Gingerbread Men
Missy
“We’d each like a cup of your minty mountain cocoa and a couple dozen of those fudgy things in the corner.” Sabrina Jarrett flicks a perfectly red polished fingernail at the Gingerbread Bakery and Café’s famous fudgies. Theweshe is referencing is the two dozen of her closest friends she runs a book club with. “And don’t you dare try to push off the disgusting ones with rum in them on me. You know I can’t stand the taste of rum, and I am well aware of the fact you did so on purpose the last time.” She bats those long, unnaturally extended lashes my way.
Sabrina Jarrett has been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. Growing up, it was always Sabrina playing the part of mean girl all the way through high school. We ended our scholastic careers together at Gingerbread High on the same cheer team. Sabrina was the captain, and she’s never let me forget it. And after that, we thankfully went our separate scholastic ways—me away to college in Arizona and her to a university in Oklahoma. But as fate and my poor luck would have it, we’ve both landed back in Gingerbread. Me with my very own bakery that I co-own with my sister, Holly—and Sabrina as an up-and-coming socialite. Only too bad for Sabrina, Gingerbread, Colorado is the last place on the planet with a socialite circuit.
She turns to leave, then spins back on her spiked stilettos. Sabrina is the only one I know who would brave stilettos after a two-foot snowfall. Her hair is as crimson as her wool coat, and her lips are glossed to match. She looks festive in a caustic way, which pretty much describes Sabrina all of the time.
She wrinkles her nose at the selections in the pastry window. “You’d better throw in some of those red velvet cupcakes. The ones with the mistletoe and bows.” She leans over the counter as if she’s about to spill a juicy secret and, believe you me, she’s more than able. If Sabrina has achieved anything since dropping out of college—she was four units shy of earning her bachelor’s in English,four!—but I digress, Sabrina has effortlessly achieved the coveted title of town gossip.
I shoot a quick look to Holly, and that expression on her face is mirroring my urge to both scream and cry.
“About how many cupcakes?” I try my hardest not to scowl at the she-devil that has no problem exhausting my inventory. Sabrina is famous for freeloading off the bakery ever since we’ve opened. I’m half-moved to tell her that the sign on the door doesn’t readYour Personal Pantry.
“We’ll need thirty.” Her bright green eyes widen a moment. “The book we’re going over this afternoon was rife with heat.” She pretends to fan herself and gives a little wink. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you, Missy? Maybe I should lend you my copy.” She cackles, and shockingly, Holly cackles right along with her.
My mouth falls open as I take a moment to stomp on Holly’s toes. Traitor.
“What?” My sister bounces away. “It was funny.”
I look back to Sabrina in all her glossy magazine glory. She has always reminded me of a magazine pictorial come to life. “I’ll tally that up for you in just a moment.” I bite the inside of my cheek because I know what comes next in this commerce version of cat and mouse.
Sabrina wags a finger. “Oh, please, don’t do that. I’ve begged and I’ve begged Daddy not to increase your rent. And by twenty percent?” Her penciled in brows skyrocket into her unwrinkled forehead. It’s a well-known fact there are parts of Sabrina’s face that simply will not move. Holly says it’s because she’s full of Botox. I suggested she was full of something else. “How will you ever survive?” Her nails graze over her chest, rife with her false concern. “Consider it tit for tat. And, believe me, you are winning in this deal.” She reaches over and steals a cookie off the tray I was busy assembling before she appeared before me like a poltergeist. It’s our busiest season of the year, and on top of all of the other madness, I’ve got the auction at the community center to prepare for. I certainly don’t have time for Sabrina Jarrett and her empty threats—or her real ones. If I could decipher one from the other, life might be a little simpler.
“I’ll get those treats and cocoa to your table right away.”
She turns on her heels before taking a quick step back. “Rumor has it, you’re still the best matchmaker this side of the Rockies. If you ever come across a young, hot, stud—don’t keep him for yourself.” She flashes a contrived smile. “We’d hate to bore the poor man to death. Send himmyway.” She tosses her scarf over her shoulder as she makes her way to the indoor patio where four tables of cackling women run out the real customers with their incessant laughter.
“She conjoined four tables for her book club. No wonder we have no customers. They have nowhere to sit.”
“She’s terrible.” Holly helps gather the fudgies and the cupcakes while I get straight to draining the last of my minty mountain cocoa.
“You didn’t think she was so terrible a moment ago.” I shoot Holly a look for colluding with the enemy if only for a brief moment.
