Chapter 6
LUCAS
I’ve been up since four thirty, which is nothing new. What is new is spending the entire morning trying to convince myself that the bakery and the stubborn woman inside it don’t exist.
It’s not fucking working.
I hoist another Fraser fir onto the tractor bed, the scent of pine sharp in the cold November air. My breath comes out in clouds, and my hands are numb even though I’m wearing leather gloves. The physical burn feels good, much better than thinking about her.
Each day, I’ve worked myself to the bone.
By eight, the farm’s crawling with families.
Kids run around in puffy coats, racing between tree rows while parents sip hot chocolate from our snack shack.
A group of teenagers pose for Instagram photos in front of the giant nutcracker statue near the entrance.
Christmas music plays from speakers hidden in the trees.
Right now, it’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and many are singing along.
Being on Jolly Christmas Tree Farm isn’t just about the trees anymore. It’s an entire experience. Photo ops, food trucks on weekends, a petting zoo with reindeer. This year, Emma’s bakery is the crown jewel.
The farm was my escape. Now it’s become my personal hell.
“You planning to load that tree or just strangle it?” Dean asks, walking up with a clipboard.
I realize I’ve been gripping the trunk hard enough to leave imprints in my gloves. “Obviously loading it.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He marks something off his list. “You’re so convincing.”
He glances toward the bakery—its windows glowing warm against the gray morning, garland framing the glass, and a Sold Out sign already hanging on the door even though it’s only ten a.m. “Wow, Holiday sold out again.”
My jaw tightens. “Good for her.”
“Already doubled Emma’s projected revenue for the season.”
“Great.”
Dean studies me for a long moment. “You know, for someone who claims to hate Holiday Patterson, you sure do pay a lot of attention.”
“Yeah? It’s because I promised Emma I’d keep an eye on things.”
“Right. And we know how you like to keep your promises.”
I exhale.
“Noticed you nearly walked into a golf cart yesterday when Holiday came out to help load cookies into Mrs. Appleton’s car.”
“Mind your own damn business,” I tell him. “Don’t you have actual work to do?”
“I do. But watching you be miserable is way more entertaining.” He claps me on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth? She’s hot and I’d do her.”
My jaw clenches, and he bursts into laughter. He sees me, but says nothing, just walks away.
The rest of the morning drags by. I throw myself into work—hauling trees, running the netting machine, helping a family tie a ten-footer to a minivan while the kids argue about who’s putting the star on top of the tree.
Today I’ve had too much time to think, and that always leads to scowling at the bakery.
I’ve seen too many glimpses of her through those windows, laughing with Bella and Wendy. She’s wearing a red apron today, and her hair piled on top of her head in that messy way I like.
I turn away and nearly crash into a customer.
“Lucas Jolly!” Mrs. Blankenship beams at me, her arms full of shopping bags from the gift shop. “I heard the wonderful news!”
Something cold settles in my stomach. “What’s that?”
“About you and Holiday. My quilting club was just saying how we always knew you two would end up together.”
“We’re not—”
“Don’t be modest. You buying all those cookies to support her is the most romantic thing I’ve heard in years.” She pats my arm. “My granddaughter’s been asking you out for months, but I told her you’re with Holiday.”
“Mrs. Blankenship, we’re not dating—”
“You don’t have to be shy about it. The whole town’s rooting for you.” She winks and walks away before I can correct her.
The whole town. That sounds like an exaggeration.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out and see a notification from Sammy.
Convenient.
Sammy
Why are you and my sister the talk of the town?
Lucas
I have no fucking idea.
Sammy
Why would you spend $2,400 on cookies? Had a change of heart?
Lucas
Nope. I did it to piss her off.
Sammy
Enjoy your bad karma.
I want to throw my phone into the wood chipper.
The rest of the afternoon, I hear some version of the Lucas-and-Holiday-are-finally-together story from at least twenty people. The cashier at the gift shop gives me a knowing smile. Customers congratulate me. One guy actually shakes my hand because he’s addicted to her cookies.
Bella corners me by the wrapping station with a grin that makes me want to disappear into the forest and never return. “So, when are you going to make it official?”
“Don’t antagonize me.”
“Don’t do dumb shit,” she tells me. “It’s almost like you like her.”
“Fuck that,” I mutter under my breath as I smile at customers. “I want her gone.”
“I don’t believe you.” She crosses her arms, and luckily, I’m pulled away by Hudson. He doesn’t say shit about it, which I appreciate. Hudson is quiet; he only speaks when he needs to. It’s not an awkward silence, though.
