Just Add Mistletoe: Christmas in Gingerbread, Colorado Read online

  The bakery. I sit out front, just looking at the cute pink box of a building with the giant gingerbread cookie as its sign. Holly thought it would get the point across quickly if we used a gingerbread man. That way people who were in a hurry and didn’t have time to read the words Bakery and Café would still get the gist. Holly has been great at marketing, and an even better business partner. I wouldn’t change anything we’ve done with this place.

  “It was fun while it lasted,” I whisper as I let myself inside. The lights are all off, and the entire establishment looks darn right depressing with just the blue cast of natural lighting streaming in from the windows. I head over and flick on every light in the house, something I never do when I’m here early to bake. Holly and I always reprimand one another if we do. Holly figured out that we’d have to sell at least a dozen extra cookies to pay for overused electricity, and hustling cookies is hard enough as it is. I pause as I walk by the refrigerated cases, the glass cases, that the customers get to browse through as they make their selections. At the moment, every cupboard is bare. Holly and I are big on putting all of our inventory away at night in airtight tubs. That way, even if we do sell a day old cookie, we’re still confident that it’s fresh as can be. But looking at the arid spaces where our happy goodies nestle during the day, it just brings me down another notch or twelve. There’s something so sad about empty shelves. Usually I bypass them in the morning without thinking twice, but knowing that they’ll most likely never be filled to the brim again makes my heart ache.

  I make a fresh pot of minty mountain cocoa and head to the kitchen, to the enormous slab of white Carrara marble that Holly and I picked out ourselves at the quarry. I run my hand along it and try to memorize how soft and cool it feels. Even though marble is rock solid, the counter has always felt like velvet to me—most likely because it forever has a film of flour over it. I switch on the ovens without thinking and smile.

  Hey? Maybe baking something is just what the doctor ordered. I need to get my head around what happened last night. And what happened after I left was even stranger. I’m thrilled to hear that Graham still loves me, but I happen to know firsthand that he leaves for New York in the morning. How is it possible that I’m about to lose two things that I love so dearly? The bakery and Graham.

  Boy, one would think you’d have to break a mirror every day of the week for an entire year to have that kind of luck. Not me, though. I somehow managed it effortlessly.

  I pull out every pan and bowl in sight, every ingredient known to mankind, too, still stymied as to what I might make—on this, what will most likely be my final foray in baking in this precious kitchen. I’m just about to pull out the flour when the bells attached to the front door rattle out their sweet refrain.

  Great. I forgot to lock the door behind me. I bet it’s Sabrina looking for scraps before she gives me the big heave-ho.

  “Sorry, we’re closed!” I shout just as I round the corner and come face to face with the most gorgeous man in all of Gingerbread—New York City or the world.

  Graham offers up a sheepish smile and holds out a bright red box with a gold bow on it. “Merry Christmas, Missy,” he says it soft as he holds the gift out between us like a peace offering. But I can’t seem to take my eyes off those blue eyes and dimples. “You think I can hang around even though you’re not open?”

  A thought occurs to me and sends my adrenaline soaring through the ceiling.

  “Where’s Noel?” I ask in a panic in the event he’s left her outside to freeze in the snow. It might be her favorite thing to do, but it doesn’t mean it’s good for her.

  “With my parents. I had breakfast with them this morning, and they were happy to watch her while I stepped out. I had a very important delivery to make.”

  “In that case.” I make a face before a full-on smile takes over. “I think there’s room for one more. Merry Christmas, Graham.” I tick my head for him to follow me to the kitchen, and he does.

  “You look beautiful.” He comes in close, sliding the gift on the counter my way.

  “I’m wearing my sister’s sweats. I’m not even sure they’re clean, but thank you.” My face heats like an oven set to broil. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him. Graham Holiday looks resplendent in his red checkered flannel, his dark inky jeans. I love Graham in a suit—I’d be crazy not to—but there’s just something about him in a flannel that gets my heart racing to unsafe levels, and I love the rush he gives me. It’s safe to say I’m addicted to it.

