“Too bad. It’s yours. I don’t take gifts back, and there are no exchanges.”
I’ll admit, I’m a bit terrified to hold it. It’s almost the exact feeling I had when Savy was born and she was placed in my arms at the hospital for the very first time. It’s so precious, fragile even. This is a cherished bit of Holiday family history, the very part that ushered in the era of Holiday Pies. And then I land on a precious page. “Pumpkin pie.” I bite down on a smile as I look to Graham. “I think I know what I’d like to bake right now. In fact”—I flip the page and nod to Graham with a devious smile—“I know two things I’d like to bake.”
“Great. I’ll help you. We’ll bring them with us tonight to my mother’s annual Christmas party. Rumor has it, your family will be there, too.”
“I guess we’ll be going together then.” I melt a little at the idea. “We’d better get baking if we want to make it on time.” I set his grandmother’s cookbook over to the clean counter behind me and place a large plastic sheet over the pages so I won’t get any food on it while reading the recipe. The last thing I want to do is ruin this gift that I will treasure until the day I die.
Graham helps me wash, core, and peel the apples. We get the pumpkin pie mix out and make each of the pies to his grandmother’s specifications.
“I think this is a good place to stop,” he announces as he pulls the pie crusts out of the oven, a buttery golden brown. I always prebake my pie crusts before adding in the filling because if you don’t you just end up with an ooey gooey mess—but for sure it’s not a good place to call it a day.
“What do you meanstop? We haven’t even gotten the pies in the oven. It’s a terrible place to stop. I’m pretty sure if I turn up at your mother’s Christmas party with a couple of empty pie shells, your parents will hate me.”
A dark laugh strums from him because he knows I’m right. “Nobody will hate you, I promise.” He cranes his head to the counter behind me and winces at his grandmother’s cookbook. “Least of all my grandmother.”
He looks back and hooks into me with those persistent lake blue eyes. Graham Holiday has a way of making you feel as if you’re the most important person in the room. That has always been my favorite part about him. Even when he was vexing me, I still felt as if I were his favorite person to vex, and nowthat’sa talent.
“I don’t get it. You lost me at grandmother.”
“You’ve mixed enough of her ingredients into the pies. Now, let’s bring two Winters’ originals with us. It turns out, the buyers of the local stores are all interested in sampling your ideas. Sabrina told me everything. You saved Holiday Pies, Missy. Thanks to you, the entire crew in Cater gets to keep their jobs. And not only that, there’s about thirty more jobs being added to the roster.”
“Graham!” I leap over and wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Graham feels solid and warm, so very real, and my heart breaks because at this time tomorrow the only thing I’ll have to hold onto is memories. I pull back and look into those watery blue eyes. “Holly told me about what happened when I left the community center last night.” I wince. “I wish I was there to hear it myself. How did it go again?”
His chest rumbles with a laugh. “It went something like this”—he tips his head back and shouts—“I love Mistletoe Winters!” he belts it out for the entire neighborhood to hear.
A laugh ripples through me. “And if I was there, I would have said this”—I tip my head back, readying my vocal cords to perform at the same octave—“I love Graham Holiday!”
We share a laugh as we settle our gazes on one another.
“I really do love you, Missy.” He swallows hard. “Did you really think that Sabrina Jarrett and I would make a good couple?” He tilts his head to the side, looking playfully pained.
My fingers cover my lips a moment. “I may have thought it was a brilliant means to an end.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought. “And now that you’re no longer a couple, I have to give up my winning streak. It’s sort of ironic that I’m no longer batting a thousand thanks to my own interference.”
“Well, if it’s for your record, I can always go and hunt down Sabrina.”
I give his ribs a quick pinch. “Don’t you dare!” I laugh at the thought. “She is a monster, though.” My voice grows quiet, but I refuse to let her ruin this beautiful moment. I don’t know how much Sabrina really told him. Her version of everything and reality could very well be two different things.
“I don’t want to talk about Sabrina,” he whispers, his eyes still pinned to mine as his head inches closer to me.
“Me either,” I say as the smile glides right off my face.
Graham glides his lips over mine and kisses me right here in the bakery, in the place that has been the nerve center of my heart for the last three years. But I can officially say that it has been demoted a rung. There’s a new sheriff in town that holds the key to my heart, and his name is Graham Holiday. Our kisses grow with intensity as we hold one another tight. Graham and I have somehow managed to glue ourselves together again, and all is right with the world this beautiful Christmas morning.
Graham helps me bake two exquisite, delicious designer pies, and once they’re baked and cooled, we box them up. I collect his grandmother’s recipe book as we leave, and I can’t help but give the bakery one last forlorn look before we head out the door. And I wonder deep in my heart if that’s the last time I will ever turn out the lights.