By five o’clock, I’m exhausted. After I finish stacking firewood by the gift shop, my phone rings.
Mawmaw’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey Mawmaw,” I answer.
“Lucas, honey, I need a favor.” My grandmother’s voice is sweet, almost too sweet. “Could you come by after work? I need wood carried inside. Another cold front is coming tonight, and my back’s acting up.”
I glance up at the darkening sky. Temperatures are already dropping. “I can finish up here and then come over if you want.”
“Oh, that would be perfect. About an hour? I’ll have dinner waiting.”
Free dinner and helping my grandmother? Easy choice. Plus, an evening with just me and Mawmaw sounds perfect with no drama.
“I’ll be there.”
“Love you. See you soon.”
The last forty-five minutes drag by. When I finally clock out, the bakery’s dark—Holiday’s car is already gone. I refuse to acknowledge the twist of disappointment in my chest.
I drive past Hudson’s place—his Christmas lights are up, blinking red and white.
When I drive by my own place, it looks dark and empty.
Then I pull up to Mawmaw’s cabin that’s already decked out, too.
Her manger scene is in the front yard, and when I pass baby Jesus, I laugh, seeing it’s still that old Chucky doll I had, wrapped in a blanket.
Her log cabin sits on ten acres at the edge of the farm property. There’s a wraparound porch and flower boxes that bloom year-round, thanks to her borderline magical gardening skills. Smoke curls from the chimney, and every window glows with warmth. This is home.
I grab my leather gloves and take the porch steps. The door swings open before I can knock.
“Come in, come in!” Mawmaw ushers me inside.
The smell hits me first. Chocolate chip cookies. Fresh from the oven.
She’s wearing her favorite apron, which has “Jolly Good Times” embroidered across the front in gold thread.
“Let me check your wood situation,” I say, leaning down to hug her. I head to the living room to assess the woodpile.
It’s already stacked perfectly and recently.
My brows furrow as I walk back to the kitchen. “Mawmaw—”
“Sit. Jake stopped by.”
I hear that familiar tone that makes goose bumps trail over my arm. It’s the same one she used when I was seventeen and tried to sneak out to meet Holiday. The one that means I’m in trouble but don’t know how bad it will be yet.
I do exactly as all five feet, two inches of her says.
Mawmaw places a bowl of chicken and dumplings in front of me. She pulled out the fancy china with the gold rim. She hands me one of her cloth napkins that has lace around the edge. This is the meal she makes when she has bad news or wants something.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath.
“Eat,” she commands, sitting across from me with her own bowl.
The dumplings are perfect. They’re fluffy, savory, and exactly how I remember from my childhood. Nostalgia wraps around me like a warm blanket as dread settles in my stomach.
Mawmaw watches me with those bright green Jolly eyes that miss nothing. The same eyes that always caught me doing stupid shit.
“How’s the farm?” she asks casually.
“Busy. Good numbers this year.”
“Your brothers?”
“Hudson’s obsessed with Emma. Jake’s wedding planning with Claire. Nothing has changed.”
“You have.” She blows on a spoonful of broth.
There’s something in her tone. She knows. She’s heard.
“How?”
She takes her bite, chews slowly. “You’ve been extra grumpy. Short with customers. Walking around like a thundercloud ready to strike. Someone at the quilting club called it big balls syndrome.”
I nearly choke on a dumpling. I’m not sure Mawmaw could do the Heimlich on me.
She takes another bite. “That has nothing to do with Holiday Patterson being back, right?”
My spoon stops halfway to my mouth. “Mawmaw—”
“Don’t you dare Mawmaw me. I’ve known that girl since she was in diapers. Babysat all of you together more times than I can count.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“I know she left for culinary school. I know you’ve been angry at her for a long time.” She sets down her spoon.
“I’m not required to tolerate anyone,” I say. “Ever.”
“People change, Lucas. You both were eighteen.”
I’ve never told anyone the full story. Not even Sammy. “She hasn’t changed. She’s still the selfish, insecure girl she was fifteen years ago.”
“Where are your manners?”
“It’s the truth. I won’t sugarcoat a turd for her or you.” I try to stay calm. “Now, can we pretty please not do this?”
“We can after you answer this one question for me.” She stands, pulls the cookies from the cooling rack, and arranges them on a plate between us. They’re my favorite and she knows it. That only makes me dread what’s coming next.
