Theirs for the Holidays

Chapter 1

VIOLET

The end of the business day always follows the same sort of rhythm.

Counting and cashing out the register. Packing up any leftovers from the day’s baked goods to sort in the morning.

Whatever is still good put on a discount and anything else donated to people who will appreciate the treats, even if they are a day or so old.

Sweeping the floors, wiping down the surfaces, making sure everything is locked up.

It’s usually soothing, a kind of meditative thing, even if it is work. There’s something about a routine and doing it in the quiet of my bakery that always makes me feel at peace, no matter how hectic the day has been.

Of course, that usually requires there to be some peace to be found, and talking with my mother has a way of sucking the peace right out of any situation.

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder, sorting scones into two separate bags while I listen to her go on.

“It’s one dinner, Violet,” she says, and the disappointment and exasperation are already heavy in her voice. “It would mean a lot to your sister for you to be here.”

I suppress a snort at that—barely. Isabelle won’t care if I’m not there. It’ll just mean more snide comments behind my back instead of to my face.

“Mom, I don’t know,” I hedge. “It’s the holidays, and you know that’s a busy time for me. I have to be up early in the morning to get a head start on baking. I’ve been nearly selling out every day this week, so I want to make some extras—”

Mom cuts me off with a scoffing noise. “Your desserts can wait for one night, Violet. Just sell whatever you have left over from today and come be with your family. Or is this little business of yours more important than family at the holidays?”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. It’s funny how family is always weaponized when it comes to getting me to do something I don’t really want to do, but never when it comes to supporting me.

My mom and sister have barely ever set foot into my bakery, and I know they both think it’s just a silly little business that I’m running.

They don’t understand the work it takes or the late nights and early mornings.

Every time Mom calls it my ‘little business’ it makes me cringe, but no matter how often I try to tell her how much it means to me, she just doesn’t seem to get it. Probably because she doesn’t care and never will.

Why would she, when she can focus on the wedding of the daughter she actually likes?

“It’s still my job, Mom. Whether it’s as important as family or not, I have bills to pay, and I can’t just slack off. This is an important time for me.”

Not that that matters to her.

“It’s also an important time for your sister,” she fires back. “And frankly, Violet, she could use your support. She’s been so stressed out with the wedding planning and everything. Planning a wedding is a big deal, you know? She needs her sister.”

“She has Andrew,” I say, trying not to let the bitterness of that curdle the words in my mouth.

“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “He doesn’t know what your sister needs the way her family does.”

Then why is she marrying him? I think, but I don’t say it out loud.

Still, the thought is there. Andrew was mine first, technically. And now he’s marrying my sister. Anyone with any empathy would understand why I don’t want to be overly involved in this wedding, but empathy and my mother have probably never been formally introduced.

At least when it comes to me.

It’s just… exhausting. No one gave half a crap when my twin sister started dating my ex-boyfriend just a few months after our breakup.

We were together for over two years. I thought we were getting serious, but right when I thought he was getting ready to propose, he broke things off with me instead.

I was devastated, and you’d think people would remember that.

“I really just don’t know what I could do to help,” I tell her. “And I’m really tired.”

“Violet,” my mother snaps, finally showing her true irritation. “Just be here for your sister. You’re a member of this family, and it will be nice for her to have everyone here. Is that too much to ask? Do you care so little for her—for us—that it’s too much trouble for you to come to one dinner?”

I sigh because now I’m caught. If I say I can’t come, I’ll be the bad guy.

They’ll spend the whole dinner talking about what a horrible, bitter sister I am to not show up for my sister in her time of need or whatever.

It’ll make everything harder than it needs to be, and things are already hard enough.

“Alright. I’ll be there,” I murmur, feeling the exhaustion weighing down on me heavily.

“Good,” Mom says, her tone immediately brightening. Nothing makes her happier than getting what she wants, after all. “We’ll all be together then.”

“Like the whole family, or?”

“Us and Andrew’s family,” she says. “They’re coming to show their support for Andrew.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Isn’t it? And, Violet, this is a nice dinner.”

I blink, confused. “Okay? Do you want me to bring something?” I glance around the bakery. Most things sold out today, but there are some cookies I could put together into a platter if that’s what she wants.

But she cuts that thought off with a snort. “No. I’m saying that you should dress nicely for tonight. Wear something you wouldn’t usually. We want this to be an elegant affair.”

I hold my breath and count to five. “Right. Okay. I will.”

“Good,” she says again. “Then we’ll see you tonight.”

Before I can say anything, Mom hangs up.

I stand there with my phone in my hand, breathing in slow and deep. The peace that I should have gotten from my evening routine is just a distant wish now, and while I would love to just go home and run a bath or crawl into bed with a book or something, that’s clearly not happening now.

