Graham
On a snowy Monday afternoon, my parents finally make the trek back to Gingerbread, and it’s a somewhat joyous reunion as we meet up in front of the Gingerbread Bakery and Café. I say it’s somewhat joyous because Tanner just arrived with that permanent scowl he has etched on his face. He wanted to meet at the diner down the street, but I volunteered Missy’s new place, which isn’t really new after all. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed in her life. Not that I was ever a central figure, but, to be honest, it sure felt like it. Missy and I shared some good times even if she is the last person who would ever admit it.
“Look at you!” My mother squeezes my cheeks tight as if I were three. It’s always been her favorite go-to move whenever I make a reprisal. She buries her dark hair in my neck a moment as she comes in for an awkward power hug. It’s my mother who gifted Tanner and me our dark hair and blue eye combo. My father used to have the same dark hair—a little more red thrown in the mix—but he’s more or less a silver fox now. His eyes are darker than soot, and my mother likes to say it was his button eyes that she fell in love with. And he just so happens to be the kindest soul on the planet, not a single grain of soot in a single one of his cells if you ask me.
Mom grunts as she looks up at me. “You are just more handsome than ever. How has anyone not snagged you off the market yet?” She glances to my brother with her lips twisted in a knot. “I’m telling you, one of these days, one of you is going to have to give me a daughter-in-law.”
“Don’t look at me,” Tanner grumps as he makes his way into the bakery, and as soon as he opens the door, the sweet scent of vanilla wafts out to greet us.
Dad nods my way as he holds open the door. “Let’s get in before we catch our deaths out here.”
“Oh, that’s not possible.” Mom waves him off before glancing my way with a scolding look. “Gingerbread winters are good for the soul, young man. Don’t you forget it.”
We head in, and I soak in the sights. The Gingerbread Bakery and Café is painted a pale green with pink bakery boxes dotting the counters as well as stacked in the back as far as the eye can see. Garland shimmering in gold and red is strung from the ceiling and skips across the expansive room. An entire indoor patio sits to our right with curved windows like the ones my parents have in their sunroom. The café is laden with customers, and there are at least a half dozen children with their noses pressed to the glass cases that hold all the sugary treats. I marvel at the selection for a moment. How hard Missy and Holly must have to work to make all of this magic happen. For a moment, I’m in awe of their dedication.
Mom finds us a seat smack in front of the counter, and I can’t help but crane my neck, looking for signs of my favorite baker, Mistletoe Winters. She’s been giving me a hard time, and I’ve lapped up every minute of it.
“Who are you looking for?” Dad joins me in craning my neck.
“No one.” I glance to Tanner because a part of me senses he knows better. “I was just admiring those towering gingerbread houses in the back.” I nod to the pair of twin overgrown breaded homes that must have taken weeks to assemble. In all of my life I’ve only put together one of those monstrosities, and it was on a much smaller scale. I was in grade school and forced to do it. I vowed never to venture into the culinary arts ever again. And true to my word, I haven’t. I think it’s best for everyone that way.
“Right, gingerbread houses.” Tanner knocks over the table as if calling the meeting to order, and just as he does it, both Holly and Missy appear from the back. The sisters exchange a brief glance as they spot me, and I offer a polite wave in reciprocation.
Missy grabs a tray of something from the refrigerated section and heads on over. “The entire Holiday clan!” she sings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She lands the tray of cookies on the table, and my mouth waters to take a bite from them all. “Please enjoy these white chocolate holiday cookies on the house. A round of coffee for anyone?”
“Yes, please!” Dad raises a finger.
“You’re a lifesaver!” Mom chimes. “And thank you for the treats. You know you didn’t have to do that. But since you did, please stop by the Knit Wit for a free knitting lesson anytime! I keep telling your mother we need to teach you young girls the art of knitting so you can carry on the tradition. It’s never too late to learn.”
Missy nods, and I can’t help but note how her skin glows in the light. Back in New York, Cynthia glowed, too, like an alien. She said it was a strobing effect she was actually shooting for. But Missy isn’t glowing like an alien. She’s more of an angel—with horns well hidden, but an angel nevertheless. Her red sweater offsets those lavender eyes, and I can’t help but openly stare at how beautiful she is. Growing up, Missy was always pretty, but fast-forward a few pages into the calendar, and Mistletoe Winters is an outright stunner. She’s a bona fide knockout, and if she were in New York for a minute, she’d have every eligible stockbroker panting after her. I’ve seen them panting over all of the pretty young things that make their way to the city and claiming the crème of the crop. Missy definitely qualifies as the crème, but there’s no way I’d let one of those wolves roaming Wall Street take a bite out of her.
“And coffee for you?” She looks to Tanner and me, her eyes lingering a moment too long my way.
“Coffee,” Tanner grunts like he’s in need of an IV full of the caffeinated beverage, and knowing my brother, he is. I know he’s working sun up until sun down, but he volunteered for the effort, so I don’t feel too sorry for him.
“Same.” I nod. “And don’t worry about Noel. Nick’s fine with her at the lot. He says she sells twice as many trees as anyone with two legs.” It’s true. As soon as we got there, he strapped a bright red bow on her collar and put her straight to work.
“That’s our baby girl!” Missy belts out a laugh as she takes off.
Mom tugs at my elbow. Her mouth droops as if she were about to be let in on a juicy tidbit of gossip. “What’s this?”
Tanner leans in. “They’re sharing a dog. Now, are we ready to talk business, or should we ogle over the golden child a few minutes longer?” He raises a tired brow, and I’m bewildered by the dig. Tanner has referenced me as thegolden childbefore, but that’s when we were kids and never in public. It’s as if he’s belligerent with his disdain for me, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. We hardly speak. I couldn’t stay further away from him if I tried. I’m amused at how exactly it is that I’m annoying him from afar.
“What’s your problem, dude?” I shoot him a look. “Haven’t I stayed out of your hair long enough? You can’t handle me for five simple minutes?”
He closes his eyes a moment as Dad whispers a quiet reprimand for us to keep it down.
“Dude”—Tanner mocks me with his tone—“your ability to stay out of my hair seems to be the problem.” He flashes a lightning quick smile before turning to my parents. “Look, I let Graham in on this last week. Holiday Pies is over. It’s been a good run—fifteen years. Grandma lived to see her dream take flight, but now she’s gone, and unfortunately, so is the business. I think it’s time we shut down the factory and call it a day.”
A hard gasp comes from behind, and I turn to find Missy with her mouth opened wide, a carafe full of coffee precariously ready to spill.
“I heard nothing!” She sets down a tray of coffee and disperses it before taking off for the counter again.
She heard enough, and to be honest, I have, too.
Mom lets out a wild groan. “Why on earth can’t we keep it? Isn’t it bringing everyone joy? I have never met a soul who said they didn’t enjoy your grandmother’s pies. And the local grocery stores seem happy to stock them.”
Tanner winces. “They are, Mom. And they’re also happy to order less and less every month. It’s just not selling well. The public voted with their dollars, and they’re not interested.”
