Chapter Three
Belle
By Thursday morning, my feet hurt so bad I couldn’t remember a time they hadn’t.
I stood in the walk-in cooler with my forehead pressed against the cold metal shelving, breathed slowly, and counted backward from ten like my old therapist had taught me back when Cookie Haven was just an idea and not my entire existence.
“You okay in there?” Marcy’s voice filtered through the door sharply.
“Yep,” I lied. “Just having a chat with the butter.”
“Try not to chit-chat too long. We kind of need you out here.”
I pushed off the shelf and rolled my shoulders. “Coming out.”
The walk-in door swung open, blasting me with warm air and noise. Mixers whirred. Ovens beeped. Christmas music warbled something cheerful.
Salt lifted his head from where he’d parked himself in front of the ovens like a furry hall monitor. Pepper sprawled nearby, belly up, paws twitching in his sleep.
“Good news,” Jessa said without looking up from piping royal icing onto a gingerbread roof. “The catering order for the Chamber of Commerce called back.”
I braced myself. “Good news like they’re canceling?”
“Good news like they want two more houses.”
I laughed, a sound that came out a little wild. “Fantastic.”
“You sound thrilled,” Owen said, sliding trays into the cooling rack.
“I am,” I said. “Thrilled. Ecstatic. Over the moon.”
Marcy shot me a look. “Belle.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I’ve got this.”
Because I had to.
That was the thing. I didn’t have another option.
Every gingerbread house was a calculation now. Every cookie order was a tiny step closer to safety. If I just kept going—kept baking, kept selling, kept smiling—I could fix this. I could clean up my dad’s mess without dragging anyone else into it.
That was the rule I lived by.
Don’t ask for help. Don’t make it someone else’s problem.
The bell over the front door jingled, and my spine stiffened out of habit.
Then I relaxed.
Saint stood in the doorway, a paper cup in each hand, snow dusting his shoulders like he belonged there. Pepper was on his feet instantly, tail wagging like a metronome.
“Well,” Saint said, stepping inside. “This place smells even better today.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and forced my mouth into a smile that didn’t take much forcing at all. “You’re back, and it’s only Thursday.”
“Told you I would be.”
“On Friday,” I countered.
Saint shrugged.
Marcy leaned over the counter. “If you’re here to order more custom work, get in line.”
Saint grinned. “Just here to deliver caffeine. Thought I would check in, too, and see how you guys were doing.” He set one cup in front of me. “Hazelnut latte. Extra foam.”
I stared at it. “You remembered.”
He shrugged. “Not too hard to remember, doll.”
I laughed softly and took a sip. The warmth hit my bloodstream like mercy. “You might be my new favorite person.”
“Second time you’ve said that. Be careful, or I might start believing you,” he said.
I felt it again. That pull, like gravity had shifted just enough to notice. He wasn’t flirting exactly. He wasn’t pushing. He was just… there. Solid. Calm. Like nothing rattled him.
It made me feel unsteady in the best and worst way.
“Everything okay today?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “Busy.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s the holidays. Everything needs to be good.”
His eyes searched my face like he was filing something away for later. “Friday pickup still good?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Your mom’s going to love it.”
“She will,” he said, like that was a fact he’d never doubted.
Pepper nosed his knee, demanding attention. Saint crouched without hesitation and scratched his chest like he’d known him forever.
“You’ve got good dogs,” he said.
“They’re the real bosses,” I replied. “I just work here.”
Salt watched him carefully, then leaned in to sniff his hand. Saint waited, patient as anything, until Salt huffed and allowed himself to be scratched.
“See?” I said. “Approval.”
Saint smiled, softer this time. “Means something.”
It did.
The bell jingled again. A group of customers filed in, laughing, stamping snow from their boots.
I straightened. “Duty calls.”
Saint stepped back easily, no possessiveness, no pressure. “I’ll let you work.”
Before he left, he leaned in just enough that only I could hear him. “Don’t forget to eat something today.”
My throat tightened. “I won’t. I mean, I will eat because I won’t forget to… eat,” I ended on a whisper.
