Chapter 13
HOLIDAY
My phone won’t stop buzzing.
I crack one eye open and see seventeen missed calls from my big sister Tricia.
She runs a taco truck with her best friend in downtown Merryville and works seventy-hour weeks to support herself and Bethany after her divorce last year.
We’ve barely talked in the past three weeks, even though we live seven minutes away from one another.
I guess that’s the reality of being an adult these days.
Between her food truck hours and my bakery schedule, we’ve been like ships passing in the night, exchanging quick texts about Bethany’s work schedule and not much of anything else.
I’ve had nothing exciting to share, and I refuse to complain about my life when she’s been through so much.
Instead of dragging each other down, we just don’t.
Before I can text her, she’s FaceTiming me.
“Have you seen it?” she says in a whisper, her blue eyes soft. Her face is too close to the camera, and she looks exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes that match mine.
I sit up and turn on the bedside lamp, seeing it’s just after four. I look like a hot fucking mess and try to smooth my hair down. “Seen what?”
“The Instagram post. People magazine. You’re trending, Holiday. Like, actually trending. I should warn you, though. You’re not going to like why.”
My stomach drops as she flips the camera to show me her laptop screen. There’s a photo of Dominic from Wednesday night’s cookie contest meeting, looking polished and perfect in his expensive sweater, wearing a million-dollar smile.
The headline reads:
Michelin-Starred Chef Dominic Laurent to Judge Small-Town Baking Contest Where His Ex-fiancée is Competing. Is This a Second Chance at Love?
“I have to go.” I hang up before she can ask me any questions.
It’s too early for this.
My hands shake as I google my name. Seventeen articles pop up: TMZ, Food & Wine, and Bon Appétit. Basically, every food publication I’ve ever dreamed of being featured in, and they’re writing about my failed engagement instead of my incredible holiday baking skills.
My brows furrow. “Fuck him. He did this on purpose.”
I’m sure this was part of his sabotage plan.
The headlines eventually blur together into keywords—celebrity chef, small-town baker, second chances, holiday romance. They’ve turned my life into a Hallmark movie plot. Ugh!
I cannot be the main character in that type of scenario. I nearly burst into tears thinking about this, because it’s a living nightmare.
How!? How did I end up here, and I’m still somehow running from this man?
Dominic did tell me he’d never let me go.
I shudder thinking about that night when he was so upset.
He tossed a crystal wineglass against the wall because he was so frustrated that I wanted to see my family for the holidays last year.
I ended up canceling my trip. That was the second time I stayed when I knew I needed to end it.
The third time, well, I’m currently living it.
My phone explodes with notifications. My Instagram followers jump by thousands each time I refresh.
There are hundreds of comments on posts of Dominic and me from three years ago that I’d forgotten existed.
There are DMs from people I haven’t spoken to since culinary school, asking if Dominic really wants me back.
Of course he does.
He’s always needed me, but what we had wasn’t love. It was convenience, a business decision that came with sexual favors and fancy dinners. We looked great together, seemed to work together flawlessly, but it was all a lie. Isolation will do that to a person.
When I see a text from an unknown number, my heart races.
Unknown
Holiday, I’m so sorry for how things ended between us. I miss you terribly. I made mistakes, but I’ve changed. I hope we can talk when I arrive. I want to make things right. You deserve that. We deserve that.
I stare at the words until they blur, then I program the stupid ass’s name into my phone. Dominic.
The old Holiday, the one who spent years in Paris trying to be perfect enough for him, would have read this and run back. I would’ve believed him when he said he changed. But I’m not that Holiday anymore.
Once my blinders were off, I couldn’t unsee the ugly, competitive, toxic person he was. Dominic wanted to dull my shine so I would never be his competition. He saw in me what I didn’t see in myself and wanted to make sure I never recognized my talent.
When I overheard him speak about my pastries like they were his masterpieces, I woke up. I refused to die in his shadow as he took the credit and kept the crown. He’s not creative, he’s conniving. Stupid me almost married him.
There are a million things I want to say to Dominic, but instead, I block the number. Somehow, I force myself out of bed, more pissed off at the world than I should be for how early it is. He’d barely crossed my mind until now.
