Little Stocking Elf (DKAG Christmas Daddies Season Two)
Chapter 1
COREY
I wasn’t exactly sure what possessed me to bake cookies at midnight, less than a day after arriving in a strange city, but there I was, hunched over a mixing bowl and watching flour spiral in the air above it.
My entire body ached from the last twelve hours of humping boxes up three flights of stairs in my elevator-free building.
My new landlord tried to call it “eco” and “green” by not wasting fossil fuels.
But it was just an old building, and he was clearly too cheap to upgrade.
That would have probably deterred a normal person, but I loved a challenge.
And being forced to get some steps in every day wasn’t so bad.
With all the baking I planned to do, I’d need a way not only to stave off extra weight but burn off the slight pudge already growing around my waist.
There were better ways to earn a living, but baking was what I loved. Truly loved.
And since this apartment had a kitchen that was perfect for what I needed, I had to have it, with or without an elevator.
The new double oven glowed orange-gold like a campfire waiting for some marshmallows on sticks, but really, it was just about finished with the last batch of peppermint bars when I heard it. The same strange noise I’d heard the night before in the middle of the night.
It was probably a fan or wine fridge kicking on at odd hours, but once I heard that hum, curiosity got the better of me, and I had to investigate.
It sounded like it was coming from the apartment next door.
I’d only caught a quick glimpse of the man who lived there, but I didn’t know anything about him.
Even with my ear pressed against the wall, I couldn’t hear anything.
And it was only on for about ten minutes before it turned off again.
Strange.
But as I had to remind myself on a daily basis, it wasn’t my business. Whatever people did at midnight in their own homes with the help of electrical devices was their prerogative. And whatever dirty fantasies my mind conjured up about the man and his electrical devices was my prerogative too.
I was covered in flour that clung to my forearms and neck, which was the perfect time to film a short for my baking YouTube channel. Old me would have showered and changed and charged up the ring light to get the perfect look. New me didn’t have time for that noise.
Instead, I leaned my phone against a bunch of bananas and hit the record button. It wasn’t fancy or curated or aesthetically pleasing in the least, but it was real.
And after living for other people and worrying about what “they” thought about me, I was ready to just be me. The real me.
Corey. A baking entrepreneur with influencer aspirations and secret Little tendencies who just wanted to find my place.
This apartment may or may not be it, but at least I was doing the damn thing and getting the online cookie shop I’d been dreaming of off the ground.
Or into the cloud. I wasn’t the most techy person, so I didn’t know the backend part of it.
What I did know was that when I posted in my socials that I had an opening for two custom orders, I usually got three or four new orders that same day.
So as long as I didn’t poison anyone or completely screw up, success was mine to lose.
When the timer on my oven dinged, I pulled out my peppermint bars and turned off the oven for the night.
My bed was calling to me, despite having mismatched sheets on it because the top sheets somehow ended up in a box at the bottom of a stack and needed a few more days to be rescued, so I started cleaning up the kitchen.
The calendar hanging from the wall when I moved in had a big X on tomorrow’s date.
December 8th. It was a little ominous to know something X-worthy was planned by the previous tenant for that date, but it gave me the incentive I needed to do something X-worthy of my own.
And that was to start my cookie business for real.
Frost and Found was my second chance at a lot of things, but mostly it was my first and best chance at finding happiness. Something that had eluded me for most of my life.
I took a quick shower to rinse off and then slipped into bed in just a pair of cupcake boxers.
The rush of finally being in my new place was starting to wear off, and I was almost too tired to keep my eyes open.
I needed a good night's sleep so I could officially launch Frost and Found to the world. Or at least anyone who followed me on social media or could be served my ad for the $500 marketing budget I’d allotted for this launch.
I didn’t know a single soul within two hundred miles, but that was the whole point of a fresh start.
Nobody knew about my catastrophic breakup or the thousands of dollars I’d poured into a bakery that never opened.
In this historic building with no elevator, I was just another tenant trying to make rent and keep the lights on.
And I was giving myself two months to make it happen. If I couldn’t live off my cookie profits by Valentine’s Day, I’d take a job as a pastry chef or even a line cook. But that was the absolute last resort.
I woke up with the sun and got straight to work.
The ad I’d spent hours designing was in draft mode on all my socials, so I hit post and sat back, waiting for the orders to start rolling in.
When my phone didn’t immediately start ringing off the hook, I headed to the kitchen to let off some steam.
Chocolate chip cookies were my go-to stress reliever and my bestselling box. Relying on an if-I-bake-them-they-will-sell mentality might not have been the advice a business guru would have imparted on me, but it had worked in the past, and I was crossing all my parts it would work again.
Before I knew it, I was measuring out the sugar and pouring it into a bowl with butter and vanilla.
These motions were almost automatic for me now.
I didn’t need to use measuring cups for every single ingredient anymore, but I liked the ritual of it.
The instant catharsis that came from creating something that would bring happiness to so many people… or maybe just myself.
