Dark Christmas: Chapter 5

“Done!”

The day is finally winding down.

It’s 3:30, and the last of the afternoon customers have trickled out, leaving the bakery quiet except for the hum of the ovens. I’m beat, but it’s the best kind of tired. The kind where you know you’ve killed it.

Now comes one of my favorite parts of the day: gathering up what’s left for Saint Martha’s, the women’s shelter a couple of blocks down. It’s kind of become my thing, donating whatever we don’t sell. The only problem today is that we’ve sold so much there’s barely anything left. A good problem to have, I guess, but I hate the thought of showing up nearly empty-handed.

I scan the shelves, hoping there’s at least something worth taking. The display case is looking a little bare. There are a couple of blueberry scones, one pumpkin muffin, and a few cranberry-orange cookies that I’m honestly surprised didn’t get snatched up.

I lean against the counter, tapping my fingers and thinking. It’s not much, but I’m not about to skip the shelter run just because we had a killer day. Maybe I can whip something up really quick—anything to bulk up the offering. Those women deserve it.

I grab a box and start packing what’s left, my mind already spinning with ideas of what to make.

I glance around the back, my eyes landing on a tub of cookie dough we prepped earlier. Perfect. A quick tray of chocolate chip cookies should do the trick. I grab the dough, preheat the oven, and start scooping, keeping one eye on the front door through the kitchen window.

Just as I pop the cookies in the oven, Claire walks in, rubbing her growing baby bump. “What are you up to now?”

“Whipping up some chocolate chip cookies for the women’s shelter,” I explain, wiping my hands on my apron. “We sold so much today, there’s barely anything left. Gotta make it worth the trip.”

Claire smiles, leaning against the counter. “That’s sweet of you. But you know we can’t always be giving away extra stock.”

I pause, looking over at her. “I know, but maybe we could plan ahead and make a little extra of everything. That way, we’ve got plenty to donate without cutting into what we sell.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “We don’t have enough overhead right now to be whipping up extra trays of pastries just to give away. It’s a nice tax write-off, sure, but we’re still a business.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. “Yeah, I know. Just sucks we can’t do more.”

Claire pats my shoulder. “We’ll be able to do a lot more when we grow. We just need to stick to the plan.”

“I agree. But I still like doing whatever we can now. Hey,” I add as an idea pops into my head. “It’s getting close to Christmas. We should plan something extra nice for the shelter. You know, really make it special.”

Claire’s eyes light up. “I’m down for that! What are you thinking?”

We chat it out, and after some back-and-forth, we strike a deal: Come Christmas, we’ll bake enough muffins for everyone at the shelter, plus cupcakes for the kids. It’s a small way to spread some holiday cheer without breaking the bank.

‘But,’ Claire adds with her signature I’m-the-boss grin, ‘starting next year, we might have to scale back on the daily drop-offs. Maybe switch to a few times a week instead of every day. Just for a while.’

I sigh but I know she’s right. “Yeah, okay. I get it. Gotta be realistic.”

She pats her bump with a satisfied smile. “Exactly. But Christmas? We’re going all out.”

Then her grin turns a little too mischievous for my liking. “Speaking of Christmas, did you get the boudoir photos?”

My cheeks heat up even though I’m trying to play it cool. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe I let you talk me into something so outrageous.”

Claire laughs. “You needed a little spice in your life!”

The boudoir shoot had been her brilliant idea—a birthday gift she insisted I couldn’t refuse.

Claire smirks. “Look, I love that you’re so committed to the bakery, but babe, you’ve let your love life fall off the face of the earth. Those photos were to, you know, reinvigorate things. Remind you that you’re a beautiful, sexy woman who deserves to feel like one.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. “Yeah, I know.”

“And it worked, right? Didn’t you feel sexy?”

I shrug, feeling my face warm up a little. “I guess. The photographer knew what she was doing. She managed to make me feel pretty damn good, honestly.”

Claire’s eyes sparkle. “Told ya!”

I suddenly remember it’s been a few weeks since the shoot. “Actually, the photos should be here by now. I should’ve gotten them already.”

Frowning, I pull out my phone, checking my email and tracking the package. My stomach twists as I see the status.

“Delivered,” I mutter. “Weird, I haven’t gotten them yet.”

