Chapter 3
THREE
Joy
“We’re almost out of the eggnog muffins,” Jan hollers from the front of the bakery.
“On it,” I reply, grabbing the third pan of delicious muffins I’ve made this morning.
Saturdays are usually my busiest day of the week, and today is no different, thanks to the kickoff of the festival.
Most of the activities won’t start until later, but nothing brings the people out like the first Saturday of December.
They’re hitting the tree farm, grabbing some new decorations, and even some sweet treats and coffees, all before heading out to the opening night of the festival later this evening, where one young lady will be crowned Miss Snowflake Falls.
I remember that competition. I participated my senior year of high school but fell just short of the title.
I was named first runner-up and was completely devastated.
My mom was the first title recipient thirty-six years ago, and my sister two years prior to me competing.
But I didn’t quite have what they did, and one of my classmates bested me that night.
She deserved the crown, don’t get me wrong.
Tabbi Smythe made an incredible Miss Snowflake Falls that year, but I really would have liked to have won.
Yet even coming in second didn’t dampen the sparkle of the entire night.
From the welcome address from the mayor to the naming of the winner, I love sitting in my lawn chair, curled up in a warm blanket, and sipping a cup of hot cocoa.
Not to mention being surrounded by snow-covered twinkle lights and the nostalgia of festivals past. There’s nothing like it.
Tonight, The Sweet Escape will be open for an extended two-hour period prior to the start of the pageant.
We will offer a very limited menu as to not compete with the other organizations selling food and drinks.
The hot cocoa stand is always manned by a different organization or group, and at the end of the night, they keep whatever profits were made.
Since that’s a big part of their fundraising, I never sell hot cocoa from my bakery, opting for other Christmassy drinks to help keep you warm.
“This is the last of them,” I tell Jan, sliding the tray of eggnog muffins into the display case and noting we’re low on apple fritters too. “Let me grab what’s left of the fritters, and I’ll help.”
I retrieve the other tray of fresh baked goods and slip them inside the case too. Considering it’s still midmorning, I realize I might be in trouble where pastries are concerned. As soon as I can get to the kitchen to prep more, the better off I’ll be.
After quickly washing my hands, I turn my attention to the counter and take the order of the next person in line. “What can I get you?” I ask with a warm smile.
“I’d like a vanilla raspberry latte and an eggnog muffin, please,” the first of three women here together orders.
“I’ll make drinks. You pull pastries and checkout,” Jan says. This system will allow us to move through customers quicker, and we’re not stepping on each other while doing it.
We work in unison to serve all three ladies as quickly as possible.
I love watching their faces light up as I place their fresh baked good in front of them.
They’re chatting about going shopping after their breakfast break, so I make sure to tell them to visit Mom’s salon next door after they’re done here.
She’s open until one today, and they’re offering a sale on certain products, as well as door prizes.
“We’ll be sure to do that,” the third lady replies, picking up her pastry and coffee before moving away from the counter to join her friends at one of the tables.
“How can I help you?” I ask the next person in line as he steps up to the counter.
“What’s good here, Easy-Bake?”
The nickname causes me to pause as my brain is peppered with flashbacks. I glance up into smiling brown eyes that look so familiar, yet so very different. His face has aged considerably, since the last time I saw him he was fourteen.
“Holy shit! Burkey Turkey?” I whisper, my jaw dropping as I stare at the man at the counter.
He’s no longer the tall, skinny kid I remember from my childhood.
Oh, no. Burk Whitman is all man now, from his rugged, gorgeous face to his scruffy jaw.
He’s still tall with a lean frame, but his physique is much more filled out than before.
He’s muscular without being overly so, if that makes sense.
He makes a face, reminding me of a time when I was a kid and first gave him that nickname.
Our third grade class put on a Thanksgiving play for the school, and Burk won the role of the turkey.
I’ve never let him live it down, always using the nickname he hated so much.
“You know I hate that nickname,” he grumbles.
“Klint told me you owned this place, and I just had to come see for myself,” he adds with a big smile that seems to light up his entire face.
Holy crap, Burk Whitman is h-o-t, hot!
My feet are moving before I can even reconsider.
