Month: November 2023

A frustrated cry rang through the entire Elli’s building. Matt straightened from the shelves he squatted next to. He jotted down the number of bags of flour in Elli’s inventory, listening out for further distress. Seconds dripped by, and he started to think maybe Rowan had just stubbed her toe or something. She could be clumsy at times.

Rowan swore, the string of words reaching his ears. “Again?!” she howled.

Wincing, he put down his clipboard and headed out of the little storage room. He found Rowan slumped in defeat next to a burnt batch of candy cane cookies. “Oh no.” He reached out for her, but she turned, shoulders hunching in protective despair.

“I don’t get it,” she sobbed, her hands covering her face.

His heart ached for her. It was bad enough she’d been stuck in a baking rut. Burning Katherine’s special recipe was an assault on everything she held dear. He rubbed her back. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling helpless.

“I’m cursed,” she cried. “Ruined. I’ll never bake again!”

Matt frowned. He hated hearing her talk like that. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. “Maybe you just need a break,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head. She smelled like her usual vanilla and sandalwood fragrance, but with an additional layer of peppermint.

“No.” She sniffled. “I have to try again.”

She pulled away, and he let her go, admiring her tenacity. Or maybe it was sheer stubbornness. He loved how important baking was to her, how she could whip up recipes out of nowhere. The defeated creature that had been crying a couple minutes ago was not the woman he adored. This Rowan—the one who was already laying out the ingredients for another go—was the person he admired. She just never gave up. He smiled. She’d kick this bad streak in no time.

“No,” she groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re out of eggs. How can we be out of eggs?” She threw her hands up. “Did I really go through four dozen already?”

Matt pressed his lips together.

She turned and faced him. “I’m killing our inventory.”

“You’re just working through this.”

“I’m a financial disaster!”

“It’s just eggs.”

He watched as she checked the walk-in. “And butter. Oh my God!” She spun on her heels. “You can’t let me do this anymore. I have to be stopped!”

A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not an abomination.”

“I’m killing baked goods. I’m like a horde of zombies.”

“You’ve been watching way too much The Walking Dead.”

She sighed. “We don’t get a delivery until next week. I’ve gotta go to the store. Again.” She glanced around for her keys.

Matt held up a hand. “I’ll go. You . . . clean something. Or watch something on Netflix. Anything other than beating yourself up.”

“Are you saying that I’m a clean-aholic?”

“Yes. But if it helps . . .” He grinned.

“Maybe I’ll just go get another coffee.”

“Good. And call Charlotte,” he said. Something about Rowan’s best friend always calmed her down. Charlotte was pure magic.

She nodded. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. As her warmth tingled against his skin, he sighed. Kissing Rowan was magic. His arms automatically twined around her, and he pulled her tight against him. If the opportunity wasn’t so perfect, he would kiss away her worries. But his window was limited.

He pulled away and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll be back soon.” He nodded to the tray of ruined cookies. “Toss ‘em. We’ll start over.”

“And what if I ruin them again? How will we win the contest?”

Matt grinned. “We’ll obnoxiously decorate the crap out of the place, and we’ll swoon them all with inflatable Santas.”

She swatted at him with a towel. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

He kissed her again, then grabbed his coat and hurried out of the bakery. Outside, snow was still falling. Maybe he’d get lucky and it’d snow so hard, they’d end up snowed in for the night. Or at the very least, she’d be so into the romantic weather, she’d invite him to stay over her place. But first he had some things to take care of.

While he waited for his geriatric pickup to warm up, he sent out three texts. He almost felt guilty, like he was somehow deceiving Rowan for going behind her back. But he was desperate. He’d had months to prepare for this, yet he’d been completely unable to find the perfect gift for her.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried.

The girl had everything, including an entire bakery full of her favorite baking tools. What Elli’s hadn’t already had, she’d bought during the past six months with her own money. A new mixer came out in November and, before he could secretly buy one for her, she’d bought it for herself. Besides, he didn’t just want to get her a kitchen appliance. She was a strong woman, and even though baking was her passion, she was so much more than that. It’d be like a guy getting his wife of fifty years a vacuum cleaner. She deserved something amazing because she was amazing.

Buying her an engagement ring would be horribly cliché. Everyone got engaged during the holidays. It was almost expected, and when the time came, he wanted to really surprise her. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure they were ready for that step. Things were good, but they’d barely been dating half a year. There was no rush.

