Gingerbread and Gears (25 Days of Christmas: Bikers & Mobsters)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Belle

By six a.m., Cookie Haven already smelled like cinnamon, clove, and desperation.

The cinnamon and clove were intentional. The desperation was hanging over me like a cloud.

I stood in the center of my bakery with flour on my cheek, powdered sugar in my hair, and a clipboard clutched to my chest like it might save me from the absolute madness that was the week before Christmas.

The ovens were humming, the mixers were churning, and somewhere behind me, Salt barked sharply because Pepper had stolen his chew toy again.

“Pepper,” I warned without looking. “Give it back or you’re on dish-rag duty.”

Pepper, my blue merle Australian Shepherd with more gray than sense, wagged his tail and trotted away like he hadn’t heard a word I said. Salt, his red merle brother, glared at him like betrayal was a personal injury.

I sighed and dragged a hand down my face.

This was my life now. Award-winning baker. Gingerbread queen. Woman barely holding it together with isomalt and canned air.

Cookie Haven had started as a dream. A tiny storefront with two display cases and one overworked oven. Now, thanks to one stupid viral video of me assembling a gingerbread Victorian mansion with working sugar windows and spun-sugar icicles, it was a holiday destination.

People drove in from three towns over just to see the display pieces in my front window. Kids pressed their faces to the glass. Adults took pictures. A local news crew had come by last week and asked me how it felt to “bring magic to the holidays.”

I’d smiled for the camera and said something about joy and tradition.

What I hadn’t said was that magic didn’t pay gambling debts.

“Belle,” Marcy called from the prep table. “We’re down to one tray of iced cookies, and the walk-in’s full of dough that still needs rolling.”

“I know,” I said as I flipped a page on my clipboard. “We’ll catch up.”

I had no idea how, but saying it out loud felt like half a solution.

Marcy raised an eyebrow but went back to work.

She’d been with me since year one. She had a sharp tongue, a soft heart, and a terrifying ability to ice cookies faster than anyone I’d ever met.

Next to her, Jessa piped snowflakes onto sugar cookies with surgical precision, while Owen wrestled with a tray of cooling gingerbread slabs like they’d personally offended him.

Three employees and I to “bring magic to the holidays.” Whoa, boy.

The bell over the front door jingled, and I felt my shoulders tighten on instinct.

Customers were good. Customers meant money. But lately, every time that bell rang, part of me expected trouble to walk in wearing a smile.

Instead, an older woman stepped inside, bundled in a red coat and a knit hat, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“Good morning!” I called and forced brightness into my voice as I moved to the counter. “Welcome to Cookie Haven.”

Her eyes lit up as she took in the display cases with the twinkling lights and the massive gingerbread village dominating the center table. “Oh my,” she breathed. “It smells like Christmas in here.”

I smiled for real this time. “That’s the goal.”

She ordered a half dozen snickerdoodles and lingered to watch Pepper press his nose against the glass door separating the bakery from the front. Salt sat politely beside him, looking like the responsible older brother he pretended not to be.

“They’re beautiful dogs,” she said.

“They think they’re employees,” I replied. “Pepper’s in charge of morale. Salt supervises.”

She laughed, paid, and left with a wave.

The bell jingled again. And again. And again.

By nine a.m., the line stretched out the door, and my hands ached from shaping dough and boxing orders. I moved on autopilot, smiling, thanking, and promising pickup times I prayed I could meet.

By nine-thirty, the line to order was gone, with just a few people waiting for their orders.

That was when he walked in.

I didn’t hear the bell this time. I felt him.

The air shifted, and I glanced up from the register, ready with my practiced greeting, and forgot every word I knew.

He was tall. That was the first thing my brain managed. Tall and broad and filled the doorway like he belonged there despite clearly not belonging at all.

Leather jacket. Dark jeans. Heavy boots dusted with snow. His hair was dark, a little long, and shoved back like he hadn’t bothered with a mirror. Full beard, giving him that perpetually dangerous look that romance novels loved to glorify and my mother would’ve warned me against.

And his eyes were steady. Calm. The kind of eyes that didn’t rush, flinch, or miss anything.

Including me.

I swallowed.

“Hi,” I squeaked. “Welcome to Cookie Haven.”

His mouth twitched, like he was amused by something he wasn’t going to share. “Smells good in here.”

“Thank you,” I said, because that was safe. Neutral. Professional.

He stepped forward and leaned one forearm on the counter like he’d done it a hundred times before. His gaze flicked briefly to the gingerbread display, then back to me.

“I’m looking for a gingerbread house,” he said. “A good one.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “You’ve come to the right place.”

His smile widened just a fraction. “I figured.”

I reached for my clipboard. “Custom or pre-made?”

“Custom,” he said immediately. “It’s for my mom.”

Something about the way he said it, plain and unguarded, softened the edges of him in my mind.

“What style?” I asked. “Traditional? Modern? Whimsical?”

He glanced back at the display village, thoughtful. “She likes classic. Snow on the roof. Lights in the windows.”

“I can do that,” I said. “Any specific theme?”

He shrugged. “She’s big on Christmas. More than I am.”

That earned him a smile. “Opposites,” I said lightly, then immediately wondered why I’d said that.

His eyes darkened just a touch, and heat curled low in my stomach. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You can say that.”

I cleared my throat and focused on the clipboard. “Pickup would be… Friday afternoon. Unless you need it sooner, but I would have to charge a rush fee.”

“Friday works.”

My pen hovered over the paper. “Name?”

“Saint,” he said.

I blinked. “Saint?”

“Saint,” he repeated, unbothered.

I raised an eyebrow. “Like… an actual saint?”

“Like my name,” he replied.

Fair enough.

As I finished the order slip, the bell jingled again.

This time, the tension that slid down my spine had nothing to do with attraction.

I didn’t look at the door. I didn’t have to. I knew that presence the way you know a storm before the clouds roll in.

“Belle,” a voice drawled. “We need to talk.”

My hands went cold.

Saint straightened slowly, his body language changing so subtly I almost missed it. He didn’t turn around, but something about him went still. Alert.

I forced myself to look.

The man standing just inside the door wore a cheap coat and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been here before. Too many times.

“Now’s not a good time,” I said evenly.

He glanced at the customers waiting, at Saint’s broad back, then back at me. “Won’t take long.”

“It will,” I said. “And you’re not welcome.”

Saint turned then, finally, his gaze locked onto the man like he’d found a target. The shift was immediate and unmistakable.

Danger didn’t always shout. Sometimes it stood quiet and steady behind you. Or in this case, in front of me.

The man hesitated.

“Problem?” Saint asked calmly.

The loan shark, because that was what he was, no matter how he dressed it up, laughed. “Nah. Just business.”

Saint’s eyes flicked to me. Just once. A question.

I shook my head.

“I don’t think she’s got time for you,” Saint said. “She’s working.”

The man looked him up and down, calculating. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Saint smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

For a moment, I thought things might explode right there between the gingerbread men and the sugar cookies.

Then the man scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed toward the door. “I’ll be back, Belle,” he told me.

The bell jingled as he left.

Silence settled over the bakery.

My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my ears.

Saint turned back to me. His voice was low. “You okay?”

I nodded, even though my hands were shaking. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Your order will be ready Friday,” I said, grasping for normal. “I’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ll be back.”

As he walked out, he leaned down to pet Salt and Pepper. Pepper barked once, his tail wagging like he’d just met his new favorite human.

I watched the door long after it closed, my pulse still racing.

I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but I knew it wasn’t going to be the last time I saw the loan shark or Saint.