Chapter Four
Saint
By the time Friday rolled around, I’d stopped pretending Belle Frost wasn’t under my skin.
I tried telling myself it was concern. That was the easiest lie. She was overworked and clearly dealing with something she didn’t want to talk about. Any decent man would notice. Any decent man would want to make sure she was okay.
But concern didn’t explain the way my chest tightened every time I walked into Cookie Haven and saw her bent over the counter, flour smudged on her cheek, hair pulled back in a messy knot like she hadn’t had the energy to care.
It didn’t explain how I found excuses to ride past the bakery twice yesterday and three times today, just to see the lights on and know she was okay.
Concern didn’t explain why I wanted to put my hands on her and have my way with her.
There was just something about her that drew me to her, and I was done trying to deny it.
On Monday, I was having a little meeting with Bill McClure to take care of her dad’s debt, and then Belle would be free from the worry that she had to run herself into the ground to fix everything.
I wouldn’t let her crush herself under someone else’s mess.
I stopped by my mom’s place before heading to the bakery. Yesterday she had stopped at the clubhouse with forty pounds of cookies and desserts from Cookie Haven.
The guys had devoured everything, and there had been just a few cookies left this morning.
Her house looked like Christmas had thrown up on it in the best possible way. Lights blinked along the roofline. A wreath the size of a small tire hung on the door. Inflatable reindeer guarded the lawn like they meant business.
I knocked once before letting myself in.
“Saint?” she called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
“It’s sure not Santa Claus,” I said.
She laughed and appeared in the doorway as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Wanted to make sure you were ready,” I said. Something told me this gingerbread house was not going to be some small shack. “You making something?”
“I’m ready, and I was making some cornflake wreaths. Want to help? Just don’t break my mixer like you did two years ago.”
“It was already on its way out.”
“Lies,” she said fondly.
I leaned against the counter and watched her work. This was where I got my patience from. My steadiness. My ability to sit with something until it was done right.
“You on the way to pick up the gingerbread house?” she asked casually.
“Yeah.”
She smiled, soft and knowing. “I’m excited to see it. Make sure you say hi to Belle for me.” She plopped a blob of green marshmallow-covered cornflakes on the wax paper. “She was so nice to me yesterday.”
“You wanna tell me why you suddenly decided to go to Cookie Haven yesterday?”
She shrugged and shaped the cornflakes to look like a wreath, and then put a few cinnamon candies on. “I just wanted to see the bakery during the holiday time. Barb was telling me about it the other day, and I wanted to see it for myself.” She glanced up at me. “Belle sure is nice.”
That was the second time she had said she was nice. “You trying to say something, Mom?”
She laughed lightly. “Just that Belle is very nice.”
“And?”
She paused. “And maybe the two of you could get to know each other. She’s so talented, pretty, and—”
“Nice,” I finished.
Mom nodded. “You noticed, too?”
I shook my head and chuckled. “I noticed all three of those things, Mom, among other things.”
“What things?” she asked.
“I think she needs some help.”
She eyed me closely. “Like you and your friends can help with?”
“They’re my brothers, Mom, and yeah. Though I’m going to handle it myself.”
“Don’t go getting arrested, Saint. Christmas is only six days away,” she warned.
“No one is going to get arrested. I promise to be here on Christmas Day.”
She made a few wreaths, and I could tell she was mulling something over in her mind. “What kind of trouble is she in? Maybe she isn’t as nice as I thought she was.”
“It’s not her problem, Mom.”
She glanced at me. “Then why does she need help?”
I sighed heavily. “Because her dad got into some money trouble, and now the people are going after Belle to get the money.” I didn’t want to tell my mom what was going on because it wasn’t my business to tell, but I didn’t want her to think that Belle was some kind of trouble.
“Good people don’t go after someone else for money,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I know, Mom. That’s why I’m going to handle it for Belle.”
She made a few more wreaths. “I think you should help Belle.”
“It’s almost like you didn’t listen to me the last two minutes. That is exactly what I am going to do,” I drawled.
She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t sass your mother, boy. I may have called you Saint, but you’re not acting like one right now.”
“I’m not sassing you, Mom, but you’re telling me to help Belle like I didn’t just tell you that I was.”
She shrugged. “I guess I just needed to come to the same conclusion that you did on your own.”
I pushed off the counter. “I’m gonna go pick up your gingerbread house. Belle and I are going out for a drink after.”
Her face lit up. “You’re bringing Belle with you to drop off the gingerbread house?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m picking up the house, bringing it to you, and then going back to the bakery to pick up Belle. I don’t really think our first date should involve coming to my mom’s house. I’m thirty-four, not fourteen.”
She wrinkled her nose but didn’t argue. “Fine, I’ll be waiting.”
I pressed a kiss to her cheek and headed out the door.
Cookie Haven was even busier than usual when I pulled up.
Late Friday afternoon, six days before Christmas, and the place looked like a snow globe full of chaos. People lined up outside. Kids pressed their noses to the windows. Inside, I could see Belle moving fast, directing traffic like a general.
I waited.
Didn’t rush in. Didn’t want to add to the pressure.
When I finally stepped inside, warmth wrapped around me. Heat, sugar, spice, and that familiar pull I couldn’t shake. Belle looked up from the register, relief flickering across her face before she caught herself.
“You’re right on time,” she said.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I replied.
She disappeared into the back and came out a moment later carrying a large white box tied with a red ribbon. She set it on the counter carefully, like it was alive.
“Classic design,” she said. “Snow-dusted roof. Sugar lights in the windows. I even added a little wreath on the door.”
I opened the box.
The gingerbread house was perfect. Not flashy. Not overdone. Just… warm. Inviting. Like something you’d want to come home to.
My throat tightened.
“She’s going to freak out,” I said.
Belle laughed, tired but genuine. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“I won’t,” I said. “She’ll say you’re crazy for apologizing for being so talented.”
Our eyes met, and for a second the noise faded away. The line. The music. Everything but her.
“We still on for that drink?” I said quietly.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I have Salt and Pepper. By the time I take them home and get ready, I’m going to be exhausted.”
I nodded slowly. “Understandable.” Her eyes flickered with disappointment at my agreeing so quickly that we wouldn’t have a drink tonight.
I paid, lifted the box, and hesitated. “So let’s have dinner tonight.”
She blinked. “Dinner?”
“Nothing fancy,” I added. “Just food. You, me. The dogs at your place.”
She laughed softly. “You’re willing to change your plans for my dogs?”
I shrugged. “They’re pretty cool dogs.”
She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she’d say no.
Then she sighed. “Okay.”
Relief hit me harder than it should have.
She wrote down her address and tucked it into the pocket of my leather jacket. “I should be home by six fifteen. I don’t have any food in my house other than dry kibble, eggs, bagels, and three apples.”
I chuckled. “I will be there around six thirty with dinner.”
She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I will see you then.”
I walked out to my truck and set the large box on the passenger seat.
Belle and I weren’t going for a drink, but this was going to be even better.
Her house where she would be relaxed and just the two of us. Well, and Salt and Pepper.
Sounded like a damn good night to me.