He’d entertained the idea of getting her a promise ring, but he thought it was too soon. Besides, their relationship itself was a promise. Both of them knew they were it for each other. It was just a matter of time.

He needed help—and allies. Going behind her back was his only option.

Three replies came to him and he grinned. His team was assembled and ready. He threw the warm pickup into gear and pulled out of the Elli’s parking lot. Time was ticking, and he needed to move fast. If he took too long at the grocery store, she’d suspect something.


Matt picked up Leo, Rowan’s often surly eighteen-year-old brother. When Matt first got together with Rowan, she hadn’t been on good terms with her family. In the months since, she’d grown closer to them—even Leo. It turned out that, where her sister Mia was constantly trying to take everything away from Rowan, Leo adored her. He once begrudgingly admitted to Matt that Rowan had taught him all about music he wouldn’t have otherwise listened to. That, Matt knew, was a lot coming from the teenage boy.

“But don’t tell anyone I said that,” Leo had said. “I’ll deny it.”

Glancing at Leo, who sat huddled in his black Element hoodie, Matt suppressed a smile. The kid totally didn’t look like the type to listen to Kiiara, BANKS, or anything else his sister liked—especially since Rowan loved dance music and R&B. But he’d admitted it was “interesting” to listen to when he was hanging out by himself after a party, and that BANKS was actually “good at writing lyrics.”

“What’s so funny?” Leo asked, scowling at Matt.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

He picked up his own little brother next. Danny was eleven and Matt was pretty sure he knew the truth about Santa. He figured his little brother needed every drop of Christmas magic he could get. Plus, Danny looked up to Rowan. She let him help her in the kitchen and even allowed him to lick the bowl. Matt’s mom had rarely baked during their childhood. After their dad passed away, she had even less energy to do typical mother/child activities. Danny had missed out on a lot of things. Every time Rowan handed him a spatula coated in raw brownie mix, the kid’s eyes lit up. Matt knew Danny would love to be involved with the surprise.

Danny squeezed into the tiny single seat in the back of the cab.

“You good back there?” Matt asked. The kid was shooting up. Soon he’d be too big.

Danny nodded.

“Seatbelt,” Matt instructed, glancing at Leo to make sure he put his back on. Once everyone was buckled in, he headed toward Frankie’s in Waterbury. It was the only place they could meet that he was positive Rowan wouldn’t go. She might run to Starbucks again or even a book store, but she hated the Chase Avenue traffic. Not that he could blame her. The city was still widening it and the construction choked up the already congested street. Plus, with the holiday shopping rush, it was even worse than usual. Rowan didn’t have the patience for standstill traffic. Matt wasn’t even sure he did. For the first time in months, he wished he had a cigarette.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leo stick one between his lips.

He yanked it out of the kid’s mouth and tossed it out the window before Danny could see it.

“What—?!” Leo squawked.

Matt jerked his chin in the direction of the backseat and gave Leo a stern look.

“Oh.” Leo actually looked apologetic.

When their dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Danny had begged Matt to quit smoking. He’d kept his promise—and tried to shield Danny from other smokers. It bothered his little brother more than usual, and maybe it was a pointless thing to do. There were lots of smokers in the world, and not all of them would get sick with cancer. Danny was probably old enough to know that cigarettes weren’t the true enemy. But still.

The line of cars moved forward a whole ten feet. Matt could see the Frankie’s sign up ahead.

“We could literally ditch this truck and walk over there,” Leo grumbled. “I’m starving.”

Too true. “Me too,” Matt said in solidarity. “But we’re almost there, right Danny?” He smiled at his little brother in the rearview mirror.

Danny crossed his arms. “This traffic sucks.”

Apparently Danny was entering his own surly teenage years.

After what seemed like a century, the line of vehicles moved up enough so that Matt could take the left-hand turn into the restaurant parking lot. He hadn’t had Frankie’s in years. The hot dog franchise and its founding family was a Connecticut celebrity. It’d started off small during the Great Depression and quickly grown into an empire. Occasionally, Matt surmised, good things did come out of the struggling city of Waterbury.

He parked the pickup in the angled slots and jumped out. Too bad he couldn’t tell Rowan where he was. She loved Frankies’s fried broccoli.

