Chapter One
MOLLY
It might be hard to believe, but I know it to be true. I don’t care what anyone says; when you make food for people, you put your energy and emotions into it. Yes, food can be made with love, but it can be made with a lot of other things too.
Today’s recipe calls for happiness and a bit of laughter. Which translates to Christmas music and dancing. I do a spin as I swipe the piping bag off the counter. I’m using the red frosting to put the final touches on the cake.
“Oh-oh, all the lights are shining so brightly everywhere (so brightly, baby), and the sound of children's laughter fills the air,” I sing as I move around the space.
It doesn't matter how many times I listen to Mariah Carey's Christmas songs, they never get old. Thank goodness, because living in the town of Cheerful, it's practically Christmas year-round.
I take my time on the border of the cake since it was a special order called in. I want to get this exactly right, perfect really. I've been pretty slammed, and there’s a baking competition coming up I’m a part of. That paired with Christmas fast approaching and the bakery is chaos. It’s a lot, but I’m catching up.
Not to brag or anything, but people travel to Cheerful for my frosting alone. I tell everyone the recipe because there’s no need for gatekeeping. I’m happy to share it with anyone that wants to go home and whip up a cake themselves.
I'll get calls that I must have given them the wrong steps or ingredients, and most don't believe me when I insist that it's simply happiness while baking that truly makes all the difference.
The locals believe it, though. We all know that the town of Cheerful has magic in the air with a good dose of love. In fact, it seems like everyone is finding love lately. I’ve never been lucky in that department. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Heartbreak sounds terrible, and I have no desire to experience it. I have enough of that in other areas of my life.
I stayed later today than usual because of a special request that came from none other than Marley Jacobs himself. He’s a fancy author who I’m told is a big deal. His books look too spooky and scary for me, so I take everyone's word for how good they are.
Marley moved here years back, and he’s been standoffish from the beginning. Mostly he stuck to his cabin, and we respected his need for space. I think we all knew that it was only a matter of time before the spirit of Cheerful would wrap around him. We were right, of course. There really is no escaping it if you move here. It just takes longer for some than others.
Now he’s calling in an order for a friend of his that’s in town. He told me that the guy named Noah really needs one of my cakes. Marley has never asked for anything, so I was quick to agree, even if it meant staying extra late.
I stand back when I'm done and admire my work. I hope this is exactly what Noah needs. He must be fancy too if he’s friends with Marley. I'm sure he has a fast-paced, busy life in the city.
I snap a few pictures of the cake to post on social media later before I grab one of the cake boxes and gently set it inside. I doodle on the outside of the box to give it an extra touch, then carefully carry it out to my SUV.
Once it’s safely in the passenger seat, I hurry back inside and lock up my bakery for the night. I always get excited when a new person gets to try one of my creations. It’s fun to see their reactions.
Pulling my coat tighter around me, I look up at the flakes of snow falling. It’s always snowing here. As excited as I am to deliver this cake, I’m equally as excited to get back home to my e-reader and start a little fire. I’ll cuddle in for the night with a cup of hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows.
I’ve lived alone since my aunt passed away a few years ago. She was the one that raised me for the most part. We moved to Cheerful when I was little, shortly after my parents' passing. It was a really hard time in my life, but I taught myself that if you smile, you really can fake it till you make it. It’s how I was able to push through my aunt's funeral and power on.
I’m not sure a therapist would agree, but I don’t go see one, so I don’t have to hear that. That’s kind of my thing. When anything might rock my emotional boat, I avoid it altogether. I mean, I’m a spoiler queen and what bookish people call an "end reader." I want to know what I’m getting myself into and if it will make me smile. These are things you can control. Why enter into anything that might break your heart? I find the world does a bang-up job of doing that on its own. I’m not stepping into any of it willingly.
I double-check the address to ensure that I have the correct one and put it into my GPS. Cheerful might be a small town, but there are still a lot of spaces and land I’ve never been to. The mountains all around us have a million trees, and there are cabins tucked away between them. Some belong to locals, while others are people who live here seasonally and rent them out.
I crank up the volume on the holiday music and drive toward the cabin. It’s not far, but the windy roads take time to get through. It ends up taking me longer than I anticipate, and when I make the last turn, I realize there’s a gate. The email Marley sent me has the code, so I pull out my phone and enter it.
The gate swings open, and I pull through. The cabin comes into view soon after, and though it’s dark, there are a few lights on inside. Strangely, the Christmas lights are off.
When I park, I’m relieved to see a truck off to the side of the cabin. Thankfully someone is here, because I didn’t want to leave the cake on the porch. Seeing as they don’t have their Christmas lights on, at first I assumed no one was home.
Carefully I get the cake out and make my way to the front door. I start to balance it on one hand so that I can knock with the other when the door suddenly opens and a large body comes rushing out. They slam right into me and crush the cake box before I can stumble backward.
“What the fuck?” the man bellows. The box falls out of my hands and lands on the wooden porch. “Is everyone in this town stupid?”
The giant man is staring down at the front of his sweater that’s now covered in smashed cake and icing.
I swallow the ball of emotion that tries to rise in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I say, but it comes out in a whisper so soft, I’m not sure he hears.
“Sorry? Fucking hell,” he growls, letting me know he did hear it; he just doesn’t care.
My presence is only pissing him off more, and I take another few steps back. I still haven’t seen the man's face, but he’s easily twice my size. When I try to back up again, my shoe slips off the step, and I lose my balance.
I let out a shriek of fear and surprise as I fall down the steps and land on my ass. I wince when I hit the ground because it’s hard and frozen.
