Page 32 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
“Oh, thank you, Joy. And you know, you can call me Evangeline now.”
“I do know,” I tell her. What I don’t say is that it feels disrespectful to do that, so I’ll continue to call her Mrs. Emerson.
The woman who is almost twenty-five years older than she was when she taught me in class grabs the tray. “Your holiday decorations always look so spectacular.”
“Thank you. It’s my favorite holiday to decorate for,” I tell her unnecessarily. Anyone from here knows I go all-out when it comes to Christmas decorations. My goal each year is to bring the magic of the season into my business. I want it to feel like my bakery was plucked right out of the North Pole.
“It shows. It’s a wonderland of comfort and warmth in here. And the freshly baked goods surely help,” she adds with a smile and a wink before turning to join her husband.
I look up and smile as the bell chimes, announcing another customer. It’s almost nine o’clock, a little after the early morning work crowd rush.
“Please tell me you have one of those spiced cherry turnovers left,” my sister states as she makes a beeline to the counter. “And a very large, very caffeinated beverage. I’m not picky. Just something big and with a kick. Maybe a double shot of—” she adds, a yawn interrupting her words.
“Why are you so tired?” I ask, yawning the moment she does. They’re contagious.
“Biggie was trying to impregnate Miss Snowflake all night. Likeallllllnight, Joy. I don’t know how in the world he was able to…you know. Because,alllllnight!”
I can’t help but giggle. “But you had them fixed,” I remind her, working my magic at the coffee machine as I prepare her a gingerbread mocha.
“Don’t I know, but that’s not stopping him. He’s insatiable,” she grumbles, reaching for the drink before I even have a chance to place it on the counter. “Oh my God, this is like heaven in a cup.”
“Thanks,” I reply, pulling one of the turnovers out of the case. I make sure to grab the one with the most gooey drizzle on top. “Here.”
“You’re saving my life, and my sanity,” she replies, taking the fork and diving right into her breakfast treat. I yawn a second time since her arrival, and she clearly notices. “Why are you so tired?”
I clear my throat and reach for the cleaning rag, wiping down the counter. “Umm, well, I was talking to someone later than normal.”
Her eyebrows shoot upward. “Would thissomeonehappen to be Burk Whitman?”
I toss the rag in the sink and prop my hip against the counter. “Maybe.”
She squeals, grabs her goodies, and practically runs around the counter. “Tell me everything.”
“Hey, Eve,” Jan greets, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of cookies.
“Hi, Jan.”
“Jan, I’m gonna take a quick five minutes with Eve,” I tell the woman who has worked beside me at the bakery since it opened.
“Take your time,” she states, rearranging the display case as she adds the freshly baked cookies I made a bit ago.
We pick a table the farthest from customers and sit. “Spill,” my sister insists, diving back into her turnover.
“He came over for dinner, helped me decorate my tree, and…he kissed me,” I whisper, feeling a ripple of warmth rush through my veins at the memory.
“Of course he did,” she murmurs, reaching for her mocha and taking a sip. “And?”
I glance around quickly, my heart fluttering in my chest. “Amazing.”
“Whoop!” she cheers. “Isn’t it the best feeling? Like every other kiss before you find ‘the one’ doesn’t even compare?”
“The one? Hold your horses, John Wayne. You’re putting the cart before the horse.”
My sister giggles. “That was a lot of western references in a very short period of time.”
“Because you are jumping the gun,” I reply, wishing I had grabbed a sweet treat for myself. If I have to talk about kissing Burk and what it means, I definitely require sugar.
“Maybe,” she replies casually with a shrug. “Anyway, so he kissed you?—”