“The Merryville Christmas cookie contest,” she says. “It doesn’t have a Jolly entry this year.”
“Then you should enter.”
“Can’t. My arthritis is acting up. Can’t roll dough like I used to.”
I grab a cookie and bite into it. It’s still warm. “What about Jake and Claire?”
“They’re too busy with wedding planning.”
“Bella and Wendy?”
“Please, you know those girls can’t cook.” Mawmaw sits back down, folding her hands on the table. “I signed you up.”
The cookie turns to sawdust in my mouth. “Excuse me?”
“You’re entered.”
Anger floods through me. “Mawmaw, I don’t have time. Jake is busy with his wedding, and Hudson is occupied with Emma. It all falls back on me, you know that.”
“I know. Dean and Matteo have agreed to pick up the slack. And this year is partners only.”
No.
“Who did you sign me up with?” I ask, nostrils flaring.
“Well, you see…”
“Mawmaw!”
“You’ll be working with Holiday,” she says, then smiles.
Her name lands like a physical blow.
I stare at her. “You didn’t.”
“I did. Paid the two-hundred-fifty-dollar entry fee this morning. Nonrefundable.”
“From your Christmas fund?”
“Yes. And I’d do it again.” She takes a cookie for herself. “The Jolly family has won that contest for twenty years running. Hudson and Emma won last year. Our family should keep that title.”
“I can’t.”
“Holiday can win.” She waves the cookie dismissively. “She’s the best baker in the state. You’re a Jolly. It’s perfect.”
“We can’t even speak to each other without fighting.”
“Then figure it out.” She’s direct.
“I can’t work with her. I can’t be in the same room as her without wanting to—”
“Without wanting to what?” Her eyes narrow knowingly.
I stand up, the chair scraping against the floor. “This is manipulative.”
“I prefer the term strategic.” She stands, too, and somehow, she seems ten feet tall. “You’re going to partner with Holiday. You’re going to bake delicious cookies. And you’re going to win.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I refuse.”
“Lucas James Jolly.” The full name means I’m definitely in trouble. “I raised you better than to be a quitter.”
“This isn’t about quitting—”
I’m growing more frustrated with every passing second.
“It’s not?” She crosses her arms. “You’ve spent nearly two decades avoiding that girl. Running from whatever happened between you is quitting. It’s time to face it.”
“There’s nothing to face.”
“Then baking a damn cookie should be easy.” She walks to the door and opens it, allowing the cold air to rush in.
“Contest is on December fourteenth. Two weeks after Thanksgiving. You’ll need to practice.
You can’t use the family gingerbread recipe because Hudson and Emma used it last year.
You need something new. Innovative. Delicious.
The competition will be intense. Now, go get ’em, tiger. ”
“Mawmaw. I’m not doing this.”
“You are. Because I said so.” She smiles. It’s sweet and deadly.
“You can’t—”
“I can and I did. Now go home. Get some rest. You look terrible.”
She practically pushes me out the door. I stand on her porch, cookies and dumplings sitting like lead in my stomach.
“Oh, and Lucas?” She opens the door to go back inside.
I turn to look at her.
“The prize is five thousand dollars this year. Holiday can keep the money. You keep the trophy. Everybody wins.”
She closes the door before I can argue.
I walk to my pickup, shocked and ready to crash the fuck out.
After I get in my truck, I sit there gripping the steering wheel. Through Mawmaw’s window, I can see her dancing around the kitchen like she didn’t just detonate my life.
Partnering with Holiday in a high-stakes baking competition sounds awful. No way she’s agreed to it and that’s what I’m holding on to. After what I’ve put her through, she’ll say no.
I smile like the Grinch who just stole Christmas.
Spending hours alone with her is too risky. I won’t be able to hold my tongue. I would make it awful for her because I want her to quit and show everyone, including my grandmother, who she really is.
I pull out my phone to text her—to warn her, to argue, to do something. But I’ve had her number blocked for fifteen years.
I don’t even know what I would say.
Hey, my grandmother signed us up for a couples baking contest. Quit and go away.
I unblock her, knowing she kept the same number she’s always had, then shove my phone into my coat pocket.
This is a nightmare, and I have no idea how to wake up from it.
I live a few minutes away from Mawmaw, so my drive home is short. I try very hard not to think about Holiday’s face when she finds out. There is no way I will be forced to stand in the same kitchen with her. No way I’d survive this without completely losing my mind.
The answer is no. But I’ll make her quit first, showing everyone she can’t commit to anything.