Merryville is my sanctuary, my home, the one place where I know exactly who I am. My hometown is a place where Dominic can never erase me. My talent speaks for itself. No one here gives a fuck about him. Not even me.
I shower, throw on jeans and a candy cane sweatshirt, then grab my sparkly green gloves, hoping they’ll brighten my mood. It’s the small things in life.
Bella and Wendy are already waiting by the bakery door when I arrive. Their expressions are neutral, and they treat me like I’m an if-you-break-it-you-buy-it vase in an antique store.
“We saw the articles,” Bella blurts. I knew she’d spit it out before I unlocked the door because she can’t help herself. She was like that when I’d babysit her. Bella would literally tell on herself before I found out she and Wendy did something they shouldn’t have.
“I expected as much.” I unlock the door and gently push it open for them. “Nothing I can do about it. There will always be rumors about me,” I say, remembering what Lucas said.
He was right.
I can do hard things.
Dominic may have smeared my name and spread rumors about me to our colleagues, but knowing he never loved me somehow hurt worse. I was both the beauty and the brains in his bakery. He just had balls in a business where men and money still rule.
“What someone thinks about you isn’t your problem. It’s theirs,” Bella says with a shrug.
“You’re right.”
The three of us fall into our routine, and I lose myself in the familiar rhythm that comes with baking.
My hands know what to do even when my mind is playing Dominic’s text on repeat, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do when he shows up next week.
He’s charming when he wants to be and he’s gorgeous.
I turn the holiday music up to drown it all out.
Bella eventually clears her throat. “When are you baking with Lucas again?”
I think about tonight and keep a straight face, not wanting to show any excitement.
Wendy gasps. “Did you just almost smile about that?”
Guess I failed.
The two girls scream and jump around.
“You two better stop!” I warn, throwing a wad of dough at them.
Bella catches it, then takes a bite.
“Oh my. Do not eat raw dough. Seriously.” I point my finger at her like she’s six years old again with dog food in her mouth.
Her eyes go wide as she playfully grins.
“It’s not always the raw eggs you have to worry about, but the flour. I’ll spare you the details, but unless you want the possibility of getting E. coli or salmonella, don’t swallow.”
Bella spits wet dough onto the floor, then washes her mouth out in the handwashing sink. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that before I took this job? Do you have any idea how much raw cookie dough I’ve consumed in the past week alone?”
“You’re lucky,” I tell her, happy for a conversation change. “Need to make you a shirt that says, ‘Risking It All for Raw Cookie Dough.’”
She bursts into laughter. “For real.”
As soon as we unlock the door, we’re thrown into a rush. But every customer has the same curious look when their eyes meet mine. It’s different from before. I glance out the window and see the line is winding down the sidewalk, but I don’t know how far back it goes.
I swallow hard.
“Take this, Bella,” I say, handing her the tongs in my hand, along with a box.
I move outside, and my eyes widen. There are at least one hundred people waiting for my cookies. When the crowd cheers for me like I’m some sort of celebrity, my face goes bright red.
Word quickly spread around town, and I’d bet anything people came here for a glimpse of the drama. But I smile, knowing every single person in this line will fall in love with my desserts.
I walk inside, knowing I won’t have enough cookies for everyone unless I start a buying limit.
This isn’t something I’d planned to do until next month.
But at the speed and quantities Bella is boxing dozens, there is no way we’ll make it through half the waiting customers.
I do some quick math and shove my shaky hands into my pockets, coming up with a solution.
I smile, knowing it’s my decision. One I get to make without permission from anyone.
“Hi! Good morning, everyone. Due to the overwhelming number of customers outside, I’m going to limit sales to one dozen max,” I announce.
Suddenly, a guy in line loses his entire shit. “What the fuck? That’s not fair! We’ve been waiting in line since seven!”
I move from behind the counter, closer to him, so I won’t have to raise my voice. “Sir, I know you’re really upset, and I will happily let—”
“Upset? Upset!? You have no fuck—”
Moments later, the man is being dragged out by the back of his shirt, and that’s when I see Lucas. Customers move out of the way, allowing him access to the door. I steal glances out the window.
Lucas places his hand on the guy’s shoulder and keeps his voice low and controlled. Lucas says something, then points to the Jolly that’s embroidered into his jacket. A moment later, Lucas nods toward the exit, and I know he’s kicking him off the farm.