Page 7 of Say It Isn't Snow
How long has Leo been standing in the back doorway? Definitely long enough to witness the near-miss with the cart.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks. The worst thing in the world is looking supremely uncool in front of your baby brother.
“Oh god. Pretend you didn’t see any of that,” I say.
“I didn’t see that,” he agrees. “But you may never live it down once I tell Hazel.”
“Thanks,” I reply sardonically.
Good thing our middle sister is usually on my side. Although, the two of them occasionally team up to tease me. If she does, I’ll store the slight away for the perfect moment to dish out some sisterly payback. As siblings, we go to bat to protect one another from anything. But we’re the only ones that are allowed to bust each other’s chops. It’s a unique form of family love.
“I’ll just tell her you made it up since you don’t have video proof. You scared the hell out of me,” I chide.
“You were the one not paying attention to your surroundings.”
He shrugs and swipes one of the glazed gingerbread muffins from a cooling rack. Those are supposed to replenish the counter once the first batch runs out. I give him a flat look that fades quickly once I see his dark blue eyes close with joy at the first bite.
He’s not supposed to eat all my stock, but one muffin won’t hurt. I’m betting he didn’t eat breakfast before he left campus at the college he attends nearby. Knowing him, he rolled out of bed with just enough time to spare for a shower.
One of the reasons I gave him a job was to keep an eye on him to make sure he stays out of trouble, after all. He might be twenty now, but as his oldest sister I’m always going to feel like he’s a little kid. It’s up to me to take care of him.
It’s just the two of us in Mayfield. Our parents live in our small hometown in Vermont a few hours away, and our sister is the only one they have near them in Candlewood. I should call Hazel to check in on how they’re doing. I haven’t talked to Mom in a couple of days.
Guilt pangs briefly in my chest. It’s the same invisible weight I always suffer for moving here permanently instead of returning home after earning my degree. Mayfield was supposed to be a temporary home while I went to college here, but I ended up loving it so much I didn’t want to leave. Landing the perfect opportunity to open my bakery sealed the deal.
“You made it in on time today. Good job.” I ruffle Leo’s reddish-blond hair, smirking when he knocks my hand away with a grumble. Sibling balance restored. “Go sit down and finish your muffin. Do you want something to drink?”
“I’m good.” He parks on a stool and scrolls on his phone while I put the finishing touches on the cookie order.
When I’m done, I finally take a seat for the first time since I came down to the bakery before dawn from my apartment above the shop. I could melt right on the spot from how quickly all my energy seeps from me. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I slowed down.
Wincing, I roll my neck and rub the stiffness in my lower back from leaning over for so long. If I had any spare time for a spa day, I would love some pampering for once.
I jump to my feet when Leo starts bagging the Mrs. Claus cookies. “Don’t forget to tie the bows. I put the ribbon over by the?—”
“Okay, okay, okay. I get it. You’ve told me a hundred times, so you don’t have to overexplain it again,” he says.
“Sorry.” I frown. “Thanks for doing that.”
He nods. I prep a stack of sheer blush pastry bags and grab the spool of ribbon for him anyway to make his task easier.
As I’m checking the batches to see which ones are ready to be packaged, my phone buzzes with a call in my apron pocket. A photo of my best friend tossing confetti at the bakery launch fills the screen, drawing a smile from me.
“Those two tables are ready. These ones need more time to set,” I tell Leo.
I wait for his acknowledgement before leaving through the back door. On my way out to the alley, I answer the call.
“Hi, sorry. I’m at work. What’s up?”
“Oh, I know,” Layla says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You at work is completely normal. It would be more shocking if youweren’tworking.”
I hum, playing with the bow in my hair and bracing for another rehash of her trying to get me to take more than five minutes to rest. She’s been texting me every day to see what my schedule would be this weekend.
“I don’t mind being so busy,” I say. “The extra business is great. Winter makes people want all the sweet, tasty treats. I like knowing things I’ve baked are being shared at all the holiday parties and special moments of the season.”
She clicks her tongue. “That’s exactly why I’m calling. When was the last time you took a vacation?” I start to answer, but she cuts me off. “Ah, ah! Janelle’s bachelorette doesn’t count. You were the one who planned the entire thing, and you barely took the time to enjoy yourself during the whole trip. And that was two years ago.”
“Okay. You win.” I bite my lip. “I don’t remember the last time I actually took a vacation.”
