A chuckle escaped me. “You? Standing in the way? You practically have tinsel in your hair already. Oh wait, that’s just the gray in your beard.”
Rodney flipped me off and scowled. Yeah, him getting into the holiday spirit was about as likely as Santa cramming his big ol’ gut down the crumbling chimney on the shop’s roof without sending bricks crashing to the street below.
“Not much to celebrate when you’re on your own. You should think about that before you’re too old to find someone to share your life with.” Rodney was a complicated man. He spent most of his time trying to hide how lonely and miserable he was, but every once in a while, he let his gooey center ooze out in the form of trying to save me from myself.
“Nah, coupled-up life might be working well for Billy and Danny, but it’s not for me,” I scoffed. I’d dated plenty in my twenties and early thirties before I’d simply thrown in the towel. After enough failed relationships and first dates that never led to a second, I had no problem admitting that I was likely the problem. I simply was okay with focusing on my own needs, even if that meant I was alone.
Anson’s visit and Rodney’s meddling had me in a mood. I tossed my shop rag onto the frame of the Chevy and headed to the sinks. “I’m going to head up to the diner for a bite. Want me to bring anything back?”
My tone was curt enough that Rodney knew better than to push me. Just because he was miserable since his divorce didn’t mean the rest of us needed to swim with him in his pit of despair.
“I’m good. My sister brought over a big-ass pan of lasagna last night. I keep telling her I’m a full-grown adult who can take care of himself, but she’s certain I’ll waste away to nothing if she stops feeding me.” He tried to sound put off by his sister’s concern, but I got the feeling he enjoyed Stella’s brand of pushy.
“Cool. I’ll be back to finish Mr. Graham’s plugs and get to work on that starter in a bit.” I waved to him over my shoulder on my way through the garage.
I kept my head down, partly to shield my exposed skin from the biting wind on my way up Main Street but mostly so my eyes weren’t assaulted by the decorations that had exploded onto the landscape sometime over Thanksgiving weekend. I couldn’t wait for spring. Too bad for me, it was bound to be a long, cold, miserable winter.
2
EZRA
The heatinside the kitchen at Shiloh’s Sweets was a stark contrast to the uncharacteristically cold weather outside. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but the blast of freezing air every time the delivery driver pushed another stack of boxes through the back door wasn’t doing anything to help me. Just as my hands started to thaw, he’d come back in with the next load, and I’d be cold again. That made it hard to work with a steady hand, which was, unfortunately, necessary if I wanted the cookies I was working on to look good.
I didn’t want good. I wanted them to look camera-ready by the time I was done. I’d baked and iced three batches at my apartment before bringing my newest cutters into the kitchen at work because I didn’t want even Shiloh to see my latest designs until I felt confident in the results of my work.
The warmth of the holiday season permeated every nook and cranny of the bakery, even in the employee-only areas. Fairy lights, draped like strands of gold, shimmered softly, reflecting off crimson and green baubles. The fact that Shiloh loved the holidays as much as I did made it easy to come to work every morning.
Lost in detailed brushwork, I almost didn’t notice Lacey, who had quietly walked up to my side. Her eyes, filled with amusement, roved over my creations, and she quirked an eyebrow playfully.
“You’re really in the zone today,” she observed with a light chuckle. “Working on a special order?”
I paused momentarily, setting the brush down and casting her a side glance. “Just trying to make these perfect,” I replied, not looking up from my work. Though my words were casual, there was an undercurrent of seriousness that Lacey picked up on.
She tilted her head, examining one of the snowflake cookies up close. “Is there something special about this batch? Or are you just setting the bar even higher for yourself?”
Chuckling, I swiped a smudge of icing off my cheek with the back of my hand. “You know me too well. But yes, these are special. I’ve been working on these designs for weeks. Wanted them to be just right. I haven’t done a whole lot of painting on the cookies, but I saw a video where someone was doing it. I thought Christmas cookies would be the perfect time to bring them out.”
Lacey’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Ah, the secret project you’ve been hoarding in your apartment! I was wondering when we’d get a peek. They look incredible, Ezra.”
I grinned, basking in the compliment. “Thanks.”
She was constantly praising me for how pretty my cookies were, and I never knew how I was supposed to respond. Nobody knew this was something I’d picked up as a way to quiet my brain. If I was focused on getting my designs just right, the lines even and steady and the finished product looking just like the online courses I was taking, I didn’t have time to second-guess everything else about my life.
I swished the brush in my cup of water and put it in its place on my workstation. Everything was neatly arranged from largest to smallest, and even the icing bags were in rainbow order. Whether I was on my first or last cookie, I liked my work area to be precise.
For a moment, we both simply stood there, admiring the array of cookies before us. The quiet hum of the bakery in the background, the scent of warm spices in the air, and the soft ambient glow of the fairy lights made the scene almost magical.
Lacey broke the silence. “You know, there’s a saying in art: perfection is the enemy of done. Don’t lose yourself too much in making them perfect. They already look amazing.”
I considered her words, realizing the truth behind them. “You’re right, but perfect feels really good too. Thanks, Lace.”
She winked, playfully nudging me with her elbow. “Just looking out for you. Now, save me one of those reindeer cookies, okay? They’re too cute to resist.”
Chuckling, I promised, “It’s all yours.”
The bells on the front door jingled, and Lacey excused herself to the counter. I breathed a relieved sigh. She loved watching me work, oblivious to how much I hated anyone standing over me. But I was the new guy, lucky to even get a job where I was paid to do something I’d be spending my money doing otherwise, and I didn’t want to rock the boat.
Once alone, I decided to keep going rather than leave the rest of the cookies for tomorrow. Business had been picking up lately, and Shiloh was constantly assuring me I wasn’t capable of icing as many cookies as he could sell within a few days. As I meticulously detailed the last of the snowperson cookies, the door to the kitchen swung open, bringing with it a flurry of movement and a brief rush of colder air from the storefront. Shiloh strode in, balancing an impressive stack of empty trays, each a testament to the lunchtime crowd.
