Page 29 of Sweet Christmas Comeback
“With what collateral?” Jade asked. “The bakery’s already mortgaged to the hilt. My credit’s shot from six months ofunemployment. Who’s going to loan money to someone with no assets and no guaranteed income?”
“Crowdfunding?” Mabel offered hopefully. “I’ve heard people raise money online for all sorts of things.”
“Maybe,” Jade said doubtfully. “But that takes time, and we’d need to be closed on Monday if we don’t have the money for immediate repairs.”
Felicity was unusually quiet, her normally bright demeanor subdued. “There is one other option,” she said finally.
“What?”
“You could sell.”
The words hung in the air like smoke from a snuffed candle. Jade stared at her friend, processing the suggestion that felt both logical and devastating.
“Mr. Connors mentioned last month that he’d be interested if Mabel ever wanted to retire,” Felicity continued quietly. “He’s been looking for a downtown location for his catering business. He’d probably pay enough to cover the mortgage and leave something for Mabel’s retirement.”
“Sell Sugar Pine Sweets?” Mabel’s voice was very small.
“It would solve the immediate problem,” Felicity said gently. “No electrical bills, no inspector problems. Clean break.”
Jade looked around the bakery—at the gleaming display case Leo had helped her fix, at the fresh pine garland they’d hung together, at the careful notes she’d made about festival routes and customer preferences, at her great-grandmother’s fruitcake plaque. Two weeks ago, this place had been a desperate last resort. Now it felt like home.
“I need some air,” she said abruptly, grabbing her coat.
“Jade—” Mabel started.
“I just need to think,” Jade said, already heading for the door. “I’ll be back.”
The December air was sharp and clean, carrying the scent of snow and wood smoke from chimneys around the square. Jade walked without any particular destination, her mind churning through options that all seemed to lead to the same conclusion: she was going to fail again.
She’d come to Frost Pine Ridge to save the bakery, to prove she could accomplish something meaningful. Instead, she was facing the possibility of watching it disappear entirely, of letting down Mabel, who’d trusted her with the family legacy.
Without consciously deciding to, she found herself walking toward the reindeer farm. Leo would understand the business realities, the impossible mathematics of small-town economics. He’d faced similar challenges with the farm, had probably wrestled with the same kinds of decisions about whether to keep fighting or cut losses.
She found him in the barn, grooming Vixen with long, steady strokes that seemed to calm both him and the reindeer. The space was warm and fragrant with hay and leather, peaceful in a way that made her shoulders relax for the first time all morning.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He looked up immediately reading something in her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Danny Morrison finished the electrical assessment.” She leaned against the stall door, suddenly exhausted. “Eight to twelve thousand dollars to bring everything up to code.”
Leo’s hands stilled on the brush. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Jade laughed, but it came out hollow. “So much for my grand plans to save the bakery.”
“There have to be other options,” Leo said, setting down the brush and turning to face her fully. “Loans, grants, something.”
“With what collateral? What credit history?” Jade shook her head. “I keep thinking I’m missing something obvious, but themath is pretty straightforward. We don’t have the money, and we can’t operate without the repairs.”
Leo was quiet for a moment, studying her face. “What are you going to do?”
The question she’d been avoiding all morning hung between them. Jade took a shaky breath.
“Felicity thinks we should sell. Mr. Connors wants to expand his catering business, and he’d probably pay enough to cover the mortgage.” The words tasted bitter. “Clean break. No more electrical problems, no more inspector visits, no more failing at something else.”
Something shifted in Leo’s expression—a shuttering, a drawing back that she felt like a physical chill.
“Sell,” he repeated, his voice carefully neutral.
