Chapter 7
Mia
“You made it!” Ella appears from behind the counter, her red hair tucked under a bandana, flour already dusting her apron. She looks genuinely surprised to see me. “I wasn’t sure if any of you would actually show up this early.”
“I’m questioning that decision myself,” I admit, unwinding my scarf. The bakery is toasty warm compared to the frigid morning air outside. “But I promised Nora, and I don’t break promises to eight-year-olds. That’s how supervillains are created.”
Ella laughs, gesturing toward the back of the shop where tables have been pushed together and covered with plastic sheeting.
“We’re setting up in there. Helen has already started mixing the gingerbread dough.
It’s going to take dozens of batches. Where is everyone else?
” she asks, as I follow her through the bakery.
The place is empty of customers, with a “Closed for Special Project” sign hanging on the front door.
“Funny story,” I explain. “I woke up this morning thinking they all left without me. Didn’t realize it until they called and asked me where I was going.”
She laughs. “That’s hilarious.”
Smiling, I nod, then ask, “Where is Nora?”
“She’s in the back with Frank. He’s showing her the blueprints. Come on.”
∞∞∞
The back room of the bakery has been transformed into what looks like a construction zone meets Santa’s workshop.
Large wooden frames lean against the walls—house-shaped structures waiting for their gingerbread covering.
A mountain of candy sits in containers on one table, while another is covered with mixing bowls, rolling pins, and industrial-sized bags of flour and sugar.
“Aunt Mia!” Nora spots me from where she’s perched on a stool, studying what appears to be architectural drawings with a balding man in his fifties. She hops down and races over, crashing into me with a hug that nearly knocks me backward. “You came! We’re building a whole village! With a train!”
“So I see,” I laugh, steadying myself. “It looks like quite the operation.”
“It’s going to be epic,” Nora declares with absolute certainty. “Mr. Frank says I can be in charge of the candy placement.”
The man—Frank, I presume—approaches with an outstretched hand.
“You must be one of Ella’s sisters,” he leans close and whispers, “Helen told me, so keep that on the down low. Anyway, I’m Frank Henderson, owner of this establishment and mastermind behind what will soon be the most spectacular gingerbread display in Pinecrest history. ”
I smile at his enthusiasm. “No, I’m her sister-in-law, Mia O'Brien,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Bakery enthusiast and amateur gingerbread architect.”
“Perfect!” Frank claps his hands together. “We need all the help we can get. This year, we’re finally going to dethrone Maggie’s Diner as the Winter Wonderland champion.”
“Maggie’s has won three years in a row,” Nora informs me gravely. “Their Santa’s workshop is pretty cool, but our gingerbread village will be way better.”
“Darn right it will,” Frank agrees. “Especially with Ella’s artistic touch. Have you seen what she can do with royal icing? It’s practically witchcraft.”
Ella blushes slightly. “It’s just practice. I used to decorate cakes back in—” She stops herself, then continues smoothly, “—back before Nora was born.”
I catch the slip, filing it away with the growing list of things Ella carefully doesn’t say about her past. For someone who claims to have been hiding in Canada for eight years, she has an awful lot of experience with European baking techniques.
“Well, put me to work,” I say, rolling up my sleeves. “What can I do to help defeat the evil Maggie’s Diner empire?”
Frank hands me an apron. “We need to start rolling out the dough as soon as Helen has the first batch ready. The pieces need to be precise—we’re working from templates.”
“I can handle precision,” I assure him, tying the apron around my waist. “I once assembled an entire IKEA bedroom set without losing a single screw.”
“That’s genuinely impressive,” Ella says, looking at me with new respect.
The bell over the front door jingles, followed by what sounds like a small herd stampeding through the bakery. Moments later, Kat appears in the doorway, followed by Wren, Kori, and Lana.
“The cavalry has arrived!” Kat announces, dramatically flinging her arms wide. She’s wearing what appears to be a Christmas sweater with actual working lights sewn into it. “Point us to the gingerbread, captain!”
Frank looks momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden invasion of MacGallans, but recovers quickly. “Welcome, welcome! The more hands, the better. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
“I brought reinforcements,” Kat continues, stepping aside to reveal Kane slouching behind her. “He claims he was just dropping us off, but I think he secretly wants to play with gingerbread.”
Kane rolls his eyes. “I was promised coffee and cinnamon rolls. The gingerbread is purely incidental.”
Ella’s face brightens at the sight of him. “Coffee, we can definitely provide. Frank makes the best in town.”
“High praise from a woman who normally subsists on tea,” Frank chuckles, already heading toward the espresso machine. “Coming right up!”
Within minutes, the bakery transforms from a peaceful workspace to a chaotic family project. Helen emerges from the kitchen with the first massive batch of gingerbread dough, her face flushed from the heat of the ovens. “First round’s ready! Who’s good with a rolling pin?”
“I’ve been told I have excellent rolling technique,” Kat volunteers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Ignore her,” Wren advises, accepting a rolling pin from Helen. “She’s physically incapable of not turning everything into an innuendo.”
“It’s my spiritual gift,” Kat agrees cheerfully, claiming her own section of dough.
