Maybe it was a good thing Andi wanted to keep the shop. While money would be nice, she wasn’t sure she was in sync with Mike’s idea of what they should do with it.
KIM PICKED UP one of the green wreaths piled around the greenhouse at Sjölander’s Nursery and breathed in the strong, fresh pine scent. “I love the smell of Christmas.”
“I have over one hundred wreaths if you have the urge to sniff them all,” Nathaniel teased, reminding her of the day they met.
She’d mistaken his backyard for the local park and had vowed to sniff one hundred roses, one for every item on her to-do list. “No, I can smell them all from right here.”
Nathaniel finished tying the last of the red velvet bows on the wreaths he’d put together that night, then handed her a box wrapped in brown paper from his table. The stamps on it indicated it was from Sweden.
“My sister sent you a Christmas gift,” Nathaniel told her. “Go ahead, open it.”
Kim had made friends with Nathaniel’s sister, Linnea, when they visited his family two months before. His mother, however, still held a grudge against Kim for smashing the beautiful cupcakes at Fredrik and his bride Maria’s Astoria wedding. The forbidding woman didn’t understand that she’d had to find Andi’s engagement ring, which had fallen into the batter during preparation.
“God Jul . . . Och Ett Gott Nytt Ar!” Kim read off the gift tag. “What does it mean?”
Nathaniel grinned. “Merry Christmas . . . and a Happy New Year.”
She tore off the brown paper, then opened the box and lifted the gift from its soft tissue wrapping. A small round plate held four white taper candles. In the very middle was a mobile of bells and angels.
“Angel chimes,” Nathaniel explained. “A traditional Scandinavian holiday decoration.”
“It’s beautiful,” Kim said, appreciating the intricate detail.
“Let me show you how it works.” Nathaniel took a lighter from his pocket and lit the candles. “The heat from the candles spins the top, causing the angels to tap the bells.”
Kim watched the metal angel cutouts turn under the small bells and listened to the tinkling sound they made. “All the angels are shown blowing horns.”
“The chimes symbolize the noise of the heavenly host trumpeting the news of the Christ child’s birth to the shepherds.”
“This is wonderful,” Kim told him. “I’ll call your sister to thank her. But—”
“But what?” he asked, sitting down on a wooden crate beside her.
“Don’t you want to fly home for Christmas? Without me?”
“My family understands you are in a wedding and that I want to be with you.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around her, then gave her a hug. “I thought we could go to Sweden for New Year’s.”
“Rachel will be away on her honeymoon,” Kim said, shaking her head. “I’ll need to stay and help Andi run the shop.”
“What if I buy tickets for the week after?”
“Is that what you plan to get me for Christmas? Tickets?”
Nathaniel pulled back to look at her. “Is that what you want?”
Kim’s throat tightened. Why was it so hard to explain to him what she was feeling? Instead, she asked, “What do you want? For us?”
Nathaniel laughed. “I want to travel the world . . . with you for a whole year straight.”
“Didn’t we already travel the world these past six months?”
“There’s so much more to see and do and experience.”
“We’d never be able to afford such a trip.”
“You’d never leave the shop for that long, unless . . .” He grinned.
“Unless?” she prompted.
“Not unless we sold both our businesses,” Nathaniel said. He gave her an expectant look. “Can you imagine?”
Kim shook her head. “No, I can’t. You know I love to travel, but lately . . . I’m longing for more.”
“Like an underwater dive into the canyons of the deep?” he suggested.
Kim frowned. “No.”
“Or like a rocket ship ride to the moon?”
He laughed, and she realized he was teasing her. She smiled back. “No. I had something different in mind.”
“How about one hundred kisses?” he asked, drawing his face near.
“Only a hundred?”
She expected him to close the distance between his mouth and hers, but instead he whispered, his tone serious, “What do you want for us, Kimberly?”
She hesitated, unable to conjure up the courage to tell him for fear he’d break up with her. And she couldn’t lose him. Not before Christmas.
“One hundred kisses sounds perfect,” she replied. For now.
Chapter Four
* * *
Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts.
—Janice Maeditere
MAX SPOTTED A man in a blue sport jacket knocking on the door of the square, white, one-story cottage he shared with his foster parents and skidded the rusted bicycle he’d borrowed to a stop.
“There’s no one home,” Max called over to him. “They left this morning.”
The man turned around, and Max sucked in his breath. It was Mia’s new stepdad, the one she’d pointed out at the cupcake shop.
“Do you know them? Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore?” the man asked, walking toward him.
“Yeah.” Max stiffened as Mia’s step-dad drew closer. Should he take off on the bike and lose him? But why was the guy here? What was going on? Maybe he should stick around a few minutes and find out.
“I’m Jake Hartman,” the man said, “A reporter for the Astoria Sun. I was told I could interview the Gilmores today.”
Max shrugged. “What for?”
The reporter seemed to eye him suspiciously, as if taking in every detail of his appearance to write about him. Max didn’t like it. Better to split now, while he still had the chance.
