Page 5 of Sweet Christmas Comeback
“Why not? It’s her home.”
“Felt like she couldn’t wait to leave it,” Leo said, the words coming out sharper than he intended. It was an old hurt, one he thought he’d buried under years of responsibility and routine. But seeing her, just for a second, had unearthed it as easily as turning over a shovelful of soil. Her leaving hadn’t just been about going to college; it had felt like a verdict on Frost Pine Ridge, on everyone who stayed. Especially him.
Brice shot him a knowing look. “Still holding onto that, are you?”
“Holding on to what? I’m busy. This fence isn’t going to hold if Comet decides it’s his personal teething ring.” He gave the post a hard shake to demonstrate its sturdiness. It barely budged. “This farm needs a hundred things, most of them more important than whatever she’s doing back here.”
“She’s probably helping Mabel. Bakery’s in bad shape,” Brice said, his gaze drifting over to Sugar Pine Sweets. “And this fence isn’t going to hold long term, anyway. You need to replace the whole west-facing line before spring thaw, and that’s a couple grand you don’t have.”
The casual truth of it landed like a stone in Leo’s gut. Brice was right. The farm was a constant battle against time and decay. Every dollar he made from sleigh rides and the town’s Christmas festival appearances went right back into feed, vet bills, and patching up equipment that was older than he was. Heloved this life, but some days it felt like he was treading water in a very cold pond.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said, his default answer for most problems.
“You always do,” Brice agreed, but his eyes were back on the bakery. “Funny, her showing up right before the Tree Lighting.”
Leo grunted. The Tree Lighting ceremony was the holiest day in the Frost Pine Ridge holiday calendar, orchestrated with military precision and fanatical glee by Mayor Clark.
The back door of the bakery opened again, and Leo’s attention snapped back to it, a reflex he couldn’t control. It was just Mabel this time, shaking out a flour-dusted rug.
His shoulders slumped with a feeling he refused to name—disappointment.
“You’re distracted,” Brice observed, his voice laced with amusement.
“I’m cold,” Leo retorted, turning his back on the bakery and heading for the barn. “Let’s get this done. I’ve got to feed the herd.”
He tried to put her out of his mind, to focus on the familiar rhythm of his chores—the scrape of the shovel, the scent of fresh hay, the soft nudges of his reindeer looking for their evening meal. But her image was stuck there, a bright, unexpected splash of color against the muted winter landscape of his life.
He found himself thinking about physics class, how she’d chewed on her pen when she was concentrating, how her laugh had been the best sound in the world for about three months of his senior year.
He remembered standing by her locker, the words “Do you want to go to the winter formal with me?” caught in his throat like a fish bone. He’d been about to get them out when Brad Peterson, captain of everything, had swaggered over to complain about practice. The moment was lost. A few months later, shewas gone, and Leo had learned a valuable lesson: don’t wait for moments. Better yet, don’t want them in the first place. It saved a lot of trouble.
He closed the heavy barn door, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. The sun was setting, painting the snow in shades of pink and lavender. It was beautiful. It was peaceful.
And now Jade Bennett was back next door, threatening to mess it all up.
CHAPTER THREE
Jade stood in the middle of the bakery at six a.m. the next morning, notepad in hand, making what might have been the most depressing list of her life. “Okay, Mabel, let’s see exactly what we’re dealing with.”
The sun wasn’t even up yet, but inside the bakery there was enough light to see every flaw, every sign of neglect that had accumulated like dust in the corners. What had looked merely tired yesterday now revealed itself to be genuinely broken.
“Start with the big things,” Mabel said gently, wrapping her hands around a steaming mug of coffee. “The ones that actually stop us from baking.”
Jade clicked her pen with the precision of a general preparing for battle. “Right. Big things first.” She walked to the massive commercial oven that dominated the back wall, its chrome surface dulled with age and streaked with grease. She opened the heavy door and immediately felt the problem—a blast of heat that should have been contained.
“The door seal’s shot,” she announced, running her finger along the cracked rubber gasket. “And the temperature gauge is reading fifty degrees off what my thermometer says.”
Item 1: Oven—door seal replacement, thermostat calibration. Est. cost: $300-500.
Pen scratched against paper as she moved to the display case, its interior lit by a collection of fluorescent tubes that flickered like dying fireflies. Half were completely dark, the others cast a sickly yellow glow that made even fresh pastries look stale.
“Display lighting,” she muttered. Item 2: Replace fluorescent fixtures. Est. cost: $200.
The tour continued with mounting horror. The commercial mixer’s motor housing was cracked, held together with what appeared to be electrical tape and hope. The kitchen sink drained with the enthusiasm of a stopped-up bathtub. The front door stuck so badly that customers had to throw their full weight against it to enter. The beautiful vintage tin ceiling was water-stained in three places, suggesting roof leaks that had been temporarily patched.
“The hot water takes five minutes to reach the sink,” Jade noted, testing the ancient faucet. “And the water pressure could barely power a drinking fountain.”
Mabel nodded sadly. “The plumber wanted eight hundred just to look at it. I’ve been heating water in pots when I need it hot.”
