Page 7 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
Thankfully, Gramps is gonna recover from his stroke, but even then, I’m gonna stay in contact with my family and do my part. No more out of sight, out of mind. Especially around the holidays.
We spend about thirty minutes touring the farm. It hasn’t changed much in the last fifteen years. Sure, the tree sections are different, but everything else has remained the same. Even the old houses look similar, despite some updating over that time.
There are three houses on the property. Gram and Gramp’s house is the large one near the front of the farm, while there are two smaller ones tucked in the back corners of their land. Karl’s house on one side and the one I grew up in on the other. Now, Klint and his family live there, and he promised to give me a tour of it one of these evenings.
We return to the front just after Ray opens the gate. Cars are already arriving, patrons ready to cut down their Christmas trees and start making holiday memories, and a wave of excitement rushes through me.
I get to be a part of that.
Klint parks the UTV beside the barn and grins. “Let’s get to work.”
THREE
Joy
“We’re almostout of the eggnog muffins,” Jan hollers from the front of the bakery.
“On it,” I reply, grabbing the third pan of delicious muffins I’ve made this morning.
Saturdays are usually my busiest day of the week, and today is no different, thanks to the kickoff of the festival. Most of the activities won’t start until later, but nothing brings the people out like the first Saturday of December. They’re hitting the tree farm, grabbing some new decorations, and even some sweet treats and coffees, all before heading out to the opening night of the festival later this evening, where one young lady will be crowned Miss Snowflake Falls.
I remember that competition. I participated my senior year of high school but fell just short of the title. I was named first runner-up and was completely devastated. My mom was the first title recipient thirty-six years ago, and my sister two years prior to me competing. But I didn’t quite have what they did, and one of my classmates bested me that night. She deserved the crown,don’t get me wrong. Tabbi Smythe made an incredible Miss Snowflake Falls that year, but I really would have liked to have won.
Yet even coming in second didn’t dampen the sparkle of the entire night. From the welcome address from the mayor to the naming of the winner, I love sitting in my lawn chair, curled up in a warm blanket, and sipping a cup of hot cocoa. Not to mention being surrounded by snow-covered twinkle lights and the nostalgia of festivals past. There’s nothing like it.
Tonight, The Sweet Escape will be open for an extended two-hour period prior to the start of the pageant. We will offer a very limited menu as to not compete with the other organizations selling food and drinks. The hot cocoa stand is always manned by a different organization or group, and at the end of the night, they keep whatever profits were made. Since that’s a big part of their fundraising, I never sell hot cocoa from my bakery, opting for other Christmassy drinks to help keep you warm.
“This is the last of them,” I tell Jan, sliding the tray of eggnog muffins into the display case and noting we’re low on apple fritters too. “Let me grab what’s left of the fritters, and I’ll help.”
I retrieve the other tray of fresh baked goods and slip them inside the case too. Considering it’s still midmorning, I realize I might be in trouble where pastries are concerned. As soon as I can get to the kitchen to prep more, the better off I’ll be.
After quickly washing my hands, I turn my attention to the counter and take the order of the next person in line. “What can I get you?” I ask with a warm smile.
“I’d like a vanilla raspberry latte and an eggnog muffin, please,” the first of three women here together orders.
“I’ll make drinks. You pull pastries and checkout,” Jan says. This system will allow us to move through customers quicker, and we’re not stepping on each other while doing it.
We work in unison to serve all three ladies as quickly as possible. I love watching their faces light up as I place their fresh baked good in front of them. They’re chatting about going shopping after their breakfast break, so I make sure to tell them to visit Mom’s salon next door after they’re done here. She’s open until one today, and they’re offering a sale on certain products, as well as door prizes.
“We’ll be sure to do that,” the third lady replies, picking up her pastry and coffee before moving away from the counter to join her friends at one of the tables.
“How can I help you?” I ask the next person in line as he steps up to the counter.
“What’s good here, Easy-Bake?”
The nickname causes me to pause as my brain is peppered with flashbacks. I glance up into smiling brown eyes that look so familiar, yet so very different. His face has aged considerably, since the last time I saw him he was fourteen.
“Holy shit! Burkey Turkey?” I whisper, my jaw dropping as I stare at the man at the counter. He’s no longer the tall, skinny kid I remember from my childhood. Oh, no. Burk Whitman is all man now, from his rugged, gorgeous face to his scruffy jaw. He’s still tall with a lean frame, but his physique is much more filled out than before. He’s muscular without being overly so, if that makes sense.
He makes a face, reminding me of a time when I was a kid and first gave him that nickname. Our third grade class put on a Thanksgiving play for the school, and Burk won the role of the turkey. I’ve never let him live it down, always using the nickname he hated so much. “You know I hate that nickname,” he grumbles. “Klint told me you owned this place, and I just had to come see for myself,” he adds with a big smile that seems to light up his entire face.
Holy crap, Burk Whitman is h-o-t, hot!
My feet are moving before I can even reconsider. I’m around the counter and throwing my arms around him in a fierce hug. He returns the gesture, and it’s right in this moment I catch a whiff of his clean, woodsy scent. It sends a shiver through my body and does something to my lady bits that’s unexpected. I feel my nipples pebble beneath my sweater and a rush of moisture between my legs.
All from soap…
Well, Jingle Bells, he freaking smells amazing too!
