The Christmas Crush: A Festive Romantic Comedy Novella

by Emily Lowry

  But, there was no such thing as do-overs. The past couldn’t change, and Ryan’s life was in New York now — a life he’d be returning to in a week. And, though things had changed between us over the Holidays, I couldn’t expect him to upend his entire life and career for me.

  And so, I tossed and turned all night. I woke up the next morning to a faceful of Meatloaf’s terrible breath, and to a reflection featuring swollen, pink little mouse eyes and hair that looked like I’d been electrocuted.

  Fan-flipping-tastic.

  Ryan and I had plans to meet this evening after the bakery closed. We were meant to bake the rest of the treats Evermore High had ordered for the Christmas Crush. But after our horrible conversation last night, I was worried he might not even show up.

  I wouldn’t blame him, either.

  I shot Ryan a quick text, squinting at my phone screen through my swollen eyes: Sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just a bit overwhelmed with everything at the bakery, but that’s not an excuse.

  My phone pinged a moment later: No probs, Mar. It’s a big decision. See you later. I’ll be sure to provide you with my best underwhelming company to compensate.

  I smiled. Ryan could always make me feel better. Period.

  After an inordinate amount of time spent taming my insane-asylum hair with copious amounts of gel, I pulled on the ugly Christmas sweater Ryan had given me.

  Today would be a good day. No matter what was to come with my bakery, or with me and Ryan, we would figure it out.

  One step at a time.

  I arrived at the bakery at 8am with a takeout coffee in my hand and a smile on my face. By 4pm, the caffeine from my extra-large Chino’s mocha had long left my veins, and my smile was a forced customer service grimace. I’d burned a huge batch of cinnamon buns, forgotten to order eggs, and gotten virtually no cookie dough made due to the surprise steady stream of customers throughout the day. My hair was back in its gravity defying pre-gel position, and to top it all off, Meatloaf swiped an entire package of marzipan from a shopping bag, devoured it, and then promptly regurgitated it all over the floor.

  As I was mopping up the last of the vomit, Ryan came waltzing in. He was smiling, which I took to be a good sign.

  “Nice hair,” he said.

  “Shut up,” I responded, returning his smile.

  Ryan wagged a finger at me. “That’s no way to talk to the man who brought you coffee.”

  “Coffee?” I perked up. “What I meant to say is, you’re a wonderful, beautiful specimen of a man.”

  “That’s more like it.” Ryan handed me a Chino’s cup and I took a greedy, grateful sip of hot, sugary, caffeine-y goodness.

  Our eyes met and a look of understanding passed between us.

  “I’m so sorry about last night,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Ryan replied. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. It’s your business, and so it’s your decision. Not mine.”

  I sighed. “Sometimes, I wish I had a business partner. Someone to make important decisions with. I hate making decisions.”

  “I’m here,” Ryan said. “If that helps?”

  “It does.”

  And that was true. It did. No matter what, Ryan was still my best friend. And that wouldn’t change.

  I walked to the front of the bakery and flipped my Open sign to say Closed. Then, I wiped my hands on my apron and turned to Ryan. “Do you really think I should turn the offer down?”

  He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. “I think you shouldn’t sell the bakery out of fear, or not believing in yourself. You should believe in yourself. You’re amazing, and you can do anything you set your mind to. But, if selling is what you want, that’s a totally different story.”

  I covered my face with my hands.

  “Why does your advice have to be so smart?” I moaned.

  “I’m an extremely smart person. It’s one of my best attributes, alongside my looks, my impeccable style, humor…”

  “Modesty?” I suggested.

  Ryan nodded seriously. “Yes, I am the best at being modest.”

  I laughed.

  “Do you want to sell the bakery, Marley?”

  I considered for a moment. Everything I’d worked so hard for was in front of me. Did I really want to lose all that?

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Well, then. We just need to crunch some numbers. Work out how many orders you need to fill to hire a helper.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “You can do this, Marley.” Ryan said. His blue eyes were clear, truthful.