“Good, babe,” he smirked. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
I watched him walk out the door and past the large window. He crossed the street on a jog and climbed into an old truck instead of a motorcycle. “Can’t really drive a motorcycle in the snow,” I whispered to myself.
“Belle,” Marcy called. “Do you think we can have a two-story Victorian gingerbread house for Tuesday?”
And back to my reality of baking my ass off to hopefully save my ass.
By mid-afternoon, my hands were shaking, and my skin was clammy.
I ignored it.
I always did.
Between seven a.m., and six p.m., I had time to work alone. Anything else didn’t matter if it wasn’t making me money.
Mix the dough. Bake. Cool. Ice. Repeat. When one order was boxed, another appeared in its place. Time blurred.
At some point, Marcy shoved a homemade granola bar into my hand. “Eat.”
“I will,” I said. I just needed to get all of the orders for tomorrow done today.
“Now.”
I took a bite and chewed without tasting it. “Happy?”
“Moderately.”
The doorbell jingled, and my heart leapt for a second, hoping it was Saint.
But it wasn’t him.
Calm it down, Belle. You saw the man today already.
It was a woman in her late fifties, bundled in a green coat with a scarf wrapped tight around her neck. Her eyes lit up as she took in the bakery.
“Oh my goodness,” she said. “This is even better than the pictures.”
I smiled genuinely. “Welcome to Cookie Haven.”
“I’m Mary,” she said. “My son is picking up my gingerbread house tomorrow, but I wanted to see the place.”
Something about her felt familiar. Warm. Comfortable.
“You must be Saint’s mom,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her smile widened. “I am. You know my Saint?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Uh, well, your son is pretty memorable.” That was the safest way I could say that he was hot as hell, and I would have had to be blind not to remember him.
She gave a light laugh. “I’ve said the same thing since he was born. Something about my boy just stays with you.”
That was the truth. “Did you want to take a peek at your house?”
She shook her head. “No, no. I didn’t come to ruin the surprise. I’ve just always wanted to come in here during the holidays to see all of the magic you make. Not to say you don’t make it magical in here during the rest of the months of the year.”
My cheeks heated. “I know what you mean. Christmas is my favorite time here, too.”
She wandered the shop, admiring everything with genuine delight. She knelt to pet Salt and Pepper and laughed when Pepper tried to climb into her lap like a lapdog despite being very much not that size.
“You’ve built something special here,” she said quietly when she came back to the counter.
I shrugged, suddenly shy. “I just like to bake.”
“No,” she said gently. “You create. There’s a difference.”
Her kindness hit harder than I expected. “Um, how about a gingerbread man for the road?” I offered.
Mary shook her head. “I’m going to need more than a gingerbread man.” She moved in front of the bakery case with all of the goodies we had left on display. “You fill this case every day?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yup. I’m here every morning at five to get the ovens going and the doughs made. Owen, Marcy, and Jessa help me throughout the day.”
“Very impressive,” she muttered. “I think I know what I want.” She looked at me expectantly. “You better get a big box ready.”
I laughed and grabbed a quarter sheet box. “I’m ready.”
“Twelve gingerbread men. Twelve sugar cookies. Six plum tarts. Twelve—”
“Oh, wait,” I laughed. I didn’t even have the gingerbread men in the box and I knew I needed to get another box. “Owen,” I called. “Can you help me?”
Owen wiped his hands on his apron and came to help me. “I’ll get the gingerbread men and the sugar cookies,” he offered as he grabbed another box.
I quickly put the six plum tarts in my box. I looked up at Mary expectantly. “Now I’m ready for you.”
Mary smiled. “Twelve dipped pretzels. Twelve peanut butter blossoms. And,” she drawled, “one vanilla bean scone for my morning coffee put in a separate bag.”
Owen and I quickly boxed everything up.
This was way more than I thought she was going to want. This was enough for a large group of people. There was no way Mary was going to be able to put away even a quarter of this.
Owen moved to the register and rang everything up.