“Oh, you.” She’s quick to wave me off, and is she laughing again? She shakes out her sandy blonde hair with a laugh, her periwinkle eyes sparkling in the light. That’s what our mother gifted us as far as genetics go—her sandy blonde hair and peculiar shade of eyes. My father and brother wear a dark cap of hair and coffee-colored eyes to match. We’ve heard a million people say my sister and I are clones of our mother. They say all Winters girls look alike. And it’s pretty much true. Holly and her husband, Tom, have a seven-year-old daughter, Savanah, and she swims in the Winters women’s gene pool as well. “She’s right, though. You do have quite the reputation for being the best matchmaker in the area. Don’t you think it’s time you find a match for yourself?”
“Are you kidding? I have no time to date. I’m too busy baking yummy treats for Sabrina and her cohorts,” I huff as I trickle out the last of the minty mountain cocoa.
I glance to the back and sigh as I spot the two towering gingerbread dollhouses that are currently occupying all of my time and most of my workspace. I’m making one for Mayor Todd’s twin daughters. He had the idea that if I made him one he’d showcase it at city hall with a sign that lets everyone know there will be one just like it available at the auction Christmas Eve. Every year, Gingerbread hosts an auction on Christmas Eve. It’s sort of a long-standing tradition to get everyone in our tight-knit community together for such a special holiday. Christmas Day is usually reserved for the family. That way the town sort of gets to celebrate the occasion as an extended family the day before. For as long as I can remember, it’s been held at the community center. Everyone dons their finest clothes, there’s a potluck, and dancing, and for the last few years, Holly and I have happily provided the desserts. The city actually pays us for our goodies, which is refreshing since Sabrina and her faux socialites have become our unwanted charity effort.
The bells on the front door chime as my mother breezes into the bakery in a flurry.
Before I even bother with a greeting, I call to Jenna in the back to help make all of Sabrina’s chocolatey, cocoa, red velvet wishes come true. Jenna works tirelessly for Holly and me, along with a small baking army we’ve accrued over the last year. Prior to that, Holly and I were running ourselves ragged and almost closed the bakery for good in an effort to hold onto our sanity.
“I’m on it!” Jenna swoops in, and both Holly and I migrate to the end of the counter as I greet my mother with her favorite, a raspberry Linzer bar. Her creamy blonde hair cascades in soft curls down her shoulders. She looks far more like a sister rather than our mother, and I can only hope when I’m her age I look half as amazing.
“You always know how to save me, Missy.” She takes a bite and groans with approval. “Now, I have to run to Cater to show a brand new listing—an entire condo complex has landed in my hands! Can you believe it?” Her violet eyes grow twice their size. At fifty-seven, my mother doesn’t have a wrinkle to show for it. In fact, she outright glows from within. For years, people have plied her with compliments and then tried to shake her down for her secret, to which she kindly replies, “The fountain of youth lies in the coffee found only at the Gingerbread Bakery and Café.” She’s forever trying to help drum up business for Holly and me. Mom knows all about business. In the last five years, she’s entered into the wonderful world of real estate and is doing quite well for herself. She and Dad own the lumber mill, so she was fortunate enough to stay home while we were little, but after we flew the nest, she got angsty and found her niche in real estate. My brother, Nick, runs the tree lot for the family this time of year, but he’s full-time at the lumber mill as well.
“Cater?” Holly makes a face. “That’s a half hour away. There’s another storm moving in, you know.”
Mom makes a face right back. “It’s just a quick orientation to the building. I’ve hired a photographer to meet me there. I’m going to have a few of the units staged before I show it. I’m going big with this one.” She does an odd little tap dance as she giggles with glee. It doesn’t take much to get my mother giddy. “I’ll be back in plenty of time to pick up Savanah from school. You know she’s my top priority.” She leans toward Holly with thatI’m about to school youlook on her face. “You know, by the time I was your age, I had all three of you running circles around me.”
“Ugh!” Holly lifts her hands to her ears. She’s about had it with the whole procreation dissertation my mother likes to dole out regularly. “I tell you what. As soon as Tom and I decide to add another child to the family, you’ll be the first to know.”
Mom gives a silent applause, squealing away with unmitigated glee. Really, it’s embarrassing to witness.
She spins back to me as her expression changes on a dime. “Oh, Missy, I need a quick favor! I’ve got a client meeting me at the office in five minutes, and I really can’t stress enough how much I need you to cover. I just can’t reschedule the meeting in Cater.” Her eyes plead with me all on their own, and I have never been able to say no to my mother. And sadly, she knows it. She’s been known to wield this knowledge to her benefit each and every time. I’ve covered for her so much at the realty office that I feel like an honorary realtor myself.