  “This is for you.” He eyes the gift.

  “Oh, thank you. I, um, don’t have anything for you at the moment.”

  He shakes his head as if I were missing the point. “Go ahead and open it. I think you might like what’s inside.” He shrugs, and the dimples in his cheeks dig in deep. “At least that’s what I’m hoping.”

  “Well, if it’s from you, I’ll love it.” I pull it forward and glide my fingers through the tape on the sides. “Unless it’s a flying snake. I never did appreciate those, you know.” Graham thought it was hysterical to house a rubber snake in just about everything just to watch it pop out and frighten the living daylights out of me.

  Graham belts out a laugh, and just like that, the tension in the room dissipates, melts like snow. “That was simply a tradition I had to uphold, and you know it. But I promise you no flying snakes. Not this time anyway.”

  “Oh!” I laugh along with him. “So I’ll have to keep an eye out for it next time. I see how it goes.” Next time. My heart soars at the prospect, but neither of us has said a word about last night, about the thousands of miles that will separate us starting tomorrow. I take off the wrapping, pull the lid off the box, and gasp. “Graham, no!” I land my hands over my mouth as I tremble just looking at it.

  “Yes. It’s all yours, Missy. My grandmother gave it to me because I’m the oldest, and I’m giving it to you because you’re the wisest.”

  Carefully, I pull out the Holiday family treasure, his Grandmother’s prized cookbook. A gorgeous blue notebook with gilded lettering that reads Recipes. I leaf through it with the utmost care and marvel at the beautiful penmanship that each page harbors.

  “Graham, this is a family heirloom. I don’t think I can accept this.”

  “Too bad. It’s yours. I don’t take gifts back, and there are no exchanges.”

  I’ll admit, I’m a bit terrified to hold it. It’s almost the exact feeling I had when Savy was born and she was placed in my arms at the hospital for the very first time. It’s so precious, fragile even. This is a cherished bit of Holiday family history, the very part that ushered in the era of Holiday Pies. And then I land on a precious page. “Pumpkin pie.” I bite down on a smile as I look to Graham. “I think I know what I’d like to bake right now. In fact”—I flip the page and nod to Graham with a devious smile—“I know two things I’d like to bake.”

  “Great. I’ll help you. We’ll bring them with us tonight to my mother’s annual Christmas party. Rumor has it, your family will be there, too.”

  “I guess we’ll be going together then.” I melt a little at the idea. “We’d better get baking if we want to make it on time.” I set his grandmother’s cookbook over to the clean counter behind me and place a large plastic sheet over the pages so I won’t get any food on it while reading the recipe. The last thing I want to do is ruin this gift that I will treasure until the day I die.

  Graham helps me wash, core, and peel the apples. We get the pumpkin pie mix out and make each of the pies to his grandmother’s specifications.

  “I think this is a good place to stop,” he announces as he pulls the pie crusts out of the oven, a buttery golden brown. I always prebake my pie crusts before adding in the filling because if you don’t you just end up with an ooey gooey mess—but for sure it’s not a good place to call it a day.

  “What do you mean stop? We haven’t even gotten the pies in the oven. It’s a terrible place to stop. I’m pretty sure if I turn up at your mother’s Chris
tmas party with a couple of empty pie shells, your parents will hate me.”

  A dark laugh strums from him because he knows I’m right. “Nobody will hate you, I promise.” He cranes his head to the counter behind me and winces at his grandmother’s cookbook. “Least of all my grandmother.”

  He looks back and hooks into me with those persistent lake blue eyes. Graham Holiday has a way of making you feel as if you’re the most important person in the room. That has always been my favorite part about him. Even when he was vexing me, I still felt as if I were his favorite person to vex, and now that’s a talent.

  “I don’t get it. You lost me at grandmother.”