Matt, Leo, and Danny strode inside in single file. He was the last in, and as he watched the two boys, a swell of emotion surged through his chest. They were slowly but surely becoming familiar with each other—becoming family. Maybe it was too soon to jump to such things, but he could easily see them ten or more years in the future, doing brotherly things together like playing paintball or going camping.

“We gonna order, or what?” Leo asked, bursting Matt’s daydream.

“Sir?” The young woman behind the counter lifted her eyebrows expectantly. Her brown eyes sparkled in merry amusement. The name tag on her uniform read Joan.

“Sorry.” Matt motioned for Danny and Leo to give their orders, then added his own. Again he thought of Rowan and her love for fried broccoli. If she ever found out he had some without her, she’d make him do the inventory again. Or worse. He gulped. It was a risk he was going to have to take.

It was worth it.

As they waited for their orders, the door opened and Charlotte breezed inside. She ran straight to the counter, throwing her arms around Joan’s neck. Her bright red hair bounced on her shoulders as the two women embraced.

“I haven’t seen you in years!”

“How the hell are you?!”

Matt smiled. It was truly magical, how even the smallest moments seemed so beautiful around this time of year.

“Why are you grinning like a lunatic?” Danny elbowed him.

He sighed. Somehow he was going to have to change the Debbie Downer duo’s moods.

Once the four of them had their food, they squeezed into the only table available.

“Move your elbows,” Danny said to Leo.

“I can’t help that I’m so big and need the space,” the older boy retorted. “Some of us still have growing to do.”

Danny scowled at him.

Charlotte gave Matt a knowing look from across the table. “So,” she said in between bites of her chili dog, “what have we got?”

“Absolutely nothing, which is why we’re all here.” He glanced from face to face. “You guys are just as close to Rowan as I am, if not more. I need ideas. And fast.”

“How about you ask her to marry you?” Leo smirked.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Cliché. You should know better than that, Leo. Rowan needs romance and swooning.”

He made a gagging face, Danny joining him.

Matt chewed a bite of his hot dog, trying not to regret bringing the boys along.

“I think,” Charlotte said, “you’re trying too hard to come up with one great big grand gesture.”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted.

“So let’s focus on finding little things, gifts that she can enjoy or use.” Charlotte pulled a notebook out of her bag.

Matt stared.

“What?”

“I just didn’t realize you carried a purse.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “So?”

“Rowan refuses to.”

Charlotte snorted. “Rowan is Rowan. The girl uses her car as a giant bag. Have you seen what’s in her center console?”

He shook his head.

“Dude. She has an entire extra stash of makeup in there, a Phillips and a flathead, a flashlight, and even a wooden spoon. God only knows what she’d need a spoon for while out and about.”

Matt grinned. That sounded like his girl.

“And don’t even get me started on the capsule wardrobe in her trunk. The only reason she doesn’t carry a purse is because there isn’t one on this planet that she can fit her entire life into.” Charlotte tapped her notebook. “Now, let’s focus.” She opened it to a page with a neat list.

“Wow.”

“Girl’s my best friend, Matty. You came to the right person.”

“The OCD person,” Leo said. He and Danny snickered.

Charlotte tossed them an icy look. “Now, I’ve divided this into categories: things Rowan has mentioned she wants, things I’ve noticed she really needs, and things she doesn’t need but would be really nice.”

Matt peered at the list. “UGGs?”

“Every girl needs UGGs, Matty.”

“She already has three pairs. And stop calling me Matty.”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “That’s my name for him.”

Charlotte held up her hands. “Okay, okay. Jeez.” She turned to Matt. “But seriously, these UGGs have a rubber sole with tread. She won’t go slipping and sliding in them.” She beamed.

“Okay. Boots. Great. What am I, her grandma?”

“You’re her boyfriend. It’s your job to keep our clumsy girl safe. And warm. Which brings me to this coat.” She tapped the notebook. “Ro’s allergic to wool, so she has a super hard time finding cute and warm outerwear. But I found one that’s lined with sherpa.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Isn’t that wool?”

“Nope! Sherpa is polyester fleece. Fake,” she added when his confused expression deepened. “Good thing you have me.”

“Yeah. Good thing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny and Leo roll their eyes in tandem. “All right, you two.”

Only Danny looked apologetic.

“Any ideas?”

