty-five hundred.”
That’s more than I expected, but it makes the crowd erupt in cheers.
Holiday’s face goes beet red, and I love this for her.
I lean in, speaking loud enough for her to hear. “Go away.”
I can see dark flecks in her blue eyes.
“You wish,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, every cookie is boxed. Guests help carry them outside.
Holiday stands behind the register, arms crossed, pissed. I haven’t seen her this mad in a very long time.
“With your employee discount, it’s two thousand, four hundred thirty-five dollars and sixty-three cents.”
“That’s it? Wow. Might have to do this every day of the season.” I tap my card against the reader, not even flinching at the price. I’ve been working since I could drive, saved every penny. Money’s one thing I have plenty of.
“Would you like a receipt?” she asks, voice unamused.
“Oh yes, please. Love a good tax write-off.”
She rips the paper from the printer and tosses it at me. It floats through the air and I catch it before it hits the ground.
I chuckle. “Have a great day.”
“Get. Out.” Her voice is ice.
“Pleasure doing business with ya.”
I help grab boxes of cookies and walk out. The door slams behind me hard enough to rattle the windows.
Outside, I place everything at the picnic tables near the snack shack. The giant inflatable Santa beside the gift shop waves in the wind like it approves of my plan.
Holiday stands at the bakery window, arms crossed over her chest.
A few people walk over to the bakery, see the Sold Out sign, and immediately start complaining.
I head inside the main gift shop, squeezing between customers browsing ornaments and wreaths. In the back office, I grab poster board from behind the door and a fat red marker from the top drawer.
I write Free Cookies in huge letters so no one misses out. I carry it outside and tape it to the picnic table. Within seconds, people swarm.
“Lucas, what’s this?” Jerry Bradley asks as his kids snatch cookies from the boxes, comparing which ones taste better.
“Thought I’d spread some Christmas spirit today,” I say, biting into one of Holiday’s peppermint fudge brownies.
It’s incredible. Chocolatey and sweet with the perfect texture. It’s the kind of brownie that melts on your tongue. She’s always been an incredible baker. But I make a face as if it tastes like reindeer shit and toss the rest in the trash.
I know she’s watching, and that image will live rent-free in her head for weeks.
Today feels like a victory. I get to be the hero, handing out free cookies while she stews in her anger. As I move through the crowd, handing out boxes, I catch pieces of conversations.
“Who made these?”
“Holiday Patterson. She’s back from Paris!”
“These are incredible. Where can I get more?”
“Right there at the cookie shop. The menu changes every day!”
“Holiday’s a world-renowned pastry chef.”
“We’re coming back tomorrow. Early. Let’s line up at seven.”
My jaw clenches. By noon, there isn’t a single crumb left. The quilting circle ladies walk past me, chirping about what a sweet man I am for promoting Holiday’s pastries with so much passion.
I smile, but this is backfiring. I didn’t do this to help her. I did this to piss her off.
My phone buzzes.
Matteo
Saw you gave away thousands of Holiday’s cookies on Instagram! Are you two a thing, because if not…
Lucas
She’s a red flag liar. But good luck with that. I did it for our customers. I don’t give two fucks about her.
Another text comes in.
Jake
I just overheard someone say you were dating Holiday.
Lucas
HELL TO THE NO!!!!!!
I groan and glance at the bakery.
For the first time today, Holiday’s not scowling. She’s holding up a sign in the window, and I quickly read it.
Thanks for the free advertising, babe!
Same time tomorrow?
The gossip gals of Merryville read the sign and immediately turn to me with smiles.
“Babe? Are you two dating?” Edna Parker asks. Now that she’s retired, she’s been hanging out at the farm with her sisters.
“Absolutely not,” I snap.
Holiday blows me a kiss through the window.
For a second, I’m seventeen again. She’s blowing me kisses across the lunchroom when no one’s looking. Back when everything was simple. Back when I thought she might be mine.
Then I remember she’s just trying to piss me off.
“Are you sure?” Edna presses. “You two used to be thick as thieves. You, her, and Sammy. We always thought you two would get married.”
“We changed,” I say through gritted teeth. “People change.”
“That’s a shame. You were good together.”
I walk away before I say something I’ll regret.
My jaw is clenched so tight it aches. I throw an extra chain saw and gas can in the back of a side-by-side, then drive to the back field to meet my cousins.
“Saw the pics of all those cookies,” Dean says when I arrive. “Good on you for supporting Holiday. Guess you changed your mind?”
“No, I didn’t. She can still fuck off.”
“Yeah, now say it without that twinkle in your eye,” Matteo adds, smirking.
I glare at him. “I can leave.”
“Please don’t,” Dean says. “We’re drowning back here.”
I get to work, doing what I do best—cutting trees. The chain saw roars, drowning out my thoughts.
After I cut trees, I load them onto the lowboy trailer. We do this for over an hour, until my shoulders burn and my hands hurt even through work gloves.
By sunset, I’m exhausted. I make my evening rounds—checking that everyone has what they need, the equipment is stowed, and the gates are locked.
Then I notice her car still parked in front of the bakery. For a second, I wait to make sure it actually starts this time, and I won’t need to save her ass again.
As if I summoned her, Holiday exits with boxes stacked in her arms. She’s balancing them against her hip, nudging the door shut with her elbow. Her hair has come completely loose from the bun, falling in messy waves around her face.
Thankfully, she doesn’t notice me standing by my truck.
I should look away. Should get in my truck, drive home, and stop letting her get under my skin.
But I don’t.
I watch as she nearly drops a box, muttering something under her breath. The trunk won’t open at first, and she has to set everything down and fumble with it.
She looks tired and frustrated.
Human.
Finally, she gets the trunk loaded and climbs into her car without looking back.
The cold settles into my bones. I slide into my truck and crank the heat, sitting there as her taillights disappear down the driveway.
I really can’t believe she’s staying through the season. Or that I spent over two thousand four hundred dollars on cookies just to piss her off.
Holiday will lose this game.
Not me.
Not ever again.
But as I drive home, I can still taste that fudge brownie on my tongue. And I hate that it was the best damn pastry I’ve ever had.