Chapter 15
HOLIDAY
By one o’clock, we sold four thousand cookies. It’s impossible to bake more than that with the equipment, employees, and space I have. I knew I’d hit this number eventually, but I thought it would be in mid-December when the holiday rush peaked. Not before Thanksgiving.
I stand in the middle of the bakery and let it sink in that I underestimated myself. Again. Somehow, I planned for less, expected less, because some part of me still believes I’m not good enough.
Dominic’s voice echoes in my head. You were nothing before me. You needed me.
I shake it off and turn to my staff. Bella and Wendy are both dead on their feet, and Bethany looks ready to collapse. Last night, I slept like a baby and actually feel rested today.
“Okay,” I announce, clapping my hands together. “You three are done for the day.”
Bella looks up from wiping down the counter, flour dusted in her dark hair. “But we still need to prep for tomorrow.”
“I’ve actually got it covered.”
“You can’t do it alone. It’s going to take hours,” Wendy says.
“I won’t be alone,” I say, moving to the kitchen.
The three of them freeze and glare at me.
“You have help?” Wendy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who?”
“Tell us!” Bella moves closer, eyes narrowed.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes!” all three of them say together.
I sigh and untie my apron. “Lucas.”
They scream with excitement.
“I knew it!” Bethany shouts, jumping up and down and nearly knocking over the decorations on the counter.
“You’re baking together again!” Bella clutches her chest like she might faint.
Bethany grins. “Aunt Holiday, that’s so romantic.”
“It’s not romantic. He offered to help so we could get used to working together for the contest. That’s it. Now, time for y’all to go home before I change my mind.” I shoo them toward the door.
“But we want to see—” Bella starts.
“Out. Now.”
They gather their things, but they’re giddy. Bethany hugs me. Bella and Wendy are already whispering and giggling as they head across the parking lot toward the gift shop.
I look around, taking in the bakery. The Christmas lights strung along the exposed beams are twinkling in the afternoon sun, and the massive tree in the corner that Hudson and Emma decorated with Colby catches the light and sparkles with silver and gold ornaments.
When I think about Lucas, my stomach does a nervous flip that I refuse to acknowledge. I redo my ponytail, pulling it high and tight, then immediately let it down. I go with a low messy bun that’s effortless as I clean until the bakery is spotless.
Five minutes before three, I hear the low rumble of an engine that makes my pulse kick up. I hate myself a little for it.
Lucas is tolerating me because he has to. We’re two people making cookie dough together. That’s it.
I glance out the window, watching him. He’s in his jeans, wearing layers, with a scarf wrapped around his neck. The black beanie does something to me.
Lucas tries the door, but it’s locked. I rush to open the door, and when he steps inside, I can smell his cologne. Cold November air rushes in with him. When I look up into his green eyes, my stomach flips with anticipation.
“Hi.” His voice is rough.
“Hey. You’re on time.”
“Thought I’d spare you today,” he says, locking the door behind him.
As we’re standing beside one another, the bakery feels like it shrinks in size. It grows more intimate as Bing Crosby croons “White Christmas.”
The afternoon light streams through the windows, giving everything a golden glow.
“You’ve got pine needles stuck to you,” I say, plucking them off his shoulder.
He removes his beanie and runs his hand through his dark hair.
“This is really awkward,” I tell him, moving back to the prep area.
“Yeah,” he agrees, shrugging off his jacket and scarf. He hangs everything on the coat rack by the door. “How do we get past that?”
I shrug. “Have sex?”
His jaw clenches. “Not happening.”
“I was joking!” I tell him.
“Right,” he says. “You can’t handle this, HoHo.”
I scoff, but as my eyes slide over him, I think he might be right.
“Anyway. Guess we should get started?”
He smirks, like he can read my mind. “Let’s.”
He pushes off the counter and moves to the sink to wash his hands.
After he dries them, he stands beside me. Having him so close is making me hella nervous. I take a step away from him. “This is my personal bubble.”
“Wait a damn minute.” Lucas gives me a smirk, and I glance away from him. “Am I getting to you?”
“Absolutely not.” I set our ingredients out as “The Christmas Song” plays.
He returns to my space. “You’re lying. Wow, Holiday. After all this time, I’m still front and center in your fantasies.”
“You wish,” I whisper.
A playful laugh releases from him. “If it’s not true, deny it.”
I turn to him, getting ready to rip him a new one.