  “You’ve mixed enough of her ingredients into the pies. Now, let’s bring two Winters’ originals with us. It turns out, the buyers of the local stores are all interested in sampling your ideas. Sabrina told me everything. You saved Holiday Pies, Missy. Thanks to you, the entire crew in Cater gets to keep their jobs. And not only that, there’s about thirty more jobs being added to the roster.”

  “Graham!” I leap over and wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Graham feels solid and warm, so very real, and my heart breaks because at this time tomorrow the only thing I’ll have to hold onto is memories. I pull back and look into those watery blue eyes. “Holly told me about what happened when I left the community center last night.” I wince. “I wish I was there to hear it myself. How did it go again?”

  His chest rumbles with a laugh. “It went something like this”—he tips his head back and shouts—“I love Mistletoe Winters!” he belts it out for the entire neighborhood to hear.

  A laugh ripples through me. “And if I was there, I would have said this”—I tip my head back, readying my vocal cords to perform at the same octave—“I love Graham Holiday!”

  We share a laugh as we settle our gazes on one another.

  “I really do love you, Missy.” He swallows hard. “Did you really think that Sabrina Jarrett and I would make a good couple?” He tilts his head to the side, looking playfully pained.

  My fingers cover my lips a moment. “I may have thought it was a brilliant means to an end.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought. “And now that you’re no longer a couple, I have to give up my winning streak. It’s sort of ironic that I’m no longer batting a thousand thanks to my own interference.”

  “Well, if it’s for your record, I can always go and hunt down Sabrina.”

  I give his ribs a quick pinch. “Don’t you dare!” I laugh at the thought. “She is a monster, though.” My voice grows quiet, but I refuse to let her ruin this beautiful moment. I don’t know how much Sabrina really told him. Her version of everything and reality could very well be two different things.

  “I don’t want to talk about Sabrina,” he whispers, his eyes still pinned to mine as his head inches closer to me.

  “Me either,” I say as the smile glides right off my face.

  Graham glides his lips over mine and kisses me right here in the bakery, in the place that has been the nerve center of my heart for the last three years. But I can officially say that it has been demoted a rung. There’s a new sheriff in town that holds the key to my heart, and his name is Graham Holiday. Our kisses grow with intensity as we hold one another tight. Graham and I have somehow managed to glue ourselves together again, and all is right with the world this beautiful Christmas morning.

  Graham helps me bake two exquisite, delicious designer pies, and once they’re baked and cooled, we box them up. I collect his grandmother’s recipe book as we leave, and I can’t help but give the bakery one last forlorn look before we head out the door. And I wonder deep in my heart if that’s the last time I will ever turn out the lights.

  Graham

  The sign above Holiday Orchards is festooned with garland, strung with lights, and has a giant red bow over the center of it the size of a refrigerator. The ground is covered in snow as far as the eye can see in every direction, and it makes the barn, the main house my parents live in, look all that much more enchanting. It doesn’t take much to turn Holiday Orchards into something out of a fairy tale, but this evening it glows with an otherworldly appeal altogether. Magic lingers in the air, the very same magic that brought me to Missy.

  “That’s an awful lot of cars,” Missy marvels as I end up parking a good distance away. I offered to drop her off at the door, but she insisted she was fine with the short hike. “There must be at least fifty people in there. I guess this is our official debut as a couple.”

  “That it is.” I let Missy know all about my meeting with her brother last night, and she was relieved to know that there wouldn’t be a knock-down, drag-out fight in front of the Christmas tree. “It might be strange for like a minute, but I’m pretty sure that will dissipate quickly. It’s Christmas.” I give her knee a quick pat. “People love a happy ending.”

  We get out, and I do my best to balance the pies as we make our way to the front door. The front of the palatial home I grew up in has lights strung on every available surface. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been a firm believer in the fact you cannot have too much Christmas. Each room in that house is covered with sentiments that represent the holiday, from the entry to the broom closet. Each room has its own miniature tree, and the living room houses one that stretches to the vaulted ceiling. It’s quite a sight, and that’s just the point. It’s safe to say my mother has covered her Holiday territory.

