Chapter 13 #2
Lucas returns and I stare at him. Dominic never took up for me when I was being yelled at. He let me be his scapegoat for irate customers.
“Now, does anyone else want to be rude? It’s the ho-ho-holidays.
We can do better than that guy. I won’t tolerate disrespectful behavior anywhere on the farm.
Understood?” He looks around the room, giving them a cheeky smile.
It’s boyish, cute, and kind. And real. I see his dimple.
Then his eyes land on mine and time freezes. “Have a good day.”
“You too.” My voice cracks, and I’m in shock. I swallow hard. When Lucas leaves, it’s dead quiet inside the bakery, and I can feel the vibe is off.
“I’m so sorry that happened, everyone. If anyone else is especially upset, please let me know.
I’ll happily let everyone inside this building who can hear my voice get more than one dozen just because.
I’m not prepared for the line today, which is my fault.
Tomorrow, I’ll give each of you a free dozen if you come back. ”
“Deal!” someone screams from the doorway, and another person laughs.
“We’re patient. We’d rather have a dozen cookies than none,” another woman tells me. “We heard your cookies were better than anything in the fancy bakery you worked at in Paris.”
“You did?” I ask. “Who said that?”
“Someone outside.” They shrug.
Like that narrows it down.
“Wow. Well, thank you all so much for understanding. Seriously, thank you,” I say. “Give everyone half off, up to and including the lady in the red sweater,” I tell Wendy, loud enough for them all to hear.
Bella and Wendy look at me with heart emojis in their eyes.
“Lucas to the rescue. That was interesting,” Bella whispers.
“So broody,” Wendy adds, waggling her brows.
“Hush,” I say with a laugh, but they’re right. It was hot. I have to admit that.
Between customers, I keep catching glimpses of Lucas through the bakery windows. At one point, he’s loading trees onto a minivan and lifts one of those massive trees like it weighs absolutely nothing. Every single time I glance up, he’s already looking at me and shaking his head.
I can’t do this with him.
Not with Dominic coming to town.
Not with how things have gone so far.
Lucas has boundaries, and I can’t plow over them. Even if I want to.
We sell out by twelve o’clock, which is a massive problem because I’m going to have to somehow triple production or start baking throughout the day.
We had over two hundred customers and still had to send more than one hundred away.
They were blocking the sidewalk, and eventually Lucas had to move the line.
My back aches, my feet throb, and I smell like I bathed in butter and sugar.
We prep as much as we can for the next few days until we have no more room in the fridges. I send Emma a quick text.
I snap a picture of all the prep we did for tomorrow, and every rack is full in the industrial-sized refrigerators we have now.
Holiday
We sold 3000 cookies in three hours with a limit of one dozen per customer. The line was wrapped around the block.
Emma
Is this the sensation you were talking about?
Holiday
This is just the beginning.
Emma
The magic of Merryville! Thank you so much. You should be proud. Like I said before, you’re a pastry godsend.
Holiday
You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.
It’s not a lie. I’ve worked for some shitty bakery owners.
Emma
You’re the boss here. I’m along for the ride with you. Without your help, they’d have gotten gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies every day.
Holiday
I’m just living my dream. Working in a cookie shop at one of the happiest places on earth. I feel lucky.
Emma
I do too. Thank you for everything.
Holiday
How are you feeling?
Emma
Spoiled.
Hudson is such a good guy. Honestly, all the Jolly men are perfect gentlemen and love their women fiercely.
I drive home and shower until the water runs cold. I get dressed in black leggings and a hoodie, leaving my hair in a messy bun. I don’t look like I’m trying to impress him, which is great. That’s the very last thing I want Lucas to think.
The drive to his house feels both too long and too short. The sun has already set when I pull up next to his truck in the driveway. Smoke curls from the chimney, and every window glows warm.
I force myself out of the car and tuck my hands inside my pockets as I walk toward his house. The porch steps creak under my weight, and as I’m raising my hand to knock, the door swings open.
Lucas stands there with jeans low on his hips, and he has on a dark gray T-shirt that looks like it wants to be ripped straight off him. His eyes look impossibly bright tonight. His dark hair is messy and damp. He showered for me.
“You’re actually on time,” he says sarcastically, in mock surprise.