  He really believed in me. I clenched my fists in determination. “Yes, I can.”

  “That’s my girl!” Ryan’s face split into a smile and he picked me up, hugged me tight.

  I flushed in pleasure.

  “Today is the first day of the rest of your life as a business owner. You’re gonna do this. And you’re gonna absolutely kill it.”

  “Right after I bake the rest of the order for the Christmas Crush,” I said, trying not to feel overwhelmed. I could do this.

  “Perfect. How can I help?”

  “Umm… you could go to the store and pick up some eggs?”

  “Great. How many eggs?”

  I grabbed him by the collar and stared very seriously in his eyes. “All of the eggs, Ryan. All of the eggs.”

  16

  Ryan

  The Christmas Crush was the stuff of Evermore High School legends.

  It was the ultimate social event of the high school’s calendar for three reasons: the decorations, the drama, and the food.

  The decorations spoke for themselves. It was tradition for the student council to go way overboard, and each year’s feature piece was a surprise. Picture life-size gingerbread houses, and Santa’s workshops staffed with actors playing elves, and igloos that were also photobooths. You get the drift.

  As for drama, the dance, which took place at a hotel, was always notoriously under-chaperoned, which meant that anything could happen. The school’s rumor mill would go crazy in the days following the event — usually because a wayward student spiked the punch with liquor, or a beautiful cheerleader ended up kissing someone she considered beneath her stature. Yes, Evermore High was that kind of high school.

  But even with endless decor and gossip galore, the true highlight was the food. The Christmas Crush always had tables upon tables of Christmas cookies, cupcakes, candy canes, you name it. The dance was so synonymous with tasty treats, it could have had its own show on the Food Network.

  And this year, all of the treats had been baked by Marley. Tiered stands housed miniature cinnamon buns and mince pies and dark chocolate truffles. There were cups of salted caramel pretzel rods coated in red and green M&M’s, and cake pops decorated to look like little reindeers. Platters of cookies decorated like gingerbread men, angels, snowmen and fantastically ugly sweaters were placed strategically between swirls of twinkling fairy lights and lanterns.

  It was a breathtaking spread.

  Marley placed the last platter — cookies shaped like Bernese Mountain Dogs sporting Santa hats — on one of the long tables, and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

  “Nice job, Beekman.” I knocked my elbow against her arm.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, Kennedy.”

  We helped ourselves to paper cups of punch and leaned against a railing, taking in the scene in front of us.

  Teen couples floated by, arms wrapped around each other. Boys looked awkward in their suits, girls shone in bright layers of taffeta and silk. Their faces glowed in the twinkling light of the huge Christmas tree that towered over the scene.

  “Remember the Christmas Crush our sophomore year?”

  Marley laughed. “The one with the crazy array of ice sculptures? The student council went all out that year.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about the ice sculptures.” I fixed my gaze on Marley, on her hazel eyes and wild curls and soft curves.
Her cheeks pinkened under my stare. I remembered how beautiful she’d looked at our sophomore Christmas Crush, swaying in my arms in her navy-blue dress. It was the first time I’d looked at her and not seen Marley, my best friend, but Marley, my best friend who was also a stunning, incredible woman.

  Why hadn’t I told her?

  Tonight, in a flour-sprinkled wool sweater and old, worn-out jeans, she looked equally, if not more, beautiful than she had that night all those years ago. And I wasn’t making the same mistake twice.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Marley,” I said, blushing. “I was wondering… would you like to dance with me?”

  “Always,” she whispered, and took my hand.

  I guided her onto the dance floor, and we swayed to a slow song, her head on my chest. Holding her in my arms felt so right, like we were two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. I practically forgot that we were years older than anyone else on the dance floor until I spotted the feisty blond waitress from Beachbreak, attached to her boyfriend’s mouth.

  “Ryan?” Marley murmured.

