Page 84 of Not Your Average Vixen
“It’s our grandma Dasher’s recipe,” Bridget added.
“Dasher, you say?” Agnes asked.
“Yes, I’m Bridget Dasher, but everyone calls me Birdie. And that’s my sister, Lori Dasher.”
Ernie glanced around the room. “Dasher sisters and new friends, thank you for breathing Christmas spirit into our Kringle Cupid Bakery location.”
“You’re not out of business yet,” he blurted, like an idiot.
And again, everyone stared at him.
“The Angels have until the day after Christmas before we begin liquidation,” he added, knowing instantly that little tidbit didn’t make him look any less scrooge-like.
“That’s not even a week, Scooter,” Grace said with a crease to her brow.
“Well, it’s…” he began, but Ernie Angel cut him off.
“Oh, it’s plenty of time.”
He stared at the man. “It is?”
“We’ve seen a holiday miracle or two in our day, haven’t we, Agnes?”
Soren gave the couple a forced grin and a curt nod. This wasn’t some Christmas Story with a happy ending for the lovely old bakers.
That didn’t happen in the real world.
Short of Santa dropping off a sack full of millions and a bold operating plan, there was largely nothing that could save their business. Hell, only a handful of locations were even open at this point.
“We should be getting back to our friends. Merry Christmas to all!” Ernie said with the finesse of the real Santa as he opened the door for Agnes and the Angels left the bakery.
No one spoke. Cole didn’t even ask him about Christmas fairies for the fifty billionth time.
“Scooter, how very sad. Is there nothing you can do to help those lovely people?” Grace asked, shaking her head when a kitchen timer cut through the heaviness that had overtaken the bakery.
Nancy turned it off. “Sorry, I forgot that I set the timer, so we’d know when to leave to deliver the cookies to the Kringle town square. We should head out now if we want to get to the Kringle Cares group in time.”
Bridget manufactured a grin, but he could see that, beneath her faux pleasant demeanor, she was seething.
“Why don’t you each take a box and head out. I’ll get the last batch ready to go.Scooter, would you mind staying behind to help out?”
Fucking festive fruitcake! She was gearing up for a fight when he needed everything to go back to normal—or whatever normal he’d stumbled into after falling into bed with her.
No, the normal he needed would only return the minute the Dasher sisters were out of the picture.
That’s what he wanted, right?
That’s what it had to be. It was the only damn way he could go on.
“Sure thing,Birdie,” he answered, manufacturing a plastic grin of his own, as the rest of the group left the shop and headed for the square.
Bridget closed the last box, then pinned him with her gaze. “Why didn’t you say anything about owning the Cupid Bakeries?”
He took off his apron and put on his coat. “It’s none of your business.”
“I’m baking in their shop. Well, your shop. Who knew you were a baker?” she added with a nice helping of go-fuck-yourself infused into her reply.
“I’m not a baker. I’m a—”
