I don’t sleep much that night. I’m up early, pacing my penthouse with a mug of black coffee and checking my email compulsively.
The decorators confirmed the job—apparently, they’re sending in a small army of Christmas elves to turn my place into a Hallmark fever dream before Friday.
Perfect.
Maybe she’ll actually like it.
By ten a.m., I’ve not only showered, shaved, and avoided my office, but I’ve had my secretary reschedule everything on my calendar for next week.
I tell myself a hundred times that showing up unannounced at her bakery is not a good idea.
But by ten-fifteen, I’m already halfway there.
Chapter 10
Marigold
By the time I flock down the stairs from my apartment to the door that leads to The Cookie Hive, I already know it’s going to be one of those days.
Emery texted me at 5:42 a.m.:
Emery
Sick. Fever. So sorry, boss. Can’t move. Please don’t fire me.
Which means it’s just me.
One baker.
An order for one thousand boxes of cookies for Uncle Uzzi’s Holiday Gala.
And a line already forming outside.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself, slapping on my apron. “You’ve got this. You’re fine. You’re—oh, crap.”
The dough mixer beeps.
The oven dings.
Someone’s knocking on the front door even though I haven’t flipped the open sign yet.
Panic flutters low in my chest.
How am I supposed to bake, pack, handle customers, and run delivery all by myself?
I tie my curls into a messy bun, roll up my sleeves, and start juggling trays like a woman possessed.
One batch down.
Two more in the oven.
Three people glaring through the glass.
My phone buzzes again.
I ignore it.
I unlock the door.