Danny dunked a chicken tender in barbecue sauce that oozed out of its container. “A Starbucks gift card?”

“Traitor,” Leo muttered.

“That’s actually a good idea.” Matt reached for his phone to start his own list.

“I’m gonna one-up you,” Charlotte said, “and suggest you get her a French press and a five-pound bag of Starbucks coffee. Oh, and a bean grinder.” She tapped her bottom lip with her pen.

Matt tried to envision Rowan going through all of that every morning. She was the most morning person he’d ever met, but the image didn’t fit. “Yeah . . . I’m gonna stick with the gift card.”

“Fair enough.”

“Leo?” Matt nodded to Rowan’s youngest sibling. Even though the kid was annoyed—or at least pretending to be—he didn’t want him to feel left out of the conversation.

Shrugging, Leo crammed fries into his mouth.

“Really? Nothing at all?”

Leo shifted in his seat, the corners of his mouth turned down. “We don’t really do gifts in our house,” he said. His gaze lowered to his burger.

Matt’s chest tightened. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?”

“No, we do,” Leo said. “It’s just . . .” His expression darkened. “Usually my parents go away. Like on a cruise.”

“And they just leave you?” Charlotte gaped at him in horror.

The teenager shrugged again. “Hey, house party, right?” He turned back to his food.

Across the table, Matt met Charlotte’s gaze. It looked like his Christmas mission had just changed.

Rowan stared out the almost too-shiny front window of Elli’s. It’d long been replaced since the wild thunderstorm a few months earlier, but the glass was nearly reflective. She suspected it had more to do with Matt’s obsessive cleaning of the window than the actual glass itself.

She sighed. Snowflakes drifted down from the sky, painting the quiet Main Street in soft white. The scene was picturesque—or it should’ve been. Watertown’s Christmas cheer contest was in just three days, and she was nervous.

Actually, “nervous” didn’t even begin to cover it. She’d entered Elli’s—the bakery she’d inherited from her aunt Katherine—with confidence, but that was before The Curse started.

Yes, she was definitely calling it The Curse now.

It was more than a funk. She’d been in baking ruts before—where no matter what she did, she botched every single recipe—but that was years ago when she was still a student. She was a pastry chef—one with certification and her own business. She never messed up the recipes she’d made a thousand times before. It was getting to the point where Matt—her handsome business partner and boyfriend—was taking over her morning work. She was even ruining plain old bread. No matter how carefully she measured, it ended up too salty or completely flat.

She was cursed, plain and simple.

She sighed again and looked away from the pretty town. Normally, snow would cheer her up. It was almost Christmas, after all. But if she couldn’t pull it together, Elli’s would not only lose the competition, but they’d become the laughingstock of the town.

Her shoulders slumped. “C’mon, Aunt Katherine,” she whispered. “Be my angel and guide me or something.”

The bells over the door jingled and Rowan straightened in her seat. A vaguely familiar young woman strode in, a red Starbucks cup in her gloved hand. She was decked out in full winter attire: the world’s cutest knit cap, a red scarf wrapped several times around her neck, and cozy UGG boots. Rowan glanced down at her flour- and chocolate-streaked chef’s jacket. Matt should be up front greeting customers—not her.

“Hello,” she said, managing not to sound like a total Scrooge. “What can I get for you?”

“Hi there,” the other woman chirped. “I’m from over at Tilly’s.” She pointed in the direction of the little café. “I’m just scoping out the competition.” She peered into the display case, not even trying to look ashamed. “All you have are sandwiches? Where are those famous cookies and cheesecakes I keep hearing about?”

Rowan suppressed a groan. Tilly’s Café, to both her and Matt’s chagrin, had opened about a month earlier. The town only allowed three total bakeries, but Elli’s hadn’t had a competitor in years. Everyone loved Elli’s. There was no need for another place like it. But Tilly’s had roared in, taking the space where the old chocolate café had once been. The owners fixed up the inside, repaired the stage, and reinstated the open mic nights and other events the town had loved when Rowan was a kid. Elli’s couldn’t possibly compete with that vibe, considering they didn’t have enough space to add a stage.

There had been no stopping it, though. Technically Tilly’s was well within their right, and the town approved it unanimously. Competition, everyone said, was healthy.

Rowan disagreed.

Composing herself, she lifted her chin. “Gotta keep our secret weapons hidden until the big day.”