  “Yeah, Mar?”

  “Thank you. Honestly. For all of your help this Christmas.” She pulled back a little, tilted her head up to meet my gaze.

  “We’re a good team, aren’t we?”

  “The best,” she agreed. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  I took a deep breath. There was no time like the present.

  “Mar, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

  “Excuse me? Ms. Beekman?” A nervous, polite voice cut through my confession.

  Startled, we both turned to see a waitress dressed in a button-down shirt and black slacks hovering awkwardly next to us. Her mascara was flaking off, and she had dark circles under her eyes, like she was just coming off the back of a 14-hour shift or something.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But the hotel manager would like to see you.”

  Marley turned back to me, her eyes filled with terror. My stomach sank to the floor.

  Was something wrong with the cookies?

  We followed the waitress off the dance floor, walking like puppies with our tails between our legs. I couldn’t help but think of my disastrous tendencies to add the wrong ingredients in baking. Had I put salt in place of sugar? Baking powder in place of flour?

  At that moment, all I could do was just hope and pray that I hadn’t poisoned anyone.

  17

  Marley

  Little beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

  How bad could this possibly be? I’d sampled a couple of the cookies myself — I always did — and they seemed fine to me. Could the hotel really hate my baking that much?

  We wove our way through the crowd of teenagers, who had now gathered around the stage to watch a beautiful girl with caramel-colored hair and a million-dollar smile get crowned Queen of the Christmas Crush. I recognized the boy next to her as the handsome, moody shop assistant from Notes music store.

  King of the Christmas Crush was called next — it was the rogue tobogganer from Evermore Lake. He looked at the floor as he received his crown, clearly embarrassed by the attention. His girlfriend was laughing at him, patting his hand.

  But I felt his pain.

  I wasn’t royalty here, I was a humble subject about to be exiled from the kingdom.

  The nervous waitress led Ryan and I to a fancy glass office. We were greeted by a sleek, well-groomed, middle-aged woman. She was propped up behind a behemoth wooden desk twice the size she was.

  The woman looked up from behind her three monitors, smiled, and took off her glasses. “Thank you, Alison.”

  The waitress scuttled off. The woman stepped around her fortress and extended a hand to me. “Eileen Donovan, I’m the Area Manager of the Clayton Hotel Group. We have three hotels here in Evermore, and two more in Eastmount.”

  I nodded, trying not to look confused. Why was she telling me all this?

  “Marley Beekman.” I shook her hand. “And this is Ryan Kennedy.”

  “A pleasure to meet you both.” Eileen flashed a smile that was all straight white teeth and perfect pink lipstick. She gestured to a set of plush, velvet chairs in the corner of her office. “Please, sit down.”

  I stole a glance at Ryan, who shrugged. He plopped himself down on a squishy chair, and I followed suit. What was going on?

  “So, Marley.” Eileen leaned forward in her chair. “I hope you don’t mind me pulling you aside like this, but I have a proposition for you.”

  “Sorry?” I blurted in surprise. The sweat beads on my forehead cooled against my skin, making me shiver.

  “A proposition,” Eileen repeated. Slowly. Very slowly, in fact. Like she thought I might be a bit slow myself.

  I sat straight in my chair, trying to regain some composure. “What kind of a proposition?”

  “At the Clayton Hotel Group, we pride ourselves on offering simple, top quality culinary selections for our guests, and we prefer to partner with local businesses to do so. Chino’s Coffee House supplies our tea and coffee, and we’ve been searching for a new partner to provide continental breakfast selections.”

  I blinked at Eileen, dumbfounded. Unfortunately, she took my blink to mean that I didn’t understand what a continental breakfast was.

  “You know,” she said. Slowly again. “Danish pastries, pain au chocolat, cinnamon rolls, a variety of muffins.”

  For some reason, I couldn’t find my voice. I was stunned into total silence.