I worked in silence until the strange whirring sound came through the wall from my neighbor’s apartment again.
When I was a kid, there was a radio station that played a game of “what’s this sound” every Monday morning and kept adding cash to a jackpot until someone guessed it.
I had gotten pretty good at figuring out obscure noises, so I stopped everything and pressed my ear to the wall once again.
The rhythm was odd, like a wheel that was out of balance but kept on going.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard that sound before, and that just made me more invested in figuring it out.
I grabbed a pen and started writing down ideas on the box of jeans I hadn’t finished unpacking.
Vacuum bag sealer. Wine opener. Vibrator.
There were a lot of options but few made sense for—I checked my watch—nine minutes.
No one opened wine or sealed plastic bags for that long.
The vibrator was a strong contender, but the muffled sound was a little too consistent.
When I used a vibrator, the noise got louder when I pulled out and quieter when I pushed in.
And it also changed based on how fast or slow I was moving it.
This sound from the apartment next door didn’t change at all.
And as I jotted down a few more options to research online later, the sound disappeared.
Probably his coffee maker or electric toothbrush. Maybe my neighbor was a dentist and had above-average oral hygiene requirements.
Without anything else to listen to, I went back to my cookies.
My hands started to ache as I folded in the chocolate chunks, but that just made me more excited.
These weren’t little chocolate chips. These were the good kind that came in uneven shards and melted in thick pockets.
I could already imagine how they’d taste and was practically drooling for the first warm, gooey bite.
Once the dough was the perfect consistency, I scooped small balls onto a parchment-lined cookie sheet and then slid them into the oven. Just as I was closing the door to the lower oven, I caught a flicker of movement through the window.
A man was walking along the sidewalk below, and he looked an awful lot like my neighbor.
The one with the unusual vacuum bag or toothbrush habit.
I wiped my hands on my apron and pressed my face up to the cold glass, peering through the foggy pane to get a better look.
I’d only seen the man twice. Once when he was bringing mail up from the box in the lobby and once when I was walking up the stairs with a box while he was walking down.
He hesitated on the landing as if he was about to ask if I needed help, but he must have reconsidered because he quickly passed by me and was out the door before I could even introduce myself.
Even still, I was almost positive it was him.
This man was trudging down the street with a small cooler and wearing a long coat to stave off the chill, but his salt-and-pepper hair caught the reflection off some buildings and I knew it was him. It had to be.
I stood there and watched him until he turned a corner and was out of sight. If new Corey was going to do things differently this time, new Corey needed to get out of his shell.
And that meant meeting people.
I grabbed my phone and did a quick search for holiday platters with same-day delivery.
No one could resist my peppermint bars, and if I paired them with my chocolate chip cookies, I’d be on friendly terms with all my neighbors by the weekend.
And in the spirit of launching my new business, I also ordered a box of business card paper so I could print cards with my logo and phone number.
Attaching them to the platters I planned to hand-deliver to everyone on my floor would be a surprise addition to my launch day marketing effort.
By the time the cookies were done, I had my first order for two dozen elf cookies that needed to be shipped out the next day. Easy peasy. I needed to make a quick run to the store for the cookie cutters I’d need to create an elf, but I could have them frosted and cooling before bedtime.
I got dressed and ran out of my apartment, anxious to get started on my first very first order as an entrepreneur, and not just a friend of a friend who liked to bake sometimes.
As I approached the stairwell, the door swung open and there he was.
My neighbor—in the long coat and still holding a cooler—was looming in the doorway.
Up close and without a heavy box blocking my view, he was even more intimidating and…
handsomer? A dusting of stubble was trimmed sharp along his jaw, and his eyes were dark, giving him a serious look.
“Oh, you’re back.” The words were out of my mouth before I could censor how stalkerish I sounded. “Did you forget something?”
He arched a single eyebrow and frowned. “What are you talking about?”
For a second, I was just as confused as he was. “What do you mean?”
“You asked if I forgot something. Did you bump your head this morning?” His voice was low and flat, not quite rude but definitely not warm.
Right. He didn’t know I’d been stalking him.
And based on his scowl, admitting that was probably not in my best interest. “No, sorry. I saw you leaving this morning and figured you were heading to work.” I pulled up my phone and checked the time.
“That was like an hour ago, so I’m guessing you weren’t on your way to work after all. ”
His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath, but then he blew it out and some of the annoyance in his eyes seemed to go with it. “Just running an errand.” He took a step around me and started walking toward his apartment.
“Oh.” I wanted to strike up a conversation, but he was clearly not in the mood. Waiting until the cookie platters were ready was probably my best bet, so I let him leave. “See you later.”
He didn’t respond, but when I glanced back to see if he’d heard me, he was standing in front of his door and glaring at me. He didn’t say anything back, so I briefly waved and then bounded down the stairs.
I had my very first paid cookie order to fulfill, and I wasn’t about to let my grumpy neighbor bring down my mood.