Page 8 of Holiday at Home
“You know, we decided that after losing her parents and spending the last couple months alone, we’d exclude her from one of her favorite Christmas activities.” Robbie shakes his head, grinning like I’m an idiot. “Come on, man. Of course Vi will be there.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t. I’m rather attached to my balls.”
Robbie shakes his head. “If you survived showing up at the bakery out of the blue, you’ll survive hanging out tonight. It’d be great to get the four of us together again.”
And it’ll offer another opportunity for me to bring up the contract… or at least lay the groundwork for the conversation.
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “That actually sounds like a lot of fun. Just do me a favor, clear it with Violet first. I have no intention of going home a eunuch.”
3
Violet
We run out of baked goods shortly after Simon leaves. Which, in the long tradition of Sterling Bakery, means it’s closing time. I put the “We’re Fresh Out! Come Back Tomorrow!” sign in the front window, smiling over the memory of Mom celebrating a good day with a happy little dance every time she hung it. Elizabeth stays to help clean the kitchen—wiping down the ovens and bowls—and Nora sticks around long enough to tidy the pastry shelves and dining area before she heads home with Nash, leaving me alone to finish up paperwork, schedule a few posts for social media, then snap shots for more.
All in all, it was a good first day. It was great to see this place bustling with people and energy again. There were times, rare moments, where it was almost like Mom and Dad were still here. I think, maybe, they’d be proud.
I step outside into a chilly day, burrowing deeper into my puffy white jacket as I close and lock the bakery behind me. Simon was in shorts. I snort at the memory. He used to complainmore than anyone about winter. A few years up north and suddenly he’s hot in a Florida December.
I wonder what else has changed.
Other than his obvious transformation into a promise breaking, holiday ruining jerk face, obviously.
There was a time in my life when he was my everything—every thought, every need, every idea for the future revolved around Simon Holiday. It was strange seeing him again, standing there like he popped out of my memories reel, and realizing nothing in my life revolves around him.
Except for maybe some residual bitterness and resentment.
But who could blame me there?
I take a few steps down Main Street, toward Town Square where I’m supposed to meet Nora, Robbie, and Nash for the tree-lighting ceremony.
Did I lock the bakery?
I’m sure I did.
I slow, replaying the memory of slipping the key into the lock and it has all the feelings of fact. I resume my pace, but suddenly I can’t stop imagining some random hooligan walking through the unlocked door and wreaking havoc.
Stealing.
Spray painting the walls.
Shattering the glass on my display cases.
Or worse, just lurking in the dark until I show up bright, early, andalonetomorrow morning.
And just like that, I’m hurrying back down the walk and pulling on the one-hundred percent, definitely locked door. I laugh at myself, dragging my hands through my hair.
You’ve got to calm down, Violet. There isn’t a disaster waiting around every corner.
Say it again: there isn’t a disaster waiting around every corner.
I repeat it three more times as I actually round a corner—and run straight into Russ Calder, an on again off again friend from school. I stumble backwards. He does too. His always-grumpy eyes narrow into something worthy of a Dr. Seuss Christmas villain.
“The world would be a whole lot better if people just watched where they were going,” Russ grumbles. He brushes at the front of his black hoodie like I’m covered in dirt. Though, the most likely answer would be confectioner’s sugar…
Oh no…
I glance down and neither of us has a speck of anything out of place.