But he’s smiling like he’s the Grinch who stole Christmas. Lucas leans in and whispers, his hot breath on my ear. “I’m not going to fuck you, HoHo. So get those thoughts out of your dirty mind.”
Heat creeps up my neck as he pulls away.
We work in comfortable silence, and he wears a cocky smirk the whole time. The afternoon light shifts lower, making the Christmas lights overhead seem brighter.
“You still do that,” Lucas says without looking up from adding eggs to the mixer.
“Do what?”
“Hum when you bake,” he says.
I stop mid-scoop, not realizing I was doing it. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything about you. All your little quirks and habits,” he says nonchalantly, like we’re talking about the weather.
The words shouldn’t make my heart race, but they do.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I tell him.
“I won’t keep shit to myself to make you comfortable anymore. It got me nowhere before.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I focus on measuring vanilla extract just to have something to do with my hands.
We move around each other like a dance we both still remember the steps to.
Every time our hands brush, reaching for the same bowl, every time he leans in close to check my measurements, I feel it.
That pull. That heat. The thing that never really went away, no matter how many years or miles were between us.
“So,” he says as we start on the chocolate chip dough. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Dinner at Mawmaw’s while your entire family stares at us? Absolutely not.”
“It won’t be that bad.” He adds chocolate chips to the mixer. “The food will be good and Mawmaw will love the cookie bars.”
“I’ve been thinking about a name for them,” I admit.
“Yeah?”
“The One,” I mutter. “I think it’s fitting. And it’s something people search their whole lives to find.”
“The One,” he whispers. “I like it.”
We start making snickerdoodle and sugar cookie dough.
As I’m measuring cinnamon, Lucas reaches up to grab a sheet pan from the top shelf above me. He could’ve asked me to move, should’ve asked me to move. Instead, he steps up behind me and reaches over my head. His chest presses against my back as one hand steadies himself on my hip.
I can feel the heat radiating off him as his warm breath brushes against my neck. Every place our bodies touch is on fire, like he’s branding me with the mark of him.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, you’re not.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
“You’re right. I’m not.” He doesn’t step back right away. His hand is still resting on my hip. His thumb brushes against the strip of skin where my thermal has ridden up. That one touch sends sparks straight through my entire body.
I turn to face him, studying his intense green eyes, wishing I knew what was sprinting through his mind. His lips are parted like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes.
We don’t talk about those charged moments after they happen.
We both go back to work pretending like it’s nothing, but my hands are shaking with nerves as I portion out the last batch of dough.
I notice he seems distracted, too.
By the time we finish, the fridge is packed. I feel good about tomorrow, and with Lucas’s help, we’re set up for success.
“I think that’s everything.” I double-check my list. “We make a good team.”
“Yeah.” He licks his lips as he stares at my mouth. “We do.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“Stop what?” he asks.
“Looking at me like that,” I say.
“The way I always look at you? Come on, Holiday.”
I start to wipe down the counter, but he takes the towel from my hands.
“Sit.”
The commanding tone does something to my insides, but I do exactly what he says. Lucas cleans the bakery, wiping surfaces, washing dishes, even straightening the Christmas garland that’s been crooked all day.
When he’s done, he flicks off the overhead lights, leaving nothing but the Christmas ones lit.
He grabs his jacket. “Don’t forget about dinner at five. I’ll pick you up.”
“I can drive myself.”
“I’ll be there at four thirty.” He pulls on his jacket and puts his scarf on. “Wear something comfortable. Mawmaw cranks the heat up like she’s trying to recreate the surface of the sun.”
I laugh. “Still?”
“Yep.” He walks to the door and pauses with his hand on the handle. “Thanks for this.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s what partners are for, right?”
He steps out into the cold, and I watch him walk to his truck. Before he gets inside, he looks back at me, watching him. I see a small smile play on his lips, and that shouldn’t please me as much as it does.
I lock up, then head to my car with my mind racing. I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me tonight or how his hand naturally rested on my hip.
I like having Lucas around. He makes me feel capable and strong. But I have to stop reacting to his voice, his touch, and his presence.
Honestly, I thought this crush of mine would’ve faded. Guess not.
And in seven days, Dominic is going to show up and try to take all of this away from me. He’ll try to make me doubt myself, doubt Lucas, and everything in between.
But as I drive home, Lucas’s words echo in my head—I notice everything about you.
For a brief moment, I let myself believe things will work out and that maybe I’m strong enough to handle whatever comes next. Even if this is the calm before the storm.