I find myself at a table with Nora, rolling out dough to a precise quarter-inch thickness while she carefully places the paper templates on top. Her little face is scrunched in concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth as she works.
“You’re really good at this,” I tell her, watching as she expertly traces around the template with a pastry wheel.
“Mom and I make gingerbread houses every Christmas,” she explains, not looking up from her task. “But they’re usually small. This one’s going to be big enough for me to stand inside!”
“That’s the goal,” Frank confirms, passing by with a tray of coffee mugs. “Life-sized, structurally sound, and delicious-looking, if not actually edible.”
“Speaking of delicious,” Kane says, appearing at my elbow with a plate of cinnamon rolls, “anyone hungry?”
“Yes, please!” Nora abandons her pastry wheel to grab a roll, her fingers already sticky with dough.
“Wash first, then eat,” Ella reminds her, pointing toward the sink.
I accept a cinnamon roll from Kane, taking a bite and immediately closing my eyes in bliss. “Oh my god, this is amazing. Like, illegally good.”
“Frank’s secret recipe,” Ella explains, accepting her own roll. “He won’t even share it with the staff.”
“A baker must have some mysteries,” Frank says with a wink. “Keeps people coming back.”
The morning passes in a blur of rolling, cutting, baking, and more rolling. The scent of gingerbread permeates everything, and I find myself humming Christmas carols under my breath as I work. It’s oddly therapeutic, this methodical process of creating something together.
By noon, the first batch of gingerbread panels has been baked and cooled, ready for assembly. Frank’s carpenter friend—a burly man named Cole with impressive forearms—arrives to help attach the gingerbread to the wooden frames.
“Now comes the fun part,” Helen announces, producing what looks like industrial-sized piping bags filled with royal icing. “Decoration station is open!”
Nora practically vibrates with excitement, abandoning her rolling duties to race toward the candy table. “Can I start with the train station? Please?”
“Hold your horses, little bit,” Frank laughs. “We need to get the structures assembled first. Then you can go wild with the gumdrop shingles.”
As Cole and Frank begin the delicate process of attaching the first gingerbread panels to the wooden house frame, I find myself beside Ella at the sink, washing rolling pins and cookie cutters.
“This is quite the production,” I observe, nodding toward where Kat is now attempting to balance a peppermint stick on her upper lip while Nora giggles uncontrollably. “Do you do this every year?”
Ella shakes her head, a soft smile playing at her lips as she watches the scene. “Not like this. Usually, it’s just a window display of traditional houses. But Frank’s determined to win this year.”
“What’s the prize anyway? Besides bragging rights?”
“Feature in the tourism brochure, a trophy that looks suspiciously like something from a bowling alley with a Christmas tree glued on top, and a hundred-dollar gift card to the hardware store,” Ella lists. “It’s more about the honor than the actual prizes.”
“Small towns,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I love how seriously everyone takes this stuff.”
“It’s nice, though,” Ella says quietly. “The way everyone comes together. The whole town gets involved—schools, businesses, families. For a few weeks, it’s like everyone’s working toward this common goal of making the place magical.”
There’s something wistful in her voice that catches my attention. “You didn’t have that growing up?”
She tenses slightly, then relaxes with a forced casualness. “Not really. We moved around a lot. Never stayed in one place long enough to feel part of a community.”
Another piece of the Ella puzzle slides into place. I wonder how much of her childhood was spent on the run, hiding from the same dangers that eventually brought her to this remote mountain hideaway.
“Well, you’re part of this community now,” I say lightly, bumping her shoulder with mine. “Gingerbread construction crew and all.”
Her smile turns genuine. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
A commotion from the front of the bakery draws our attention—raised voices, followed by the bell over the door jingling violently. Ella’s head snaps up, her body instantly alert, as of a deer sensing danger.
“What was that?” she asks, already moving toward the front, her wet hands leaving damp prints on her apron.
I follow, curiosity mixing with a vague sense of unease. The front of the bakery is empty except for Helen, who stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at the door.
“What happened?” Ella asks, her voice tight.
“Just some kids trying to get in,” Helen huffs, adjusting her hairnet with irritation.
“Rattling the door and pressing their faces against the glass even though the ‘Closed’ sign is clearly visible. I shooed them away.” She shakes her head in exasperation.
“Parents these days don’t teach respect for business hours. ”
I feel Ella’s body relax beside me, the tension draining from her shoulders. “Just kids,” she repeats, her voice returning to normal. “I thought maybe it was—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
“Hooligans are what they are,” Helen continues, bustling back toward the kitchen. “Now come on, we’ve got a village to build. Frank already started assembling the first house.”
I linger for a moment, watching as Ella takes a deep breath before following Helen. The fear in her eyes when she heard the commotion wasn’t normal—it was the look of someone expecting the worst. Someone who’s spent years looking over her shoulder.
I glance out the front window at the empty street, wondering what—or who—she thought might be at the door. The Russian ex? Someone else entirely? She has secrets that's for sure.
With one last look at the quiet street, I turn and head back to join the others. The gingerbread village awaits, and for now at least, we’re all safe inside its sugary walls.