“Don’t get used to it ever happening again. Next time, I’m going to purposely be an hour late.”
“Pfft. Your obsessive need to be on time won’t ever fucking allow it. Even after all this time. Guess some things don’t change, do they?” The corner of his mouth twitches as he steps aside. I notice how his eyes trail up to my hair as I walk past him.
A buttery garlic aroma makes my mouth water as I enter.
“What is that amazing smell?” I ask.
He closes the door. “Our dinner.”
“Our?”
“We have to eat something, don’t we? Might as well do that before we bake,” he says as I move into the kitchen. “Unless you already ate.”
“I haven’t,” I mutter, noticing the wineglasses on the counter. One already has dark liquid in it. Lucas moves to the stove and stirs something.
“You cooked for me?” I ask, truly honored.
“Don’t sound so shocked about it.”
I pour a glass, spinning it around and taking a sip. The flavor touches my palate, and Lucas pulls two plates from the cabinet. I take in the small details of the house that I overlooked before, like the seat in the window that overlooks the woods. It’s a perfect reading nook.
He built everything the way we’d talked about.
I move farther into the kitchen as he plates our food.
“Lucas,” I say, but my voice comes out strangled.
“Relax. It’s just dinner.” But he won’t meet my eyes.
“Yeah? Who else have you cooked dinner for here?” I ask, lifting the glass to my lips and taking two big gulps.
He sets both plates at the breakfast nook. “Just you.”
I force myself to look away from him as he sits in front of me, and I slide onto the stool. “Chicken piccata with roasted veggies.”
“Yeah, like I said, this girl I used to be friends with taught me some things.”
I laugh. “The one who disappeared?”
“Yeah,” he says, handing me a fork and napkin. “But I think she might come back.”
“Really? Should I be worried?”
He smirks. “Probably. She had a thing for me. Rumor has it she still does.”
My cheeks heat, and I know my face is red as I cut into the chicken. No way I can respond to that, but luckily, the first bite is perfect. It’s tender, lemony, and buttery, exactly how we’d practiced.
“Wow,” I say. “That girl must’ve been one hell of a cook.”
“Still is.” He’s watching me.
I can’t help but smile. “We made this so long ago.”
“I memorized every recipe we made by heart,” he says, and heat rushes through me.
The intensity of his stare is impossible to avoid.
“Figured you deserved something better than frozen pizza or grilled cheese,” he says.
I snort. “Guess I really haven’t changed that much.”
“About today.” His jaw tightens. “Sorry I stepped in like that. I know you had it under control, but I lost my shit seeing him hollering at you.”
“Thank you for caring.” I take a sip of wine. “Where’d you even come from? One second, he was yelling, and the next, you were basically throwing him outside.”
“I did not throw him. I pulled him. Nobody talks to you like that. Ever. I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. It’s about respect.” He says it like it’s a cardinal rule.
Heat creeps up my neck. “You didn’t have to defend me.”
“I don’t have to do a lot of things.” His eyes meet mine. “I choose to. But isn’t that what life is all about? Choices?”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I say.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are forks scraping against glass plates and the fire crackling in the other room. I’m hyperaware of how shallow his breaths are and how his tattoos creep up his arms. I also notice how his eyes soften at the edges when he looks at me.
“Thank you for this,” I say as we finish eating. “I don’t remember the last time a man cooked for me.”
“That’s sad as fuck, Holiday.” He stands and takes our empty plates to the sink.
“I know,” I tell him.
“This is the bare minimum that friends do for one another. You deserve better than that bullshit. Okay?”
I nod. “I don’t know what I deserve anymore.”
“You deserve to be happy,” he simply says.
“Not sure I know what that is, either.” I laugh sarcastically.
“You will,” he says. “Ready to bake?”
“Yes, drill sergeant,” I say, breathing out of my nose as he quickly cleans up after dinner.
“I’ll pull the ingredients,” I tell him.
“Go for it. Everything is in the pantry or fridge.” He tilts his chin toward the door.
I place my hands on my hips, doing a quick scan of what I’ve pulled.
“Let’s make some magic,” he says, shooting me a wink.
My heart palpitates.
And for the first time since I returned home, I actually believe we can.