She handed him her credit card. “I figure Saint and his friends could use a treat.”
“He must have an awful lot of friends,” Owen laughed.
Mary waved her hand. “I meant his club. I always just call them his friends. This probably won’t put a dent in their appetites. Buddy could likely eat all of the sugar cookies and still polish off a steak dinner.”
Owen grinned as he rang her up. “Sounds like we should’ve doubled the order.”
“Probably,” Mary said with a chuckle. “But this will do for now.”
The receipt printed, and Owen stacked the boxes on top of each other. “I can carry this to your car for you,” he offered.
Mary smiled brightly and clutched the white bag with her one scone inside. “That would be amazing. If you can get it in the car, I know the guys at the club will gladly help unload it.”
“No problem,” Owen said as he lifted the boxes.
Mary glanced at me. “Thank you so much for letting me pretty much clean out your case,” she said. “I hope I get a chance to stop by again sometime.”
“I’d like that,” I said, meaning it. “And you buying everything just means we can close a little earlier tonight,” I said with a wink.
She smiled, warm and unassuming. “Good. Then I’ll see you around, and hopefully you can get a little extra rest tonight with closing early.”
And just like that, she tucked the bag to her chest and headed for the door, with Owen following behind.
Marcy and Jessa flanked me and watched as Mary led Owen to her car parked across the street.
“I like her,” Marcy said.
“Yeah, she’s nice,” Jessa agreed.
They both glanced at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You just met your hot biker’s mom,” Marcy laughed. “You don’t have anything to say?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have a hot biker.”
Jessa scoffed. “Please. I watched how that man looked at you. If you would have crooked your finger at him, he would have come running.”
I scoffed. Saint was not at all the type of man who would come running. If anything, he was the type of man that made people run to him. “Saint is not mine, and he is not going to be.”
“Sure,” Jessa and Marcy sang in unison.
I rolled my eyes again.
“You just happen to be going out on a date with him tomorrow night,” Marcy reminded me.
“It’s not a date,” I insisted. “It’s just a drink.”
They nodded like I was full of shit.
“It’s just a drink, guys,” I repeated. And I wasn’t even sure I was going to go.
“Then why don’t Marcy and I come have a drink with you guys?” Jessa offered.
“Yeah,” Marcy said as she leaned against the bakery case. “Just a bunch of friends having a drink.”
“Or,” I drawled, “you guys can go have a drink with him, and I can close down the bakery? I think that will work since we all can’t go.”
“Wait, wait,” Marcy sputtered, backtracking. “He wanted you to have a drink with him, not me and Jessa.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure Brad would not be cool with me having a drink with Biker McHotty Pants,” Jessa confessed. “Unless you were there, Belle.”
I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Yeah,” Marcy agreed. “I think only you need to go since it’s just a drink and not a date.”
“See, I knew you guys would see it my way. Just a drink, and Saint is not mine.”
They both glanced at each other but didn’t argue anymore.
“Now, since the case is pretty much empty except for a few gingerbread men, let’s start cleaning the case, and we can be out of here by six instead of having to wait until close to clean.”
Marcy pumped her fist in the air. “Now that is something I can get down with.”
The bell above the door jingled, and Owen walked in. “She tipped me twenty bucks for loading them into her car,” he explained.
“Hell yeah,” Jessa cheered. “Biker McHotty has a pretty cool mom.”
“Who?” Owen asked, confused.
Marcy waved her hand at him. “Never mind, Owen. Just finish the house you were working on, and then we can get the hell out of here.”
Owen didn’t ask any questions. We had all been working our butts off, and getting out of work a half an hour earlier than normal sounded good to everyone.
That night, long after the last customer left and the lights of Cookie Haven dimmed, I sank onto my couch with Salt’s head heavy on my thigh and Pepper curled at my feet.
My phone buzzed with another online order notification.
I stared at it until the screen went dark.
This was what I needed, but hell if it didn’t feel like I was working myself into the ground.
I could do this. Just a little longer. Just through Christmas.
Then I could breathe.