Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty (Festive Flames)
Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty: Chapter 5

“You said yes?” Amelia’s screech draws the attention of at least six other shoppers. I grab her by the wrist and drag her down the next empty aisle.

“Shush!” I hiss, barely holding back a laugh at Amelia’s comically surprised face. “But yeah, I did.”

“Why? What were you thinking? Why would you say yes? What will you—Lily, why?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Releasing Amelia, my hand returns to the shopping cart and I try to distract myself by scanning the shelves for what’s left on my list. Emma’s currently with my parents, which gives me a few hours to grab necessities that were missing from my weekly delivery.

“Are you sure?” Amelia falls into step beside me, popping a few grapes into her mouth that she snagged from the pack in my cart. “I mean, the man broke your heart, Lily. He abandoned you and Emma, and then the first time you see him, you agree to be his girlfriend?”

“Fake girlfriend,” I correct quickly. “And I don’t know. Seeing him again was like…” Sighing, I shrug my shoulders. Butterflies entered my stomach the moment I bumped into him yesterday, and that feeling has not gone away. “It was like I was twenty-one again. He looks exactly the same, and I mean like exactly the same. He’s still so hot, and then he was sad, okay? He was standing there talking about his dad dying and not knowing anyone in town, and maybe losing his job because of his mother, and I just… I felt really, really bad for him.”

“The same mother he used to dump you?” Amelia snorts. “Maybe he should lose his job. That would be some good Karma.”

“I don’t know. He just looked so sad. It was like I could suddenly see how he was holding himself together with tape and the seams were cracking, and I just saw a way I could help him, y’know?”

“You are a bleeding heart,” Amelia sighs, then she loops her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Thanks.” I laugh softly. We pause so I can gather several bags of flour, and then we carry on.

“So, what are you going to do?” Amelia steals another few grapes from the pouch. “Hang on his arm, look pretty, and let the entire town think you’re dating the hot new doctor?”

“I guess? It’s better than their thinking I’m some old spinster or trying to set me up with their weird friends.”

“You mean Mark?” Amelia snorts. “I’m sorry. I really thought you guys would hit it off.”

“I appreciate your looking out for me. I think with James I just need to attend the party. It’s the charity auction, I think?” We wheel around to the next aisle, and I smile politely as we pass some people. “Just enough for Margret to think she’s got a scoop on some gossip, and then he’ll have one less thing to worry about. I mean, his dad died. And he worshiped that guy. If it wasn’t for him and those seminars across the country, we never would have met, and while all of that ended in heartbreak, I got Emma. So maybe it’s the least I can do.”

“Your heart is too big to share a piece with someone who already hurt you,” Amelia says, and her shoulder rubs against mine. “But nah, I get it. Do you think you will tell him, then? About Emma?”

“God, no.” There’s no way in hell I am telling him the truth. “He might look the same, but we’re not the same people we were. I’m not risking damaging Emma’s life just because he’s randomly shown up. He didn’t want to know then, so he doesn’t get to know now.”

“That’s my girl.” Another shoulder rub, and Amelia darts away toward the confectionaries.

In her absence, my mind runs in circles. James’s being here is like something out of a dream and I can’t get his stupid, handsome face out of my mind. I spent all last night tossing and turning as I replayed our last days together and how bumping into him yesterday felt painfully natural. It was like no time had passed and we were the same two love-struck people.

And now I was to be his date. A good idea at the time. He just looked so sad and forlorn behind that smile of his that it was all I could do to stop myself from hugging him. Amelia’s right. I am a bleeding heart.

“Okay, I am all set.” Amelia returns with a box of brownies and adds them to the cart. “Oh, actually. Would it be terrible for me to ask you to bake something for me?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“I want something sweet for my class for the end of term, and I was thinking of those Christmas shortbread cookies you made last year?” Amelia turns to me with large puppy-dog eyes. “Could you whip me up a batch for my kids this year? I’ll pay you, I promise.”

“And here I thought you were going to take advantage of my bleeding heart.” I laugh. “Sure. Just let me know how many you need and when.”

“Mooooom!” Emma’s voice carries through the bakery like birdsong, only scratchier, and I laugh despite being elbow deep in dough.

“I’m in the back, sweetie!”

Emma comes sprinting through, followed a few seconds later by my mom.

“Hi, darling.” Mom presses a kiss to my cheek and then scoffs softly. “Goodness, Lily, you’ve got flour all over you.”

I send her a sidelong glance as Emma attaches to my leg. “Would you use the same tone if I were covered in motor oil?”

“In a bakery?” Mom teases. “Absolutely.”

Rolling my eyes, I crouch down the best I can and kiss Emma’s head. “Hi, baby. How was Grandma’s?”

“It was so good!” Emma bounces up and down excitedly. “She let me drive the car!”

“What?” I jerk back upright as my heart rate rapidly increases. “What?”

“No, no, no!” Mom laughs and grabs Emma, pulling her away from me and tickling her. “I just had her sit in the driver’s seat and test pedals for me while I was working on something. I promise, no driving took place.”

“Oh, thank God,” I breathe out.

“You rascal, I told you if we told your mom it would give her a heart attack!” Mom tickles Emma mercilessly, and she squeals and giggles for a few minutes until she’s released.

“I did not need to envision my six-year-old behind the wheel of a car,” I groan, although the sudden spike of anxiety renews my forceful kneading of the dough in my hands.

“I was driving when I was six,” Mom says. “Of course, things were different back then.”

“Did road safety even exist when you were a kid?” I tease, earning myself a gentle smack on my arm.

