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It’s a funny thing,being alone on Christmas. Even with the radio bleating out its cheery Christmas music, the drive around Gingerbread feels more than lonely. Nature decided to bless us with a fresh snowfall overnight, leaving the trees thickly coated and the rooftops with a high loft of batting, sparkling like glitter over every last inch. I drive out to the lake and pause on the side of the road as I marvel at the brilliant blue hue of the water even with the sun doing its best to hide behind the clouds. I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing the contrast between the snow and the lake. Winter and summer all rolled into one visual for me. It’s a beautiful sight, and I wish I had someone to share it with.
Memories of the day Graham and I spent here with Noel, building our very first snowman, taking pictures of ourselves as a family as if we were actually going to send it out as a Christmas card to friends, surge to the surface. It’s hard to believe it took place just a little over a week ago, and here I am at the lake with nothing but a few pictures on my phone to remind me of how perfect life could be. It was perfect. Even if all Graham and I ever had was that microcosm, it was more love than most people will know in a lifetime.
I wipe the tears from my eyes as I continue down the road and take a turn onto Bloomwood Road, only to stop the car cold in the exact location where we declared our love to one another. Over the years, Graham and I have shared a lot of sentiment with one another, some of them downright colorful, but never had we even uttered the L word. It all felt so very special. The moonlight washing us with its magic, the twinkle lights on the enormous sleigh we were seated in, the sound of the carolers floating up from a distance. It felt as if we left reality and fell into a Christmas greeting card. It was all so perfect, so magical—deep down, I wondered if it was too good to be true.
I force myself to drive on and head straight to the end of Main Street with its giant decorated tree, the lights still on and the star on top as bright as ever. This right here is where Graham and I shared a delicious, steamy kiss. I knew when it happened that it was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life. I thought for sure he would, too. Kissing Graham in the middle of town, in front of the tree we grew up venerating year after year felt like a milestone—a blessing.
My lungs fill with an extra-large breath as I sit mesmerized by the overgrown evergreen. I wonder how it will feel to be here next year looking at this beautiful tree knowing the secrets that it’s harboring? Graham was my first kiss in what feels like forever, but he also delivered the best kiss that I’ve ever had. My body aches as I think of the memory. Holly said he declared his love for me in front of everyone at the community center. Graham loves me, and he made sure to tell every last person in that room, including one too many Jarretts. A fire of both dread and elation rips through me at the thought as I head toward the bakery.
The bakery. I sit out front, just looking at the cute pink box of a building with the giant gingerbread cookie as its sign. Holly thought it would get the point across quickly if we used a gingerbread man. That way people who were in a hurry and didn’t have time to read the wordsBakery and Caféwould still get the gist. Holly has been great at marketing, and an even better business partner. I wouldn’t change anything we’ve done with this place.
“It was fun while it lasted,” I whisper as I let myself inside. The lights are all off, and the entire establishment looks darn right depressing with just the blue cast of natural lighting streaming in from the windows. I head over and flick on every light in the house, something I never do when I’m here early to bake. Holly and I always reprimand one another if we do. Holly figured out that we’d have to sell at least a dozen extra cookies to pay for overused electricity, and hustling cookies is hard enough as it is. I pause as I walk by the refrigerated cases, the glass cases, that the customers get to browse through as they make their selections. At the moment, every cupboard is bare. Holly and I are big on putting all of our inventory away at night in airtight tubs. That way, even if we do sell a day old cookie, we’re still confident that it’s fresh as can be. But looking at the arid spaces where our happy goodies nestle during the day, it just brings me down another notch or twelve. There’s something so sad about empty shelves. Usually I bypass them in the morning without thinking twice, but knowing that they’ll most likely never be filled to the brim again makes my heart ache.
I make a fresh pot of minty mountain cocoa and head to the kitchen, to the enormous slab of white Carrara marble that Holly and I picked out ourselves at the quarry. I run my hand along it and try to memorize how soft and cool it feels. Even though marble is rock solid, the counter has always felt like velvet to me—most likely because it forever has a film of flour over it. I switch on the ovens without thinking and smile.