  “Marley makes the best cinnamon rolls in town,” Ryan said, shooting me a strange look. “Plus, these incredible croissants that are made of some kind of nut, I think.”

  “Almonds,” I said loudly, making myself jump. “Almond croissants. Although I could make them with different nuts. Hazelnuts. Or pecans. Or maybe macadamias or pistachios. But not cashews.”

  Ryan widened his eyes and levelled his hand across his throat, miming for me to stop. I shut my mouth like a trap. What was wrong with me? First, I couldn’t speak at all, then I couldn’t stop. It was like a disease.

  Eileen gave me a strange look. “Almonds would suffice, dear.”

  There was a very pregnant pause.

  Say something normal, Marley. Ask a question, for goodness sake! Just stop talking about freaking nut varieties.

  “Would the pastries just be for this hotel? And, for which days — weekends?” I was relieved to hear my mouth asking a semi-reasonable question that was not about nuts.

  Eileen smiled kindly. “Judging by the goods I sampled tonight, I’m thinking more like all five of our hotels, seven days a week.”

  I felt faint. This was the kind of break I’d been dreaming of… but I was already stretched so thin. How on earth could I make a commission like this work without baking 24 hours a day?

  “Wow, thank you, that’s so kind—” I started.

  “And she’d love to do it.” Ryan finished my sentence for me.

  “Wonderful!” Eileen beamed. “Excuse me just a moment, I will go and get some paperwork.”

  She shuffled out of the office and I spun on Ryan. “What were you thinking? I can’t manage that much business.”

  “Maybe you can’t,” Ryan said. “But we can.”

  “Huh?”

  “We can do this, together.”

  My mind was spinning. “But you’re going back to New York.”

  “Nope.” Ryan took my hands in his. “I’m staying right here. With you.”

  “But your job…”

  “I quit.”

  “You what?” I shrieked. I had to be dreaming. That couldn’t possibly be true.

  But now that I was thinking about it, Ryan’s phone had been going off a lot, lot less the past few days.

  “I quit. And I’m going to need something to do all day. I thought I could help you at the bakery... If you’ll let me.”

  “But the rest of your life is in New York. Your apartment, your new friends, the girls you're dati
ng…”

  “For the last time, there are no other girls!” Ryan exclaimed. “You’re the girl I’m dating. The only girl I ever wanted to date. And the only girl I will ever date again. This isn’t just a Christmas Crush — I love you, Marley Beekman.”

  Tears pricked my eyes and my heart overflowed. Ryan loved me. And he was staying. Here, with me. Home in Evermore, and not just for the Holidays.

  “I love you too, Ryan.” My voice cracked with emotion.

  “I love you more than anything in the world. And I want to make things work with you. I want to make your business work with you. I have the skillset to help long term, and I have money saved up that I can invest. So, I was wondering… if you’ll have me, will you be my business partner?”

  My smile was a mile wide. “Yes! A million times yes!”

  My eternal optimism had pulled through in the end, in the form of my very own Christmas miracle.

  18

  Marley

  Ryan and I wandered up Main Street after dark, basking in the glow of a million Christmas lights and snacking on a huge tub of peanut brittle. Meatloaf trotted happily next to us, not pulling on his leash — a Christmas miracle in itself.

  “I still can’t believe you’re staying,” I said. Staying. The word tasted delicious on my tongue. I couldn’t get enough of it.

  A couple of hours ago, Ryan’s plane to JFK had taken off. Without him.

  Four days had passed since Christmas Day. We had split the day between our two families and announced that we were dating. For a few short hours, each of us finally got to feel like we weren’t the family disappointments — until Katherine announced her promotion at work, and Theo and Anna revealed that they were going to start trying for a baby right after they got married. Then, everything returned to its usual equilibrium.

  But now, Ryan and I could be family disappointments together. And together was a beautiful thing.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” Ryan smiled. “Though I will have to go back and pack my stuff at some point. I was thinking of going for a week mid-January.”