“Ah.” The woman lifted a finger. “Good plan.” She held out a hand. “We haven’t met yet. My name is Tilly. Are you surprised?” She simpered, perfect dimples appearing in each cheek.

Rowan shook hands with her and resisted the urge to gag. Tilly was sugary sweet, in that completely fake way that some women adopted. “So you’re the baker?”Tilly scoffed. “Oh no, sweetie, I’m the director. I have people baking for me.” She glanced Rowan up and down. “I’m assuming you’re the baker here. Where’s your director?”

“You’re looking at her,” Rowan said, not bothering to hide her disdain.

“Oh my. That’s telling.” Tilly shook her head and clucked her tongue in disapproval. Straightening, she sniffed the air, her delicate nose wrinkling. “Is something burning?”

Eyes widening, Rowan darted out of the front room and careened into the kitchen. “No, no, no,” she protested, yanking open the oven door. But it was too late. The pan she withdrew and placed on the counter held a dozen nearly black red velvet cupcakes. She slumped against the stainless steel counter.

“Well,” Tilly said from the kitchen entrance, “it’s been a pleasure. I’m really glad I came by.” With one last condescending smile, she turned and left.

Rowan glowered at her back. “I’m really glad you’re a total bitch,” she muttered. She shook her head at herself. That was hardly even a comeback.

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Matt strolled into the kitchen from the back room. He carried a clipboard in one hand and pushed back brown curls from his eyes with his other.

“You were supposed to be watching the cupcakes,” she accused.

“I was?” Green eyes shifted from side to side. “I thought I was taking inventory.” He pointed to the clipboard.

Jabbing a finger at the ruined goodies, Rowan scowled. “Tilly’s owner came by. She was a complete tool.” She crossed her arms.

“Sorry, babe.” Matt put the clipboard down. It clinked against the stainless steel counter. He drew her in for a hug, and she couldn’t help but relax against him. With his green eyes, cherub-like curls, and muscular arms, he was living, breathing Ativan. “Still on that streak, huh?”

She huffed. “It’s a curse.”

“Nah.” Stepping back a bit, he lifted her chin with a warm finger. “It’ll pass. You’re Rowan, Elli’s amazing baker.”

Snorting, she shook her head. “More like Elli’s walking disaster!”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Oh yeah? When? The day after the competition?” She stepped completely away and put her hands on her hips.

“It’s no big deal. It’s just a contest.”

Her eyes widened. “Just a contest? Matt, you must have amnesia. Elli’s has won every single Christmas cheer contest for the past ten years.”

“To be fair,” he said, “that’s only because we’ve been the only bakery in town.”

Rowan’s jaw dropped open. “Are you saying we didn’t deserve those awards?”

He held up his hands. “I’m just saying that there was no one else in our category. It’s been, well . . . a piece of cake.”

“I hate you right now.”

He chuckled and slapped his thigh. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the burnt cupcakes. “This event always meant a lot to Aunt Katherine. Christmas was her favorite holiday.” Tears stung her eyes. Exactly six months had passed since Katherine had suddenly died—well, suddenly to Rowan. She’d had no idea that Katherine was even sick. She’d been out in New Jersey, licking her wounds and hoping to sever her family ties all the way down to her DNA. She’d been so, so wrong.

Matt cupped her shoulders. “I know,” he said quietly. Those green eyes bore into hers, pulling her back from the abyss. He smiled. “What if we go through Katherine’s recipe book? Maybe you just need to try something new.”

“And botch one of her sacred recipes?” She shook her head. “I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Well, it’s better than ruining your own recipes and beating yourself up.” His lips flattened. “Actually, it’d be great if you could just stop the self-flagellation altogether. Ro, you’re a freakin’ magician in the kitchen. Everyone has a bad day now and then.”

“A two-week bad day?” she asked. Still, she bent down and retrieved the cherished recipe book from its spot, nestled in a wicker cube that also housed Katherine’s lucky apron. She eyed the apron thoughtfully. “Maybe I should put that on.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Or . . . not. It’s probably better if I don’t taint it.”

She plunked the recipe book onto the counter. It was a two-inch binder wrapped in a floral pattern fabric. Each of Katherine’s recipes was tucked into a clear sheet protector, written in her looping hand that Rowan had always loved. She flipped it open and skimmed through the contents. “What do you think?”

