Page 3 of Sweet Christmas Comeback
Enough.
“This isn’t a rough patch,” she said, snapping her notebook open. “This is a five-alarm fire, and I’m not letting it burn down our bakery.”
She scrawled the first item: Fix the lights. Even if it meant duct tape and sarcasm.
Second: Find out why the refrigerator was making that weird noise.
Third: Figure out how to improve the oven’s mood.
Fourth: Pass whatever inspection Cecily threw at them.
Her pen scratched furiously. Her pulse kept pace.
Mabel blinked at her, awe and worry mingling. “Pumpkin…”
Jade looked up, eyes blazing.
“This bakery is not going to be another one of my failures,” she vowed. “This is the one I don’t accept.”
The dying Christmas lights blinked again—still uneven, still weak—but for Jade Bennett, it sounded like a war drum.
The narrow staircase behind the bakery’s kitchen creaked with each step, the worn wooden boards singing a familiar song that transported Jade back to summers spent helping Mabel during high school.
She’d left her suitcase in the car to get later, but her duffel bag felt heavier than it should have as she followed her aunt up the steep climb, past framed photographs of Sugar Pine Sweets’ glory days—ribbon cuttings, holiday celebrations, three generations of satisfied customers holding elaborately decorated cakes.
“I’ve kept the guest room ready,” Mabel said over her shoulder, slightly breathless from the climb. “Well, mostly ready. Had to evict a family of mice last week, but they were very polite about relocating.”
The apartment above the bakery wrapped around them like a warm hug the moment they reached the top of the stairs. Everything was exactly as Jade remembered from childhood visits—mismatched furniture that somehow worked perfectly together, hand-knitted afghans draped over every surface, and the persistent scent of vanilla that seemed to have soaked intothe very walls after decades of baking below. Mason jars filled with buttons and ribbon lined the windowsills, catching the last rays of December sunlight and casting rainbow patterns across the hardwood floors.
The guest room sat at the back of the apartment, its single window overlooking what had once been an empty field. Mabel pushed open the door with a theatrical flourish that couldn’t quite disguise her nervousness. “It’s not much, but?—”
“It’s perfect,” Jade interrupted, and meant it completely.
The room held the particular stillness of a space that had been waiting patiently for purpose. A wedding ring quilt covered the narrow bed, its pattern of interlocking circles faded to soft pastels by years of washing and sunshine. The dresser top was clear except for a small lamp and a mason jar filled with dried lavender that released its calming scent when Jade brushed against it. Everything spoke of careful preparation—fresh sheets, towels folded precisely on the chair, even a small vase of pine boughs on the nightstand that made the room smell like Christmas morning.
“I wasn’t sure you’d really come,” Mabel admitted, hovering in the doorway as Jade set her bag on the chair. “When you called last week, you sounded so... tired.”
Jade turned toward the window, ostensibly to admire the view but really to avoid the concern in her aunt’s eyes. The field behind the bakery had been transformed since her last visit—wooden fencing marked clear boundaries, and she could make out the peaked roof of what looked like a substantial barn in the distance. “What happened to the Hendersons’ back pasture?” she asked, grateful for a safe topic.
Mabel’s face brightened immediately, moving to stand beside Jade at the window. “Oh, that’s not the Hendersons’ anymore. They sold about five years ago. It’s a reindeer farm now—can you believe it? Real live reindeer, right here in Frost Pine Ridge.” Shepointed toward the barn with obvious pride. “Leo Carter runs it. You remember Leo, don’t you? From high school?”
The name hit Jade like a snowball to the chest—unexpected, cold, and somehow thrilling all at once. Leo Carter. Sandy hair that never behaved, brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled, the boy who’d helped her build a bridge for physics class that had held forty-seven pounds before spectacular collapse. The same Leo who’d almost asked her to winter formal junior year, who’d lingered by her locker with obvious intent until Brad Peterson had interrupted with drama about basketball tryouts.
She’d left for college before anything serious could develop between them, but the possibility had hummed in the background of her senior year like a song she couldn’t quite remember all the words to.
“Oh, he’s still in town?” Jade asked, aiming for casual interest and hoping her voice didn’t betray the sudden flutter in her pulse.
Mabel’s eyes absolutely sparkled, the kind of gleam that meant she’d caught something significant in Jade’s tone and filed it away for future reference. “Still here, still single. Sweet boy, though a bit stubborn about accepting help. Some people think he’s too tied to this place for his own good.”
“Hmm,” Jade replied, which was about as noncommittal as she could manage while her brain cycled through a dozen questions she absolutely could not ask without revealing far too much interest.
“Come on,” Mabel said, her voice carrying new energy as she turned toward the door. “You can unpack later. Right now, you need feeding, and I need company. It gets too quiet up here in the evenings.”
The admission was casual, but it hit Jade with unexpected force. Mabel had been alone up here for how long? Years of evenings with just the radio and whatever book she was reading,the sounds of the town settling into night outside her windows while she rattled around in an apartment meant for family gatherings and holiday celebrations.
The kitchen occupied most of the apartment’s front space, its windows overlooking Main Street and the town square where the giant spruce stood waiting for the lighting ceremony. Everything here was scaled for someone who cooked with love rather than efficiency—deep farmhouse sink, vintage stove that probably predated Jade’s birth, countertops worn smooth by decades of rolling pins and kneading hands.
Mabel moved through the space with practiced grace, pulling ingredients from cupboards and humming “Silver Bells” under her breath. “Sit,” she commanded, pointing toward the small table that had been positioned to catch both the window light and warmth from the stove. “Tell me about the drive while I make us something resembling dinner.”
