Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
PENELOPE
T he familiar scents of yeast, fresh-baked bread, and cinnamon greet me as I step inside the bakery with Noelle balanced on my hip. I inhale deeply, savoring the comforting scent that always feels like home.
I carefully navigate through the cramped bakery, mindful of the narrow aisles and the occasional customer browsing the shelves. The hardwood floors creak beneath my feet, a familiar noise that’s as much a part of this place as the ever-present scent of vanilla and cinnamon.
“Grandpa, we’re back!” I call out, shifting Noelle to a more secure position. She gurgles happily, her chubby hands reaching for the colorful display of sugar cookies in the glass case. I love this bakery. I grew up here, working summers during the tourist season, meeting people from all over the world, and sharing Grandpa’s breads and pastries with them.
“There are my girls!” Grandpa’s voice booms from the kitchen. “I’m coming out.” A moment later, he emerges, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles broadly, the very picture of a doting grandfather. He kisses us both on the cheek. “Dinner’s ready when you are.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what we’d eat if you weren’t around.”
He pats Noelle’s back. “You’d do just fine. You don’t need me, but I’m glad I have you two.”
“We need you more than you know.” I peck his weathered cheek. “We’ll see you upstairs in a bit.” He has to close down the shop. I wish we had enough money to hire a local kid to work a few hours after school, but things are tight around here. They get tighter every year. The cost of ingredients has gone up so much, and we’ve had to raise our prices . . . I don’t know if we can survive this Christmas season. I can’t imagine closing the bakery. It would be so sad to see it shut up and dark.
As I make my way up the narrow staircase to our apartment, Noelle’s weight begins to strain my arms. I hoist her higher, silently cursing the fact that I always seem to forget the diaper bag in the car.
I push open the door to the apartment, and the tension in my shoulders immediately begins to ease. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the lace curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the cozy living room. The familiar scent of Grandpa’s hearty stew simmering on the stove wafts out to greet us, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.
“Mmm, something smells delicious,” I comment, crossing the room to settle Noelle into her high chair. She bangs her hands on the tray, babbling excitedly as her eyes land on the freshly baked loaf of bread sitting in the center of the table.
I wash my hands and hang my purse by the door. Then, I wash Noelle’s hands and pull out the dishes. By the time I’ve set the table, Grandpa is at the stove, stirring the stew and looking pretty pleased with himself.
A few minutes later, we’re all seated around the table, heads bowed as Grandpa leads us in a heartfelt prayer of thanks. His deep, rasping voice washes over me, soothing and familiar, and I feel a sense of peace settle deep in my bones.
“Amen,” we murmur in unison, and then the only sound is the clink of spoons against bowls as we dig in.
The first bite of stew is pure heaven, the rich, savory flavors exploding on my tongue. We lapse into a comfortable silence then, broken only by the occasional gurgle or coo from Noelle as she happily smooshes bits of bread and carrot between her fingers.
“So, how was work today?” Grandpa asks after a while, dunking a chunk of bread into his stew. “Anything exciting happens at the office?” He’s trying not to be nosey about Mr. Kringle, but I can tell that he’s bursting with curiosity.
“I don’t know about exciting,” I counter, stabbing a potato with my fork. “That guy came in that you wanted me about. He wants to put on some big Christmas event. Like we have time to plan anything like that. ”
“Hmm,” Grandpa hums thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “What was the fella’s last name?”
“Kringle,” I reply, unable to keep the note of derision from my voice. “Nick Kringle. I mean, really? Who has a name like that?”
To my surprise, Grandpa’s eyes light up with recognition. “Well, I’ll be.”
I tilt my head, curiosity piqued in spite of myself. “What, do you know him or something?”
Grandpa chuckles, shaking his head. “Not him. I remember a family of Kringles, all girls, I think, years ago. They stayed in the blue house on the corner.”
“The one on Waterfront Street?” The place has been empty for years though it never seems to decay. The yard is always cared for in the summers, and the trees are properly trimmed. You’d think someone lived there, but I’ve never seen a soul so much as haunt the upstairs windows.
He nods. “That’s the one. Good people, as I recall.”
I frown, trying to reconcile this new information with my initial impression of the man in the ugly Christmas sweater. He’s handsome in that untamed way that tends to get me into trouble. His hair was tousled, and his green eyes are merry and yet focused. The way he gravitated to Noelle, and she to him, was . . . sweet.
“Well, this guy seemed like a delusional do-gooder with his head in the clouds.”
“Penelope,” Grandpa chides gently, fixing me with a knowing look. “Don’t be so quick to judge. Sometimes, the people who seem the most out of touch are the ones who see things the rest of us miss. Maybe this Nick fellow is onto something.”
I scoff, but it comes out halfhearted at best. “Yeah, well, I think I’ve had my fill of men with grand plans and empty promises,” I mutter, my gaze drifting to Noelle. Her sweet face is smeared with gummy bread pieces, her eyes bright and innocent. A pang goes through me as I think of all the ways her father let us down, all the heartache he left in his wake. In the ten minutes Nick was in my office, he showed more interest in Noelle than her biological father ever did. Of course, he only stuck around for the first week of her life, and he only stayed that long because he was waiting for his new girlfriend to pick him up.
They met online.
It was true love at first click.
Can I make gagging noises now?
Grandpa’s weathered hand comes to rest over mine, his touch bringing me out of my thoughts. “I know you’ve been through a lot, sweet pea. And believe me, if I ever lay eyes on that good-for-nothing ex of yours again, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. But don’t let one bad experience close you off to the possibility of something good.”
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat, blinking back the sting of tears. “I have everything I need right here,” I manage, my voice wavering only slightly. “You, Noelle, the bakery. That’s enough for me.”
Grandpa’s eyes soften, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean you have to go through life alone. It’s okay to want more, to hope for more.”
I let out a shaky laugh." I don’t think it’s in my cards. I’ve made peace with it, I really have."
He looks like he wants to say more. Instead he smiles and wipes his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink. We finish our meal in contemplative silence, each lost in our own thoughts. As I help Grandpa clear the table and put away the leftovers, I find my mind drifting back to Nick Kringle, to the earnest, hopeful look in his eyes as he spoke of spreading Christmas cheer.
He is so unlike any other man I’ve ever met—part child-like hope and wonder, part idealistic teenager, but his broad shoulders and square jaw were all man.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. I have responsibilities. I have a daughter to think of and a business to run. I can’t afford to get swept up in some Christmas fantasy of meeting under the mistletoe.
Later that night, after I’ve tucked Noelle into her crib and kissed her downy head, I find myself standing by the window in my bedroom, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the town. The streets are quiet, and the shops are all closed up for the night, but there’s a sense of anticipation in the air, a feeling of something waiting just around the corner.
Despite my best efforts, my thoughts keep circling back to Nick. There was something about him, something that drew me in even as I tried to push him away. The confident set of his shoulders, the gentleness in his hands as he let Noelle hold his fingers .
I sigh, leaning my forehead against the cool glass. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to even consider the possibility of letting someone in, of opening my heart to the potential for love and companionship. After the way Noelle’s father left us, high and dry without so much as a backward glance, I swore I’d never put myself in that position again. Never give someone the power to hurt me like that.
I close my eyes, letting out a long, slow breath.
I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted. That the wheels of fate have been set in motion, and there’s no going back now. I’ll go to the meeting tomorrow. I’ll hear Nick out. But that’s all. I won’t let myself get swept up in his grandiose visions, no matter how charming or convincing he might be. I’ll keep my guard up, my heart firmly in check.