“Oh my god,” a woman gushed when she saw me. “You’re Merrie’s sexy bake-off partner. I’m a huge fan ofThe Great Christmas Bake-Off. Oh my god, look at those cookies!”
“Ten dollars each,” I told her.
“I want a whole dozen. One of each kind.”
“And they come with a free ornament,” I added.
“Really?” she squealed. “Oh my god!” She held up her phone and started livestreaming.
“You guys,” she narrated to the camera, pointing the phone at me, “I am in the greatest Christmas shop ever.” She held up a cookie. “Each one comes with a free ornament. Isn’t that wild?”
The shop was doing brisk business. I sent Kringle out to do crowd control. The cookies were moving at a steady pace. Merrie had baked a lot of them.
Maybe this was why she had left. I started to relax.Maybe it hadn’t been me after all.
I was restocking the cookie trays when the sharp smell of pine flooded the room.
“You can’t sell these cookies.” I looked up to see a bedraggled Merrie. Her hair was snarled, and she had little cuts on her hands and her face.
“Merrie.” I rushed around the counter to her, crossing the shop floor in a few long steps. “What happened to you? Did you get kidnapped? I’ll kill whoever did this.” I stroked her face in concern. I felt sick. I should have been out looking for her.
“I was working at the Christmas tree lot,” she explained, batting my hands away. She brushed her hair out of her face but then it stuck to the sap on her hand.
“Why? And why did you just leave your shop wide open?”
“Oh my god, can I have a selfie?” a woman in aGreat Christmas Bake-Offshirt begged.
“Uh, sure?” Merrie said.
The woman snapped the picture, and Merrie blinked.
“Can you ring me up for two dozen cookies?” the woman asked me, holding up a basket filled with sugar cookies.
“You can’t sell these cookies,” Merrie insisted, still trying to unstick her hand from her hair. “These are free with an ornament.”
“No one wants ornaments,” I said exasperated.
“They do,” she said stubbornly
“You are the worst businesswoman on the plant. I’ve probably made more money in an afternoon than you have the entire time your shop has been open,” I argued.
“Ten dollars?” she screeched looking at the temporary sign I had made. I had even drawn a little reindeer on it. I was pretty proud of it.
“You’re ripping people off.”
“They get a free ornament with every cookie,” I said smugly.
Merrie sputtered and waved her hands, forgot she was stuck, and ripped out a chunk of her hair. “Ow!”
I reached out to smooth it down.
She slapped my hand away. “That’s not the business model. The business model is that you get a free cookie with an ornament.”
“Your business model sucks. Mine is better. I’m doing you a favor.”
“You can’t just sell cookies. You need a health department inspection and a kitchen,” she complained as the crowd jostled her.
“Stop making excuses for why you can’t run a profitable business.” I bared my teeth.
