She remembered her own first time—how her mother’s hands had been steady and sure, how they’d sat on the edge of the tub and laughed because laughter beat fear every time. When it was all over and they went back into the kitchen, MJ had placed a square of chocolate in Gracie’s palm and said, “For your iron,” and winked.
Gracie still didn’t know if that was true. But she’d felt so loved.
She walked to the mini fridge, poured a cold cup of water, and pulled open her desk drawer for her secret Godiva stash.
The bathroom door opened a few minutes later, and Olivia stepped out, cheeks blotchy but chin higher. She’d washed her face. She’d smoothed her braids with determination. She was still a child, but one who’d stepped across a line she couldn’t uncross.
“You okay?” Gracie asked.
Olivia nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again, laughing at her obvious wobble.
“I’m…yeah. I think so. It’s just—” She made a helpless motion with her hand, looking very small and very brave. “I know it’s natural and happens to everyone, but it’s still big.”
“It is,” Gracie agreed, handing over the water and chocolate. “Take a minute. Then you can decide if you want to go out there or if you want to sit with me and talk. Either is fine.”
Olivia took a sip and then a tiny bite of chocolate like it might explode. “You keep chocolate in the office of a bakery?” she asked. “Seems redundant.”
Gracie chuckled not only at the idea, but at the fact that her bright little boy had certainly met his match with his best friend.
“I don’t think any woman’s desk should be without emergency chocolate.”
Olivia let out a whimper as she finished the square. “You aresodifferent from my dad,” she murmured.
“And yet, here we are…building bridges.”
Olivia smiled at that, then shyly stepped forward and put her arms around Gracie’s waist again, offering a surprisingly fierce hug.
“Thank you,” she said into Gracie’s sweater. “Please don’t tell my dad I cried. I guess I can figure out a way to tell him the rest.”
“Any tears are between us girls,” Gracie promised, rubbing her back.
They stood like that until Olivia blew out a breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’m good.”
“You’re amazing,” Gracie said. “We better go back and help the boys with those lights. Benny’s definitely a big believer in ‘more is better’ and ‘too many is perfect.’”
“As long as they beat at the right pace,” Olivia said, the comment confusing Gracie as they walked back into the kitchen.
There, she saw Marshall working furiously, on his knees, threading lights under the gingerbread structure—it could hardly be called a house—with Benny crawling around the floor looking for the outlet.
Marshall said something she didn’t catch and Benny cracked up, as if in that short amount of time they’d created an inside joke. The amount of time it took for her to step into Olivia’s life and be an on-the-spot mother.
Gracie exhaled, nearly swaying at the impact of the unexpected moment of intimacy and family and closeness.
Marshall looked up and his gaze went straight to Olivia, scanning her face with that split-second parental inventory when something might be wrong with a child.
Gracie lingered behind Olivia, catching his eye with a small shake of her head, silently stopping any questions.
He got the message and instantly turned to Benny. “Did you get that clip through the loop, Ben?”
The lump rose in Gracie’s throat before she could stop it, freakishly emotional as ifshewas the one who’d just gotten her first period. Why was this all hitting her so hard?
“Okay!” Benny called out. “Plugging in!”
The gingerbread creation woke like stage lights had come on. Marshall’s side glowed a clean, crisp white that made the almond walls look like new snow. Gracie’s faux storefront bloomed in warm amber, with little red sparkles around the windows.
Where the two halves met beneath the spun sugar arch, the colors mingled—white bleeding into gold until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
The kids cheered, but Marshall just smiled across the kitchen at her.
