Chapter 26
26
T he next morning had me driving toward my bakery at a reasonable hour since it was a Sunday. The past few weeks had been tough, with the competition from Connor’s Sweet Shoppe making me anxious about losing my loyal customers. But now that my newfound confidence was front and center, could I turn that around?
I didn’t have much of an option, if I wanted to keep the bakery going. I was more than willing to do what I had to do to make that happen.
As for the reception the night before, things hadn’t gone the way I’d planned. The charming stranger, whose name was Tom, was a cousin of the groom. He was a good dancer and a decent conversationalist, but when his hands wandered a little too low and his grip grew a little too tight, I found myself increasingly annoyed. He’d said all the right things, and tried to do all the right things, but I just felt bored by him long before the night was over.
Maybe a pharmacist who liked to talk about his BMW just wasn’t my cup of tea.
Or it was because there was no spark. Maybe that’s what it was. No fire between us. And he was too handsy. So, at the end of the night, when he’d asked for my number, I politely turned him down. Spending time with someone just for the sake of it was not what I wanted out of my life.
As I turned down the street of my bakery, I looked up and gasped aloud at the startling sight in front of me. Overnight, a stunning metal arch had appeared, spanning from one side of Main Street to the other. It connected my historic bakery with the new candy shop, The Sweet Shoppe, in the most enchanting way.
The arch soared above the street, illuminated by twinkling white lights that complemented the strings of lights already draped across the road. It was wrapped in a lush, realistic-looking evergreen garland, giving it a festive and timeless charm. The archway was a masterpiece, meticulously adorned with pinecones, red berries, and delicate silver ornaments that caught the morning light and sparkled like stars.
I parked my car along the side of the curb near the bakery and got out, still marveling at the beautiful archway. And as the townspeople began to stir and make their way to work or morning errands, their reactions mirrored my own. Gasps of delight and murmurs of astonishment filled the air. Children pointed excitedly, tugging at their parents’ sleeves, while couples paused to take in the beauty, some even snapping photos to capture the moment.
“Look at that! Isn’t it just magical?” one woman exclaimed.
“Who could have done this?” another voice chimed in. “It’s like something out of a Christmas movie!”
The arch not only created a beautiful connection between Bell’s Bakery and The Sweet Shoppe, but also seemed to bring the entire town together. People lingered beneath it, chatting and laughing, sharing in the unexpected joy it brought to their morning.
As I stood there, basking in the collective awe of my fellow townspeople, a thought crossed my mind. I had my suspicions about who might be behind this delightful surprise. Joy hadn’t mentioned it, so it couldn’t have been one of her initiatives. The fact that the arch connected Connor’s shop and mine led me to a more obvious conclusion.
With a smile on my face and a thrill of what it might mean, I went into the bakery and started getting ready to start the day. Ella followed half an hour later, bubbling over with enthusiasm for the beautiful arch outside our front window.
I quickly filled her in on my night, from the amazing compliments Connor and I had gotten regarding his chocolates and my wedding cake, to Connor’s odd reaction when I tried to kiss him in the gazebo, and ending with my dances with Tom.
By the time I’d told her everything, she was already shaking her head. “Tom sounds like a complete bore,” Ella said as she slid a tray of cinnamon rolls into the display case. “You don’t need that. I’m more curious about Connor.” She pointed outside the window where people were still marveling at the arch. “Why would he get twitchy one minute, then leave the party and come here and build you this amazing display? It doesn’t make sense.” She glanced at me. “We’re sure he was the one who built it, right?”
“Pretty sure. I left him a voicemail this morning, but I haven’t heard back from him.”
Her eyebrows went up in appreciation. “You have his number? Good for you.”
I sighed. “I used the number for the Sweet Shoppe, so don’t be too impressed. We never got any farther than some basic flirting, that’s all.”
The thing about best friends is that sometimes they know us better than we know ourselves.
Like when we’re not willing to admit the truth. Good best friends let that slide. Great best friends call you on your own denial.
“Riiiiiiight,” Ella said, pursing her lips. “Basic flirting. That’s what it was. Yep.” She leaned over the counter. “I think if I hadn’t opened that freezer door when I did, something in there was going to melt from all the heat being generated.”
I gave her a side-eye glare. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something useful?” I asked. “Mopping and scrubbing the kitchen, for example.”
I got a huff of dismissal in response. “That place is spotless, and you know it. Let’s get opened, okay?”
Chores done and fresh goodies on display, I walked to the front door, flipped over the OPEN sign, and braced myself for whatever awaited.
To my immense relief, I found a bunch of customers already waiting outside. Their faces lit up as they saw me, and they began to file in eagerly.
“Morning, Ivy! We missed you!” Mrs. Thompson called out, her smile as warm as the morning sun.
“Your cinnamon rolls are just the thing I needed today,” Mr. Hargrove added, his eyes twinkling with delight.
And just like that, as if nothing had changed, the bakery was packed, and it wasn’t just my usual customers. New faces mingled with the familiar ones—perhaps drawn in by the buzz of the wedding the night before or the gorgeous new arch over the street, or maybe they were simply craving the comfort of homemade treats. The display cases were a riot of color and sweetness, filled with cupcakes, cookies, mini pies, cinnamon rolls, sweet breads, and, of course, the coffee bar that always brought in extra foot traffic.
I felt a rush of joy and relief wash over me. The sight of my bakery filled to the brim, the hum of conversation, the clinking of plates and cups—it was everything I loved about this place. It wasn’t just a business… it was a community hub, a little slice of holiday magic where people came to share a moment of happiness. I glanced up at the pictures of my grandmother and great-grandmother on the wall, and felt a deep sense of pride at what they’d accomplished.
At what we all had accomplished.
Connor’s Sweet Shoppe might have sparked my worries, but today, the bakery was a testament to the love and support of my customers. Whether it was because of the wedding cake or simply because they had missed me, they had come back, and that filled me with a profound sense of gratitude.
“Looks like business is booming,” Ella said with a grin as she handed a customer their order.
“Yeah,” I replied, a smile spreading across my face. “Thank goodness.”
I moved behind the counter, chatting with customers, taking orders, and serving up my beloved pastries and coffees. The bakery buzzed with life, and as I worked, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of happiness and fulfillment. This was my place, my passion, and seeing it thrive once more was the best feeling in the world.
As the day wound down and the last customer left, I began the familiar routine of closing up the bakery. I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and started cleaning up the counter, putting away the very few leftover pastries, and wiping down the surfaces until they gleamed. The bakery was quiet now, a stark contrast to the bustling activity of the day, and I couldn’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment. Despite the busy day and the numerous customers, I hadn’t seen Connor once, and I had to wonder why. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d peeked out of the bakery’s front window several times, trying to catch a glimpse of him at The Sweet Shoppe. His absence felt like a missing piece in an otherwise perfect day.
Even if he hadn’t wanted to kiss me, but I tried not to think too much about that.
I locked up the bakery and headed to my car, ready to make my way to my family’s house for our traditional Sunday night dinner. As I drove through the quaint streets of Jingle Junction, the twinkling holiday lights and festive decorations reminded me of the magic of this place, and I started to feel a little better.