A ding snaps me out of my thoughts, and I rush over to the oven. The cookies look amazing—golden brown with gooey chocolate chips.

“Perfect,” I say, “but they’ll need to cool a bit before I can take them over to the shelter.

Claire peeks over my shoulder. “Why don’t you throw them on a paper plate? They’ll cool off on the walk over.”

“Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

She hands me the box with the rest of the leftovers already packed up. “Here. Tell the staff I said hi, okay?”

“Will do!” I grab the plate of cookies and the boxed-up treats, balancing them as I head for the door.

The walk to the shelter is quick, and when I arrive, I make sure to tell the staff to grab a cookie before they’re all gone.

“I made plenty, so don’t be shy,” I say with a wink. They thank me and after some quick goodbyes, I’m on my way back, my mind still on those damn photos.

Upon arriving home, I unlock the door to my small but cozy place, and step inside. It’s nothing fancy but I love it—soft pastel walls, a small sectional couch, and a killer view of the city— the perfect space for me to unwind after a long day at the bakery.

I toss my bag aside, grab my laptop, and settle onto the couch. Time to figure out what the hell happened to those photos.

I open my laptop and check the email. Sure enough, it says the photos were delivered yesterday. But I check my mail every day, and there’s been nothing. My eyes scan the email again, and that’s when I spot it.

No. No, no, no.

I live at 719. The photos were delivered to 718.

My stomach drops. I grab my phone and call Claire, pacing around the living room while I wait for her to pick up. On the second ring, she does. ‘What’s up?’

‘Claire!’ I practically shout. ‘Those boudoir photos? They were sent to the wrong address!’

“Okay?” she says, sounding like she doesn’t see the problem. ‘Calm down, it’s not the end of the world.’

‘Not the end of the world? Claire, someone out there has a packet of racy photos of me in a sexy elf costume! What if they end up in the wrong hands and get plastered all over the internet? They could go viral!”

She laughs, completely unfazed. ‘Relax, Am. Look up the address and see where it is.’

I go cold as I realize who it is. ‘I don’t need to look it up.’ I swallow hard. ‘718 is right across the street. Mr. Sexy Accountant himself.’

There’s a beat of silence before Claire bursts out laughing. ‘Oh, shit. That’s one way to make an impression!’

“It’s not funny, Claire,” I grumble.

Claire’s laughter turns into a chuckle. “Okay, okay, I’ll go easy on you. But come on, you gotta admit it’s a little funny.”

I throw myself onto the couch, burying my face in a pillow. “I have to figure out what to do.”

Then it hits me hard, like ice water running down my spine. “What if he opened it and looked at the pictures?” My voice is barely above a whisper but the panic in it is screaming.

Claire doesn’t miss a beat. “If he did, he probably has a huge boner.”

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the world on my chest. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

Claire’s voice softens. “Look, he probably didn’t open it. It was addressed to you, right? Maybe he just set them aside, figuring it was a mistake and plans to bring them over to you later.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Before you start imagining your sexy elf pics going viral, though, just go over and talk to him. Explain the mix-up. It’s a little embarrassing, but that’s life.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. “I guess so. I mean, it could be worse, right?”

“Exactly. It’s not like you’re the first person to have a package sent to the wrong address.”

‘Yeah, but how many have accidentally sent provocative photos to their hot neighbor?”

“Hey, you might get lucky out of the deal.”

“Shut your trap,” I snap, though I can’t help but laugh a little through the panic.

“Girl, you definitely need to get laid,” she teases, and I can practically hear her smirking.

I sigh dramatically. “Okay, I’m going over there. I’ll just face the music, I guess.”

We hang up after she makes me promise to call her back afterward and tell her how it goes. I toss my phone on the couch, nerves frayed. But then, as I stand up, a horrifying realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

The envelope I saw at my neighbor’s this morning most likely had my photos in it. And I had literally placed it on top of the muffin box, like it was part of the gift.

My heart skips a beat, and I freeze, staring out the window at his house. Did I unknowingly giftwrap my sexy elf photos and hand-deliver them like some kind of perverted Secret Santa?

I swallow hard, my heart racing. No backing out now. I have to fix this.

Taking a deep breath, I stare across the street, trying to psych myself up. Then, before I can change my mind, I grab my coat, throw it on, and head over.