He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Something we don’t make very often . . . and something easy.”

“Hey.” She swatted at him.

“No offense.”

Shaking her head, she read through the list again. “What about Aunt Katherine’s candy cane cookies?” She tapped the photo with a fingernail that she’d nibbled down to the nub.

“Those are good,” Matt agreed. “She made them the first year I worked here.”

“You mean the year you stole my job?”

“Yeah. That year.” He grinned. “Anyway, she wouldn’t let me touch them. I could only watch. She was so particular about how everything was done.”

“In the best way possible.” Rowan smiled. “She always wanted to make sure you were paying attention, that you really learned how to bake with your heart.”

He nodded, then pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Bake with your heart, babe.” He picked up the clipboard again.

“You’re not going to help?”

“I believe I just did.”

“You know what I mean.” She began laying out the ingredients.

Grimacing, he continued toward the store room. “And hang around you? That’s bad juju.” He strolled away, whistling “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

“Brat,” she called after him. Still, she smiled. Despite their rocky beginning, Matt was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Rolling up her sleeves, she got to work.

She flipped on her favorite Christmas music playlist—a mix of piano-only songs on Spotify. With the cheerful tunes drifting through the kitchen, she started mixing the dough. Mixing was always her favorite part. Though she used a mixer, there was just something so soothing about watching all of the ingredients come together. She combined butter, sugar, egg yolks, and peppermint extract, watching as the paddle stirred the wet components together. Her shoulders loosened and a sappy smile played on her lips.

This was it. She was going to break the curse, if it was the last thing she did.

Switching the mixer to low, she stirred in the dry ingredients. The dough churned, becoming more and more solid with each turn. It was hard to believe that, at one point, she’d been willing to give all of this up.

Once the dough was mixed enough, she shut off the machine and separated it into two equal halves. She swaddled one in plastic wrap and set it aside. Maybe covering it completely was going overboard, but with her luck she’d splash red food coloring everywhere and she’d end up with completely red cookies instead of candy cane-shaped cookies, alternating in red and white.

She hummed to herself as she dyed the other half of the dough red. Already she could see the perfect little candy canes, positioned in the display case so that every other one of them were Js, their sugar sprinkles glistening.

Using her hands, she shaped each ball of dough into a flat square, smoothing the edges into perfection with a bench scrape.

The front door jingled again, and she cringed. “Matt,” she called.

“It’s just me.” Her best friend, Charlotte, practically floated into the kitchen. Her face glowed, and Rowan suspected it had little to do with the cold weather.

“Tell me everything,” Rowan said as she wrapped the squares, “in just one more minute.” She tucked the dough into the walk-in refrigerator, taking a moment to admire her work. Content, she hurried back into the kitchen. “Go!” she told Charlotte.

“Okay, so you remember Amarie?” Charlotte said, unable to hide the goofy grin that clung to her lips like confectioner’s sugar.

“How could I forget?” Rowan tossed everything into the pot sink for later scrubbing.

“Well,” Charlotte drew out the word, “she added me on Facebook a while back.”

“Uh-huh. I remember,” Rowan prodded.

“She hasn’t posted much lately, because of finals and all that, but . . . she’s coming home for winter break!” Charlotte clapped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet, her hair flying off her shoulders. Usually dyed one bright color or another, Charlotte had made no exceptions for the holiday season and had turned her naturally blonde locks into cheery Christmas red.

“That’s awesome, Char,” Rowan said with a smile. “So are you gonna make a move?”

Charlotte’s smile faded. She took a deep breath. “She’s still with Jason,” she admitted.

Rowan nodded sympathetically. “We’ll just have to plan a get-together and then you can sweep her off her feet!”

Her best friend shrugged. “I don’t know . . . I mean, I know she’s queer. My gaydar has never failed me. But . . .”

“Jason puts a wrench in the plans.”

“Exactly. I’m not into adultery.”

“They’re not exactly married,” Rowan said, lifting a finger.

“Right, but they’ve been together a while now. Over a year? Maybe even close to two. And I don’t think she knows she likes girls, too, Ro. Like, maybe deep down, but not really, you know?”

Rowan nodded. She slung an arm around Charlotte. “We’ve got to cure you of this crush, babe. It’s only going to tear you apart.”

Charlotte twisted her lips to the side. “I know it. I barely know the girl. I’ve never felt so connected with anyone before, though. It sounds freakin’ stalker-ish.”