I look around the bakery, glad that at least all the cleaning is done so I can lock up for the night.

I set aside the baked goods that will be picked up in the morning and grab my bag and my keys. I run my hand over the counter on the way out and something settles inside me.

Even if my mom can’t find her way to being proud of me for this—or anything else for that matter—it doesn’t take away the sense of pride I feel when I’m here.

This bakery is everything to me.

My grandmother left the space to me when she died, and I knew immediately what I wanted to do with it. Ever since I was younger, I dreamed of opening my own bakery, and this was the perfect opportunity to do that.

I poured so much time, energy, and money into making it the perfect space, and while it’s small and business has been an uphill climb, it’s everything I wanted it to be.

Living in a small town means business can be slow going sometimes. Especially since I was basically starting from nothing. But I have a set of customers who are very dedicated, and that means the world to me.

I wasn’t just trying to get out of dinner when I told my mom that the holidays are a busy time.

I have a list of orders to fill, and people come pouring into the bakery every day to pick up pies and cakes for holiday work parties or cookies and cupcakes for their kids’ schools.

Gifts for teachers or neighbors or little treats for delivery people.

It goes on and on this time of year, and I spend most of my time thinking about that.

It keeps me busy, and it’s work I genuinely enjoy. It means something to me.

I sigh and let myself out of the bakery, locking up behind me and going to my car.

I’ll have to move fast if I want to have time to shower and change before this dinner.

The last time I didn’t shower before going over to my parents’ house after leaving the bakery, I spent the whole night hearing about how showing up with flour in my hair was ‘disrespectful.’ I’m not doing that again.

Just like winding down the day at the bakery, a hot shower usually relaxes me. But not tonight. I feel even more keyed up than before as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, trying to figure out what counts as ‘dressing nicely’ to my mother.

The truth is, most of it isn’t even about my clothes.

Where my sister and mother are thin and beautiful, I’ve always been on the heavier side.

I’m plus sized, with curves that aren’t easy to cover or hide.

I have plenty of dresses and skirts that make me feel good, but my mother has always been critical about me.

Her eyes skate over my body when she sees me, lingering on the places that make me the most self-conscious.

If she can see the curve of my stomach or too much of my chest she makes that disapproving little click of her tongue and asks if I couldn’t find something more flattering to wear.

I don’t know what she wants from me, honestly. Should I just wear shapeless sacks of fabric to hide the fact that I’m not skinny?

I pull out a dress in a deep maroon color and put it on. It hugs my midsection a little and then flares out into a full skirt. The neckline is deep cut, plunging to show off a fair amount of cleavage. I make a face and pull it off. I can imagine what my mom would have to say about that.

The next outfit is a dark blue skirt with a white off the shoulder blouse. It’s a cute ensemble that I loved when I bought it, but the skirt is tight on my thighs, and the white blouse doesn’t really hide anything. I also can’t be bothered to wear a strapless bra for this.

I finally settle on a black dress. It’s still cute, but the neckline is higher, with a lace panel that shows off some of my chest but not too much.

It hugs my midsection but flares over my hips and is long enough that it won’t ride up if I bend over.

I put on some silver earrings and a bracelet and call that good enough.

Examining my reflection critically, I end up rolling my eyes.

I don’t really know why I’m bothering in the first place.

Mom said this was a ‘nice’ dinner, but it’s just going to be the family and Andrew and his dad.

Andrew’s mother passed away three years ago, and while he does have three older brothers, they’ve all left Sweetwater Lake to do other things.

There’s no one worth showing off for, since Andrew won’t give me a second look, and I doubt my sister would care if I showed up in a trash bag for all she notices me.

Whatever. This is just going to have to do.

I grab my purse and get back in the car.

My parents’ house is the same as it always is. Elegantly decorated with a neatly maintained garden. Andrew’s car is already in the driveway, and I sigh as I pull in next to it, getting out and heading for the front door.

My mom greets me there, and she sweeps her eyes over my outfit as soon as I’ve taken off my coat. She doesn’t say anything, but the twist to her lips is more than enough for me to get that she doesn’t approve.

Fantastic.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to force some cheer into my voice.

“Violet,” she replies, smiling thinly. “You’re on time.”

“You didn’t tell me a time,” I point out.

“And yet you made it. Hang up your coat, everyone’s in the living room.”

She bustles away before I can say anything else, and I just sigh, turning to put my coat in the closet.

I take my time with it, needing a moment to myself before I have to go in there and see my sister cozied up with my ex and pretend to be happy for her. I inhale deeply and let it out slow, closing my eyes for just a second.

It’ll be fine, I try to convince myself. It won’t be as bad as I’m imagining.

With a resolute nod, I shut the hall closet and turn to head for the living room, but as I turn the corner, I slam right into a tall, muscled body.