“Cheeky. I’m not that old!” Mom kisses Emma’s head and ruffles her hair. “Anyway, I’d better get back. This one has been running around all day, and we had dinner, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Of course!” Mom kisses my cheek. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow, munchkin.”

“Bye, Grandma!”

Emma busies herself, dragging her stool across the bakery kitchen and setting it beside me, then she climbs up and sighs deeply, as if she’s just back from a nine-hour shift.

“Whatcha making?”

“It’s a secret,” I say, smiling affectionately down at her. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Emma pouts up at me and her eyes become saucers.

“Because it’s a secret that involves you!” With Amelia being Emma’s teacher, Emma becomes one of the students Amelia wants to surprise with these treats and I’m not going to ruin that for her.

“Me?” Emma gasps and then pokes her little fingers at some stray dough on the counter. “A secret,” she whispers. Her head darts up to look at me. “Are you sure you can’t tell me?”

“I’m sure,” I whisper in reply. “But it will be worth it, I promise.”

As Emma whispers her agreement, the bakery phone lights up with a call and a soft song plays out. Years ago, I’d picked up the phone at a charity shop because it was shaped like bread and I got a kick out of it. Nothing prepared me for the first time I got a call, though, and instead of a ringing bell sound, the phone sang to me in French.

To this day, I still don’t know the song.

“I’ll get it!”

Emma’s about to slide off her stool when I gently catch her wrist. “No, sweetie. You stay here, okay? In fact, while I’m on the phone, can you knead the dough for me? Just like I’ve shown you before.”

“Sure!” Emma lights up at the prospect and immediately shoves her hands into the sticky dough as I retract my fingers. She falls into the rhythm easily, and I keep one eye on her as I hurriedly wipe my hands and answer the phone.

“Hello? You’ve reached Sweet Noel.”

“Lily!” Margret’s rough, scratchy tones crawl over the line. “I was beginning to think you would never pick up!”

“Well,” I say with a glance at the clock, “it is after nine and I’m usually home by now.”

“Yes, yes, I did try your home phone and your cell, but no answer,” Margret replies.

As she talks, I pat my pockets and locate my mobile only to replace the screen completely dark.

“I’m sorry, Margret, I think I forgot to charge it again. Time gets away from me when I’m baking.”

“You should be more careful,” Margret says. “It’s not safe to be out and about without your phone charged.”

“I know, I know,” I assure her quickly. It’s the same spiel she’s given me since I was a teenager, although it increased in frequency after Emma was born. I know she means well, but I have a terrible time remembering to charge it.

“Well, since you’re still working, I was hoping to speak to you about something.”

“Of course!” My heart skips a beat while my stomach churns. Did James tell her that I’m his date? Am I about to get questioned about every detail of my life?

“About the cake?”

My mind screeches to a halt. “I’m sorry, the cake?”

“Did Taylor not get in touch with you last week?” Margret rasps. “About the cake for the charity auction?”

From the depths of my overactive mind surges the information on the cake I was hired to make, and a hot flush of foolishness warms the back of my neck.

“Oh, my God, Margret. You’re right, don’t worry. Taylor definitely did call about a cake last week, and I have all the details. It just completely slipped my mind!”

“You had me worried there, dear.” Margret chuckles. “The auction was your idea, after all.”

“I know, I know. I just have a lot of spinning plates right now.” Mainly, the realization that James’s Medical Party and the Charity Auction are one and the same. Somehow, I didn’t put two and two together when he was asking me to be his date, but it seems so obvious now.

“It’s a good thing you are doing,” Margret continues. “I’ve always been in support of a free clinic, especially these days. And now that we have this fancy new doctor, I bet he’d be willing to donate a few hours to the clinic too.”

“You think?” I shift the phone against my ear while keeping one eye on Emma. “I mean, a lot of what we have to auction has been gifted by the people, and there’s a few art pieces from the gallery. If you could get Ja— that new doctor to donate some hours, I bet that would ease some of the costs of getting this place up and running?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Margret assures me. “Although after one mouthful of one of your cakes, I’m sure he’ll say yes to anything you ask him!”

I laugh off the compliment, smoothing one hand down my apron. The clinic itself does wonders, but after Emma’s birth and a few health struggles she had in her early years, I racked up medical bills that were painful to pay off. I was lucky, though, that I was even able to, and the thought of a free clinic was something I raised often at the Town Hall.

This year they finally said yes, if I can raise enough money to get it off the ground.

“Okay, so Margret, just to check. Taylor commissioned me for a four-tier cake made from vanilla, lemon, chocolate, and toffee, with a cream cheese frosting and marzipan town trademarks, correct?” I ask while reeling off the order details scrawled on a blue sticky note next to the till.

“That’s the one!”

“Amazing. So, most of the decorating work is done and ready. The cake just needs to be baked and assembled, and then we can freeze it until the party.”

“Is there any chance we can freeze it here?” Margret asks. “I keep thinking about the snow storms and if it’s as bad as last year, then I don’t want the cake to be stuck there with all the snow.”

“Good point. Tell you what, I can build the four tiers here, then send them to you for storage. Then, on the night, I can assemble in-house, and that way, we don’t miss out on the star of the show!”

“Excellent,” Margret croaks. “I’ll send the new guy over to pick it up when it’s all ready. Thanks!”

She hangs up before I can say much else, but as I hang up the phone, my twisting gut suddenly tightens.

The new guy.

She’s going to send James!

Despite meeting him yesterday and agreeing to be his fake date, the prospect of his coming here to my bakery makes my stomach somersault.

Why does that make me so incredibly nervous?