“Nah. I get it.” Rowan shrugged out of her chef’s jacket. “How about we go get our Starbucks fix? I’m really craving a peppermint mocha now,” she said, sniffing at the faint traces of the oil on her hands.

Charlotte giggled. “So I take it your streak has ended?”

“I think so,” Rowan said. “I can feel it.” She pulled on her winter coat, a black parka that fell to her knees. Though Charlotte had tried talking her into dying her whole head green, Rowan had gone back to her natural mousy brown—just until the competition was over. She meant no offense to Charlotte, but she’d wanted to be taken seriously, and she was glad now that she knew how put-together Tilly was.

Linking arms with Charlotte, Rowan called out to Matt that they were heading out, and promised to bring him something back. Arm in arm, she and Charlotte stepped onto Main Street. It was at least a mile walk to Starbucks, but with Charlotte she didn’t even feel cold. They chitchatted as they walked, catching up on their lives. Charlotte had started bartending school so that she could be a mixologist at The 545, the lounge she was a short order cook at.

“This way I can chat up cute girls and make some extra money in tips,” she reasoned.

“Makes sense to me.”

Rowan glanced into the windows of the various shops they passed. Main Street was always cute, but it had an even more special vibe during the holidays. Each bare tree was wrapped in white string lights, the lights intertwining and forming a canopy above the sidewalk. It was pure magic, she surmised.

By the time they stepped inside Starbucks, though, her cheeks and nose were numb.

“My treat,” Charlotte said, blocking her from the chip reader.

“No, mine,” Rowan insisted. “You got the last time.”

“So?”

“Plus Matt’s ordering too. C’mon.”

Charlotte stuck out her tongue playfully and gave the barista their orders before Rowan could argue further.

“You,” Rowan told her, wrapping her in a one-armed hug.

“Me.” Charlotte beamed.

They took their coffees and sat down at a table.

“So,” Charlotte said meaningfully, dragging out the word. “Any special Christmas plans with Matt?”

Rowan tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowed. As far as she knew, they were each spending Christmas with their families. They saw each other every day anyway. They could exchange gifts any time.

“Seriously? He didn’t invite you to Christmas dinner with the family?”

“So what? I mean, he doesn’t really have a lot of family. It’ll just be his mom, his little brother, and him. He doesn’t get to spend much time with them.”

Charlotte gave her a flat look. “You guys have been together for like six months now.”

“Four, technically. Actually . . .” Rowan counted. “Three.”

Her best friend rolled her eyes. “Six,” she said firmly. “That month or whatever you were ‘broken up’ so doesn’t count.”

“Either way,” Rowan said, “it’s family time.” She suppressed a groan. “Family time,” to her parents, meant ditching their children just before the holidays for their annual cruise. “What are your plans?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The Butler family tradition: Christmas Eve mass and a stern talking-to about how God hates gays.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry, love.” Rowan reached across the table and gave her best friend’s hand a warm squeeze. “Any way you can skip?”

“Only if I’m bleeding to death. And even then . . .” She shrugged.

Rowan raised her coffee cup in a salute. “To family.”

Charlotte knocked her cup against Rowan’s. “Happy holidays.” She giggled.

A little while later, they headed back to Elli’s. Full dark had fallen in the meantime and, with it, the temperature. Rowan huddled deep into her coat.

Charlotte walked her to the door and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck with those candy canes,” she said. She hopped into her warm car, thanks to her remote starter when they were still a block away, and waved as she pulled from the curb.

Taking a deep breath, Rowan hurried into the warmth of Elli’s. She hung her coat up, then went into the walk-in.

Matt bent over a shelf, his black Dickies accenting his ass.

“Nice,” she said flirtatiously.

Straightening, he turned and wrapped her in a hug. Full, warm lips pressed to hers. “Aw, look who’s cold. Let me warm you up, baby.”

“In the walk-in?” Rowan lifted an eyebrow.

He smirked. “We could do it in the kitchen instead, if you prefer.”

“Tempting,” she said, twirling away, “but I’ve got a hot date.” She grabbed her chilled dough and took it to her station, leaving him chuckling after her.

Heart thudding in her chest, she eyed the dough on the stainless steel, willing it to cooperate. “All right,” she said. “Let’s break this streak.”