Dark Christmas: Chapter 3

“We’re low on eggs, we need more butter, and I’ve gotta call Tony later about the sugar order—he shorted us last time. Oh, and don’t forget, we need to double-check the yeast inventory before the Thanksgiving rush hits.”

Claire pops out of the office, rattling off supply info like she’s running a board meeting rather than a bakery.

I blink at her. “How do you do that? You’re like a human calculator.”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal, and that’s when I notice she’s lugging two huge bags of flour. My jaw drops, and I rush over, easing the bags out of her arms before she can even think about protesting.

“C, what the hell? You’re about to pop and you’re out here playing Hulk with these flour bags? You’re lucky I don’t call David and snitch.”

She rolls her eyes but gives me a grateful smile. “I’m fine, I swear. But thanks, Mama Bear. I guess you do need to keep me in check.”

“Damn right I do,” I say, putting the flour down. “No heavy lifting, got it? I don’t care if you feel like Wonder Woman.”

We head to the front, and Claire takes a moment to admire the pastry displays. “These look so good, Amelia. People are gonna lose their minds.”

I can’t help but grin. “Right? I mean, if they don’t, they’ve got no taste.”

We both laugh at the pun.

“So, who was here earlier?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I lean against the counter, casually dropping the bomb. “Oh, just Mrs. Anderson and Cynthia… they want us to make the wedding cake.”

Claire’s eyes grow wide. “Wait, the wedding cake? That’s huge! A job like that could cover our expenses for a month, maybe two. You know money is no object for them.”

“I know.” I say, grinning. “We’re talking a fancy multitier cake with all the bells and whistles. It’s exciting, thinking about how much the business is really starting to take off.”

Claire nods, her eyes gleaming with that ambitious fire she’s always had. “Yeah, but we have to keep growing. Can’t get too comfortable, you know that.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the one-year plan. We’re on track.”

She smirks. “Good. And don’t forget there’s a five-year plan, too. And a ten-year…”

I smile, remembering all the late nights we’ve spent talking about turning Sweet Talk into a chain of local bakeries. Big dreams, but we’re getting there one step at a time. “Yeah, yeah, I’m all in for world domination.”

Claire heads over to the door to flip the sign announcing we’re open but stops mid-flip, her hand frozen. “What’s up?” I ask, curious. She lets out a low, impressed whistle before shaking her head, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s the neighborhood hottie.”

I practically trip over myself getting to the door, and sure enough, there he is—my neighbor, looking like a freaking Greek god in motion. I say it out loud before I even realize it.

“Sexy fucking accountant.”

Claire turns to me, perplexed. “What?”

Blushing, I stammer, “He’s my neighbor. And that’s what I call him in my head. He’s got this smart, put-together style and vibe about him, especially when he wears his glasses.”

Claire looks from me to him, and I can feel her assessing the situation with that knowing smirk of hers. Meanwhile, I’m watching his ass, which, in those running shorts, I can see is perfectly sculpted. I can already feel the heat rising between my legs.

Claire catches my not-so-subtle gaze and laughs. “You know, it’s one thing to admire, but girl, you’re straight-up eye-fucking him.”

I snap out of it, my face going full-on red. “I am not eye-fucking him,” I protest, but I can’t keep a straight face.

Claire shakes her head, still laughing. “Sure, okay. You remind me of the way I used to catch myself staring at David when we first started dating. Same energy.”

“Okay, fine,” I admit, groaning. “Maybe I was eyeing him a little.”

Claire chuckles. “Just make sure you don’t drool on the pastries. That could be bad for business.”

Claire smirks but then pauses, tilting her head as she gives Sexy Accountant another glance. “He’s definitely a looker. He’s got to be what, mid-forties? Maybe late forties?”

I nod, taking another sip of my now-cold coffee. “Yeah, I’m thinking the same. I’ve never been one to drool over older guys, but he’s definitely an exception.”

Claire places her finger on her chin in that thoughtful way she always does when something’s cooking in her brain.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Alright, spill it. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Claire quirks an eyebrow and asks, “So, you said he was your neighbor. Where does this guy live specifically?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “In that huge house right across the street. Why?”

Before I can even blink, Claire’s grinning like a maniac and rushing over to the counter. She grabs a pastry box and starts loading it up with muffins.

“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask, suddenly feeling nervous as hell.

Claire looks up, still grinning. “If you like this guy, you can’t just be drooling over him from the sidelines. Get out there and show him what’s up!”

My stomach flips. “No way! There’s no way I can do that,” I say, feeling the panic rise as she continues filling the box.

“Why not?” Claire shoots back. “Bring him a little box of treats, and who knows? Maybe it’ll get him thinking about something else he might want to snack on.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re awful! I can’t believe you just said that.”

She shrugs, totally unbothered. “Just saying, babe. Sometimes you have to be a little proactive.”

She finishes packing up the muffins, seals the box, and ties it shut with a little ribbon. The whole thing looks way too cute and innocent for the dirty thoughts running through my head.

I’m still not entirely sure I want to do this, even though the idea is kind of thrilling. I glance over my shoulder and see some of our regulars heading for the front door. Claire catches the look and nudges me. “Girl, get moving! If you hurry over there now and come right back, you’ll still make it in time for the morning rush.”

“But what if he answers the door?” I ask, feeling the nerves bubbling up in my chest. My palms are starting to sweat at the thought of actually talking to him face to face.

Claire’s grin is downright devious. “Then I’ll be more than happy to cover for you if you need a little extra time.” She winks, and I let out a half-nervous, half-excited squeal.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I say, grabbing the box of muffins. My heart is already racing, and it only beats faster as I hurry out the front door, muffin box clutched to my chest like it’s a damn life raft.

The cool morning air hits me as I walk down the street, but it does nothing to calm the storm of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. I seriously cannot believe I’m about to do this.

As I turn the corner onto my block, I catch sight of him just as he slips inside his house. My heart skips a beat—I was kind of hoping he wasn’t home yet.

I stop a few feet away, psyching myself up for what I’m about to do. “Okay,” I mutter to myself, clutching the muffin box a little tighter. “Just drop it off, say something flirty, and then run.”

I stand at the front door and take a deep breath.

I ring the doorbell and wait, trying not to squeeze the box so hard that I crush the pastries inside. After what seems like a full minute, there is still no answer. Glancing around, I spot a small table for packages near the door. “Okay, just leave it and go,” I tell myself. As I bend down to set the muffin box on the table, I notice a big envelope sitting there, half-hidden under some junk mail.

Not wanting to squish whatever’s inside, I move the envelope carefully and place the box down before setting the envelope neatly on top without turning it over. Who his mail comes from is none of my business.

Perfect. I take a step back to admire my handiwork. Mission accomplished. Now, all I have to do is get out of here before my mind wanders back into the gutter.

I turn to leave, but something stops me. I glance back at the box. Normally, we seal our boxes with one of our cute little logo stickers, making it clear it’s from Sweet Talk. But Claire, in her rush, tied it up with ribbon, forgetting the sticker, so the box is just blank. No way Sexy Accountant’s going to know where these muffins are from.

Sighing, I pull out the pen from my apron and scribble a quick note on top of the box:

Hey, neighbor! Thought you might enjoy some treats from down the street. — Amelia from Sweet Talk

I head back down the steps, closing the gate behind me. With my heart still racing from this whole ridiculous muffin delivery, I make my way back to the bakery, trying to wrap my head around what just happened, wondering if I’ll ever hear from Mr. Sexy Accountant.