“Just a little trick I picked up,” Daniel said, pleased by her reaction. “The kids love it when I make shapes.”
They settled at the table, and Daniel was acutely aware of the way their legs accidentally brushed beneath it. Holly cradled her mug in both hands, inhaling the spicy scent before taking a careful sip.
“Oh my goodness,” she murmured, closing her eyes briefly. “That’s incredible.”
Daniel tried not to preen at the compliment, but his bear had no such restraint, rumbling with satisfaction.
“Secret recipe,” he admitted. “I make the syrups from scratch.”
“Is there nothing you can’t do, Daniel Brooks?” Holly asked.
Tell you that you are our mate, his bear answered dryly.
Funny, Daniel replied.
Holly took another appreciative sip, then reached for a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. Without seeming to think about it, she pulled a pen from her pocket and began to sketch, her strokes quick and confident.
Daniel watched, transfixed, as images emerged on the napkin—a sleeping bear wearing a Santa hat, snowflakes swirling around the Brooks Bakery logo, a loaf of bread with steam rising in heart shapes. Each drawing was simple but expressive, capturing the essence of his bakery with just a few lines.
“These are fantastic,” he said, leaning closer to see the details.
Holly glanced up, surprised to find him watching so intently. “Just doodles.”
“Professional doodles,” Daniel corrected. “You’re really talented, Holly.”
She ducked her head, but not before he caught the pleased smile that curved her lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
“Why did you stop?” The question slipped out before he could consider whether it was too personal.
Holly’s fingers stilled on the napkin, and for a moment, Daniel thought she might not answer. When she did, her voice was soft but steady.
“I let someone convince me it wasn’t practical. That I should focus on more sensible pursuits.” She added another snowflake to her drawing. “My mom thought it was cute as a hobby, but not a career. And my ex-fiancé always said art was for people who couldn’t handle real jobs.”
Daniel watched her face as she spoke, catching the flicker of old hurt behind her careful words. Something protective stirred in his chest, his bear bristling at the thought of anyone dismissing her talent so carelessly.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, more forcefully than he’d intended. “You clearly have a gift.”
Holly looked up, surprise widening her eyes at his vehemence. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That means a lot.”
“Did you study design?” Daniel asked, genuinely curious about this side of her he hadn’t seen before.
“No,” Holly admitted, tracing another snowflake onto the napkin. “Business administration. More practical, according to my mother.”
Daniel nodded, understanding all too well the weight of parental expectations. “We have a lot in common.”
“We do. And maybe I’ll take a leaf out of your book and follow my dreams,” Holly said. “Since I feel as if my life has reached a fork in the road.”
“Do it,” Daniel said. “Better to try than live with regrets.”
“So, where did you get your love of baking from? You’ve mentioned family recipes,” Holly prompted.
Daniel considered the question, memories filtering through his mind. “My grandmother,” he said finally. “She lived with us when I was growing up. Every Sunday, she’d make these incredible pastries—the house would smell like heaven.” He smiled at the memory. “When I was about eight, she started letting me help. There was something about creating something with my hands, something people would enjoy together... I was hooked.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Holly said.
“She was,” Daniel agreed. “She’s the one who told me to follow what made me happy, not what made sense to everyone else.”
Holly’s expression softened. “Wise woman.”