Hey? Maybe baking something is just what the doctor ordered. I need to get my head around what happened last night. And what happened after I left was even stranger. I’m thrilled to hear that Graham still loves me, but I happen to know firsthand that he leaves for New York in the morning. How is it possible that I’m about to lose two things that I love so dearly? The bakeryandGraham.
Boy, one would think you’d have to break a mirror every day of the week for an entire year to have that kind of luck. Not me, though. I somehow managed it effortlessly.
I pull out every pan and bowl in sight, every ingredient known to mankind, too, still stymied as to what I might make—on this, what will most likely be my final foray in baking in this precious kitchen. I’m just about to pull out the flour when the bells attached to the front door rattle out their sweet refrain.
Great. I forgot to lock the door behind me. I bet it’s Sabrina looking for scraps before she gives me the big heave-ho.
“Sorry, we’re closed!” I shout just as I round the corner and come face to face with the most gorgeous man in all of Gingerbread—New York City or the world.
Graham offers up a sheepish smile and holds out a bright red box with a gold bow on it. “Merry Christmas, Missy,” he says it soft as he holds the gift out between us like a peace offering. But I can’t seem to take my eyes off those blue eyes and dimples. “You think I can hang around even though you’re not open?”
A thought occurs to me and sends my adrenaline soaring through the ceiling.
“Where’s Noel?” I ask in a panic in the event he’s left her outside to freeze in the snow. It might be her favorite thing to do, but it doesn’t mean it’s good for her.
“With my parents. I had breakfast with them this morning, and they were happy to watch her while I stepped out. I had a very important delivery to make.”
“In that case.” I make a face before a full-on smile takes over. “I think there’s room for one more. Merry Christmas, Graham.” I tick my head for him to follow me to the kitchen, and he does.
“You look beautiful.” He comes in close, sliding the gift on the counter my way.
“I’m wearing my sister’s sweats. I’m not even sure they’re clean, but thank you.” My face heats like an oven set to broil. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him. Graham Holiday looks resplendent in his red checkered flannel, his dark inky jeans. I love Graham in a suit—I’d be crazy not to—but there’s just something about him in a flannel that gets my heart racing to unsafe levels, and I love the rush he gives me. It’s safe to say I’m addicted to it.
“This is for you.” He eyes the gift.
“Oh, thank you. I, um, don’t have anything for you at the moment.”
He shakes his head as if I were missing the point. “Go ahead and open it. I think you might like what’s inside.” He shrugs, and the dimples in his cheeks dig in deep. “At least that’s what I’m hoping.”
“Well, if it’s from you, I’ll love it.” I pull it forward and glide my fingers through the tape on the sides. “Unless it’s a flying snake. I never did appreciate those, you know.” Graham thought it was hysterical to house a rubber snake in just about everything just to watch it pop out and frighten the living daylights out of me.
Graham belts out a laugh, and just like that, the tension in the room dissipates, melts like snow. “That was simply a tradition I had to uphold, and you know it. But I promise you no flying snakes. Not this time anyway.”
“Oh!” I laugh along with him. “So I’ll have to keep an eye out for it next time. I see how it goes.” Next time. My heart soars at the prospect, but neither of us has said a word about last night, about the thousands of miles that will separate us starting tomorrow. I take off the wrapping, pull the lid off the box, and gasp. “Graham, no!” I land my hands over my mouth as I tremble just looking at it.
“Yes. It’s all yours, Missy. My grandmother gave it to me because I’m the oldest, and I’m giving it to you because you’re the wisest.”
Carefully, I pull out the Holiday family treasure, his Grandmother’s prized cookbook. A gorgeous blue notebook with gilded lettering that readsRecipes. I leaf through it with the utmost care and marvel at the beautiful penmanship that each page harbors.
“Graham, this is a family heirloom. I don’t think I can accept this.”