I’m around the counter and throwing my arms around him in a fierce hug.
He returns the gesture, and it’s right in this moment I catch a whiff of his clean, woodsy scent.
It sends a shiver through my body and does something to my lady bits that’s unexpected.
I feel my nipples pebble beneath my sweater and a rush of moisture between my legs.
All from soap…
Well, Jingle Bells, he freaking smells amazing too!
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I state, grinning from ear to ear and trying not to think about exactly how hard his body felt when I hugged him.
But then it hits me as to why he’s likely here, and I quickly sober.
“Yeah, me either,” he says softly, his soulful dark eyes locked on mine.
It causes my heart to skip a beat and my breathing to quicken.
“Listen, I know you’re busy. Hell, I’m heading back out to the farm for work.
But I wanted to drop by and say hello. Plus, my stomach’s growling and whatever you have in that case smells delicious,” he adds with a grin and a wink.
“Well, do I have a treat for you, my old friend,” I tease, returning to behind the counter and offering a quick apology to those lined up behind him.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask, while pulling both an eggnog muffin and an apple fritter from the case and slipping them inside a white paper bag.
“Regular coffee, with extra sugar and cream, please,” he says, making me grin once more. Burk always liked the sweets when we were growing up, so it doesn’t surprise me he adds plenty to his coffee.
“Here,” Jan says, handing over the drink.
“How much?” Burk asks, pulling some bills from his wallet.
“Your money’s no good here, Burkey Turkey,” I insist with a wink.
He huffs out a deep breath and shakes his head, turning to his right and slipping the cash inside the tip jar. “You can’t make money if you don’t charge, Easy-Bake.”
“Yeah, well, that’s for me to worry about.”
Burk reaches for the bag and coffee but hesitates to leave. There’s a line of customers behind him, but all I want to do is stand here and talk to my old friend some more. “Maybe I’ll see you around and we can catch up?”
“I’d love that,” I reply. “If you come to the pageant tonight, stop by and see us.”
He nods, taking a step to his right to allow the next customer to approach the counter. “You still sit by the big oak tree?”
“You know it,” I reply, again with a grin. I can’t seem to stop smiling.
He nods. “I’ll see what time I get done at the farm, but I’m serious about catching up, Easy-Bake.”
“Me too, Burkey Turkey.” I can’t believe how easily we fall into an old, familiar banter, even though it’s been fifteen years.
He lifts his chin and adds, “Talk to you soon.”
“Have a good day,” I reply, shamelessly watching as he walks toward the front entrance. He’s wearing work boots, jeans, a thick winter coat, and a stocking cap on his head, but I can still see the niceness of his ass through the worn denim. He pushes out the door and walks past the front window.
“Girl,” Jan sings just over my left shoulder. “That boy is f-i-n-e, fine, and his eyes were all over you.”
A blush creeps up my neck, as I do everything I can to brush off her comment. “Please,” I reply with a tsk. “He’s practically my oldest friend. I haven’t seen him since the summer before our freshman year of high school.”
“Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that.”
I roll my eyes and give every bit of attention I can to my customers.
They keep us hopping and we’re busier than expected on a Saturday morning, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Seeing people enjoy my pastries is the highlight of my life.
It’ll never get old, even when I’m exhausted and my feet hurt from standing for fourteen hours a day.
The satisfaction I feel makes every early morning and late night worth it.
“Do you want me to come back later?” Jan asks when the morning rush finally dies down.
“No, Krista and I have it covered. It’s easy when you’re only offering two snack and two drink options,” I tell my faithful employee.
Jan has worked for me since I opened four years ago and doesn’t mind working five days a week.
She also doesn’t require medical insurance, since her husband carries it, so that’s a plus for me.
Insurance is expensive enough when you’re self-employed, which is why I carry the bare minimum on myself.
Krista helps me during these types of special events, where I’m only open a few hours and have a very select menu. She’s been doing it since I opened, and I’m so grateful for my closest friend. She does it for free, insisting she be paid in pastries and coffee.
“Well, I’ll be around if you get swamped and need help,” she informs me, hanging her apron on a hook in the kitchen and clocking out.