Page 34 of Sweet Christmas Comeback
“The route’s fine,” she said, focusing very hard on cutting out perfect circles. “We worked out all the timing during the trial run. As long as he starts at six and keeps to fifteen-minute rides, people will have plenty of time to visit all three stations between runs.”
“But you should probably confirm with him,” Mabel pressed gently. “Make sure he knows where the booths will be, coordinate the?—”
“He knows the plan,” Jade cut in, her voice sharper than intended. “We spent hours on it. It’s all documented. He doesn’t need me to hold his hand through the logistics.”
The kitchen went quiet except for the hum of the oven and the clink of cooling racks.
“Honey,” Mabel said softly, “what happened between you two?”
Jade pressed the cookie cutter down with unnecessary force. “Nothing happened. We had a professional disagreement about the bakery’s future. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” Felicity repeated, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe a word of it. “Right. That’s why you’ve been avoiding his name like it’s cursed, and why you flinched when Mabel mentioned talking to him.”
“I didn’t flinch.”
“You absolutely flinched.” Felicity set down her phone and crossed her arms. “Jade, we’re your friends. You can tell us what happened.”
Jade transferred cookies to a baking sheet with mechanical precision. She could feel both women watching her, waiting.
“He thinks I’m going to leave,” she said finally, the words coming out flat. “He thinks I came back here to play small-town baker until something better comes along. That I’m just looking for an excuse to run.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Felicity said immediately. “You’ve been working yourself to exhaustion for this place.”
“Apparently, that doesn’t matter.” Jade lined up another row of cookies, keeping her hands busy so they wouldn’t shake. “The moment I admitted we might have to sell, he took it as proof that I never really cared. That I was always going to bail.”
Mabel made a soft sound of understanding. “Oh, pumpkin. Leo’s been hurt before. His sister-in-law?—”
“I know about Lisa,” Jade interrupted. “And I’m sorry she left, truly. But I’m not her. And I’m tired of being punished for other people’s choices.”
She slid the baking sheet into the oven with more force than necessary, then turned to face them both.
“But you know what? It doesn’t matter. We’re not selling. We’re making this festival spectacular, and we’re going to show this whole town what Sugar Pine Sweets can do. With or without Leo Carter’s belief in us.”
The fierce determination in her voice seemed to satisfy them both. Mabel smiled and went back to her mixing bowl. Felicity picked up her phone to capture another angle of the cookie display.
But inside, beneath the determination and the anger and the sheer stubborn refusal to give up, there was a Leo-shaped ache that Jade was working very hard to ignore.
“So tomorrow,” she said, focusing on the practical, the manageable, “we do a final inventory and prep. Saturday we bake fresh batches of everything. Sunday?—”
“Sunday we knock their Christmas socks off,” Felicity finished.
“I like that plan,” Mabel said.
Jade pulled out her color-coded timeline, making notes about Friday’s tasks.
“Jade?” Mabel’s voice pulled her back to the present. “You’re frowning at that spreadsheet like it insulted your mother.”
“Just thinking through contingencies,” Jade lied, forcing her expression to smooth. “Making sure we’re covered if anything goes wrong.”
“Nothing’s going wrong,” Felicity declared with the confidence of someone who’d clearly never tried to organize atown festival while nursing a broken heart. “This is going to be perfect. Trust me.”
She gathered her bags and headed for the door. "I need to get home and finish the signage for the booths. Text me if you need anything!"
The door jingled shut behind her, leaving Jade and Mabel alone in the warm kitchen. The silence felt heavier without Felicity's brightness to fill it.
"Come on," Mabel said gently. "Let's keep baking. We still need those sugar cookies for tomorrow."
Jade nodded, grateful for the distraction. They fell back into their rhythm—measuring, mixing, rolling. The repetitive motions were soothing, gave her something to focus on besides the Leo-shaped hole in her chest and the impossible electrical bills looming over Monday.
