Dark Christmas: Chapter 2

I step in just in time to catch the daily cuteness overload of Claire giving her husband, David, a kiss goodbye. He’s in his gym clothes, heading out for his pre-work workout, and they’re both grinning like lovesick teenagers.

“Don’t lift too heavy, mister,” Claire teases, giving him a playful tap on the chest.

David chuckles, wrapping an arm around her and leaning in for a quick kiss. “You just focus on continuing to grow our little man in there,” he says, resting a hand on her huge bump.

Claire can’t hide her smile. “If he’s anything like you, he’ll come out flexing, ready to bench-press his crib.”

It’s such a wholesome scene I could gag, though I’m genuinely happy for her, of course.

David catches me watching and waves. “Morning, Am! Try to keep this one out of trouble while I’m gone,” he says, gesturing to Claire.

Claire giggles. “You know that’s a full-time job.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, I don’t get paid enough for that.”

David kisses Claire one more time, shooting her a wink before heading out the door. She watches him leave, her smile lingering, and I can’t help but feel a little pang of jealousy.

“Girl, you are so lucky,” I say, tossing my stuff down behind the counter and grabbing my apron. “Seriously, where does one find a man like that? Asking for a friend.”

Claire laughs, brushing her long brown hair out of her face.

We get right into our usual routine, sliding into the flow like clockwork. Claire always shows up early to start on the breads; meanwhile, I’m all about the pastries, making sure everything’s ready to roll by the time we unlock the doors.

“Here’s hoping today’s as nuts as yesterday,” I say, tying my apron. “I’m still not over how we nearly sold out of everything.”

“Seriously,” Claire agrees, punching down a ball of dough. “Feels like we can barely keep up. Honestly, though, your holiday marketing is killing it. People are coming in droves.”

I grin, pulling the vanilla extract out of my bag and setting it on the counter. “The trick is to get ‘em in the door. The taste of the goods is the real marketing. They’ll be back for more, no question.”

Claire laughs. “True. One bite of your caramel apple turnovers and people are done for.”

“Exactly.” I start setting up for the day’s fall specials, getting out the goods I’d prepped the night before. “So, I was thinking we’d do some pumpkin spice croissants—light and flaky, but filled with that sweet, creamy pumpkin goodness. And maybe some pecan pie Danishes. Oh, and when it gets closer to Thanksgiving, I’ve got a cranberry-orange scone recipe that’ll knock their socks off. We’ll throw in maple-glazed donuts, too, because, well, obviously.”

Claire hums approvingly. “You’re an evil genius.”

“Thank you, thank you. I try.”

I head into the back, ready to get to work. I start by rolling out the dough for the croissants, dusting the counter with flour, and carefully folding in the butter layers. The repetitive motion is soothing, but my mind starts drifting back to my sexy neighbor.

The image of his legs, muscles flexing with every stride as he ran off this morning, keeps replaying in my head. Those thick, powerful thighs. My hands move slower on the dough as my thoughts go from inappropriate to downright naughty.

I imagine him here in the bakery. He lifts me up onto the counter, flour flying everywhere as his lips trail down my body. His strong hands grip my thighs, pushing them apart as he—

Snap out of it, Amelia.

I shake my head, trying to get my brain out of the gutter, but it’s not easy when the man across the street is literally sex on legs.

A knock on the window pulls me out of my daydreams. I glance up and see Mrs. Anderson and her daughter, Cynthia, standing outside. They’re regulars, usually here at the crack of dawn for their coffee and a couple of muffins. Mrs. Anderson’s waving at me, looking like she’s got something on her mind.

I check my watch, it’s a little before opening, but she’s got that look that says this is more than just an early breakfast run. I wipe my hands on my apron and gesture for them to head to the front door.

I crack the door open with a grin. “Wow, you must really need your caffeine and muffin fix this morning.”

Mrs. Anderson barrels inside and pulls me into a tight hug. I stand there, totally caught off guard, my arms awkwardly sticking out.

“Uh… what’s this about?” I ask, laughing as I pat her back.

She pulls away, beaming. “It’s for that cake you and Claire made for Cynthia’s wedding shower!” she gushes. “It was absolutely stunning. You girls outdid yourselves!”

Cynthia, her daughter, nods enthusiastically, her designer bag slung over her shoulder. “Seriously, Amelia, it was the talk of the shower. Everyone was obsessed. I had to remind people to stop taking pictures and to actually eat it.”

“Well, I’m glad it was a hit,” I say.

“Yes, in fact, it went over so well, we want you to make the wedding cake, too!”

“Wow, really?” I reply, both surprised and flattered.

“Yes, really. We want something truly spectacular,” Mrs. Anderson says. Cynthia nods excitedly. “We’re going all-out.”

Internally, I’m throwing a full-blown party. Wedding cakes are no joke, and landing this one is huge. “I’m sure Claire will be on board,” I say, keeping my voice calm despite my excitement. “But I’ll talk it over with her once she’s done in the office.”

“Perfect! We can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Cynthia says as they grab a couple of scones from the display.

I ring them up, watching them head out with a wave before going to the office and telling Claire the good news.