  I stop shy of opening the door and pause to look at Missy. “You are more than stunning tonight.” We stopped off at her house after the bakery, and she changed into something she thought fit the occasion better than her sister’s sweats. But in truth, Missy could have kept the sweats on and still have been the most beautiful woman in that room tonight—in all of Gingerbread. And then, of course, we sat by the fire, warming one another with our arms wrapped around each other, sharing stories from Christmases past. It’s amazing to look back and see how obvious my attraction was to her. I only wish I could have realized my feelings for her sooner.

  “And you look far too gorgeous to ever leave the house,” she says it like a reprimand, but the corners of her lips curl up. “And I love it. Thank you for choosing me.”

  I inch back a notch. “Trust me, I’m the one who’s grateful.” I blink a smile. “I think I’m about to steal a kiss.”

  “Oh?” She glances up. “I don’t see any Mistletoe.”

  “I do.”

  A throaty laugh bubbles from her. “That line will never get old.”

  I steal a quick kiss before we step into the house and shout a cheery, “Merry Christmas!”

  The living room is filled with familiar faces, of family and friends, all of them standing around and mingling while Christmas music fills the air. But the one friendly face we’ve both been dying to see is the one bounding in our direction at the moment.

  “Noel!” Missy falls to the floor as Noel tackles her, and they both roll around in the foyer as if they hadn’t seen one another in months—years. Missy quickly gets on her knees as Noel licks her cheeks. “I have a present for you back at the house.” She plants a kiss over Noel’s forehead and springs to her feet, dusting off her knees as if it were the most natural thing in the world to roll around the floor at a Christmas party. And that’s why I love Missy most—she’s not afraid to just be herself. “Are you sure your mom is okay with having her in the house with so many people? So many potential shoes to gobble up?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s her first grandchild. She wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Mom and Dad step over to greet us, as do Joy and Jack Winters, and we exchange a holiday greeting with each of them.

  “So?” Missy’s mother beams with pride. “I take it everything is back to how it should be?” She looks from Missy to me with the excitement bubbling from her.

  Missy glances my way. “Exactly how it should be. And I want to apologize for that horrible outburst at the auction last night. I hope you’ll all forget ab
out it and put it out of your minds forever.” She shudders at the memory.

  My mother and Joy exchange a quick glance. Finally, Mom clears her throat. “I don’t think we can forget about it entirely. But I do suggest that everyone plays nice tonight.” She glances over her shoulder before leaning in toward Missy. “We have a few extra guests that you might want to steer clear of.”

  I grunt because I may have forgotten all about the fact Tanner insisted on inviting Sabrina.

  Missy stands on her tiptoes a moment until she spots the blight and sucks in a lungful of air. “Wow, I guess that’s the last person I expected to see here tonight.” She squints into the living room. “It looks as if she’s still clinging to Tanner pretty hard.” She looks to me. “Do you think she’s waiting for me to alleviate her of her duties?” Missy filled me in on the plot to send Sabrina in Tanner’s direction. A brilliant move if you ask me. I’d say poor Tanner, but judging by that ear-to-ear grin, he doesn’t look too traumatized by her presence.

  “Why don’t we go over and find out?” I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and both her mother and mine fan themselves at the sight, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. “Excuse us. I think it’s best if we break the ice and start the night off on the right foot.”

  Missy and I head over to the enormous fireplace already roaring with a blazing fire. The exact fire that Tanner and Sabrina are warming themselves by.

  “Merry Christmas,” Missy sings, and the two of them turn to us with pleasant expressions. For the first time since I’ve set foot back in Gingerbread, Sabrina Jarrett doesn’t look as if she’s about to devour me. In fact, judging by the way she’s leaning toward my brother, I’d say her sights are set in another Holiday direction.

  Tanner and Sabrina each offer up a polite merry Christmas, and Tanner actually smiles at me for the first time in years.