But when he went to kick the pedal up on the rusted piece of junk, Jake put his hand on the handlebar, locking it in place. “I’m interviewing foster care families for an upcoming holiday article. Do you know the foster kid who lives at that house?”
“Nope.”
Jake glanced at the notepad in his hand. “I was told they had a boy.”
“One too many,” Max scoffed. “I hear the Gilmores never see him.”
Jake frowned. “But they’re responsible for him.”
“Yeah.” Max grinned and shook his head. “Responsible for putting a roof over his head, but that’s about it.”
“What do you mean?”
Max hesitated. He’d said too much already. “Some foster parents take kids in for the money the state gives them.”
“The state gives money to help buy clothes, food, and other necessary items to raise and support the children,” Jake explained.
Max couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, right.”
Jake studied him again, and Max could almost read his thoughts. The guy was thinking that he needed a haircut, a bath, a new pair of shoes without holes, jeans, too, and maybe even a coat because it was cold outside. Any minute he was going to make a comment on his appearance, any second. Then he was going to ask why he wasn’t in school.
“What’s that in your back pocket?” Jake asked, motioning behind him.
“Huh?” For a moment Max was thrown off guard, then he pulled out his drumstick. “I got it from a local band.”
“At Athens Alone?” Jake sounded impressed. “I wrote an article about them a couple months ago. They have a great sound.”
What did he know about music? He was probably just saying that to get him to talk more about his foster parents.
“My next stop is the music store on Commercial Street,” Jake told him. “My buddy owns the place. Would you like to tag along and play on a real drum set?”
Max hesitated again. “No strings attached?”
“No strings attached,” Jake assured him.
What was with this guy? Why w
ould he offer him something like that? No one ever offered him anything; most times they just wanted to take things away. But he’d been around people who looked a whole lot more threatening than a clean-cut newspaper reporter in an expensive jacket. And Mia hadn’t been afraid of him. She said he was fun. Even if he wasn’t, there was no harm going to a public place.
“Okay,” Max agreed. “I’ll follow you on my bike.”
Commercial Street was only a few blocks away. Mia’s stepdad drove his car slowly and came to a stop outside Larry’s Music Center. Max still wasn’t sure what Jake was up to, but he wasn’t about to give up the chance to play on a real drum set. And after a quick word with the owner, Jake kept his promise.
The owner led Max to a room in the back, a studio used for recording. Wow! A Pearl drum set stood in the middle, with three types of cymbals—two crashes, a ride, and a hi-hat. The set also had a bass drum, a snare, two toms, and a floor tom. Max slid onto the stool, his heart racing.
“You’re going to need two drumsticks to play,” Jake said, handing him another to go with the one he had. Then he picked up an electric guitar and put the strap around his neck. The owner of the store held a bass guitar and plugged a cord into the PA system.
“What are you doing?” Max asked, unable to mask his alarm.
“We’re going to jam with you,” Jake said with a grin. “Is that okay?”
Jam? Like a real band? Max narrowed his eyes. “Do you know how to play?”
Jake laughed. “Do you?”
Max tested the set, drumming as fast as he remembered how. It had been a long time since he’d played a real set. Eight months. And that had only been for a short time. A friend at school had offered to teach him, but then Child Protective Services sent him off to live with the Gilmores.
“Not bad,” Jake encouraged. “With some lessons, you’d be a real pro.”
“That’s the plan,” Max said, and ran his drumsticks over the series of drums again. “I’m going to be in a rock band, play at shows, and make a ton of money.”
“And what would you do with that money?” Jake asked, not looking at him, but tuning his guitar.
“I’d . . .” Max didn’t have an answer. His first thought was that he’d find his mother. But he didn’t know where she was and doubted money would make a difference. “I guess I’d . . . have a good time.”
“Let’s see if we can have a good time now,” Jake said and nodded to his music store friend. “Ready?”
MAX HAD NEVER jammed with old people before, but for a couple of guys in their thirties, Jake and his friend weren’t half bad. And the drum set they’d allowed him to play was awesome, so awesome he was quick to express his thanks.
“Anytime,” the store owner replied.
Max thanked Mia’s stepdad, too. Mia was right; Jake was fun. And he didn’t hound him with stupid questions. Max took a step toward his bike, wishing he didn’t have to go back.
“Hey, Max,” Jake called and stuck a thumb toward the restaurant on the corner. “Are you hungry?”
Starving. Okay, maybe he could hang with the old guy a little longer. At least until after lunch.
Max grinned, his mouth already watering from the smell of charbroiled hamburgers and French fries. “You buying?”
ANDI SWAYED HER hips as she danced around the kitchen of Creative Cupcakes to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “Jingle Bell Rock,” and now, her personal favorite—“Home for the Holidays.”
She measured out a spoonful of sugar into one bowl, a spoonful of lemon extract into another, and a spoonful of almond cream into a third. Then she took a tray of gingerbread molasses cupcakes out of the oven, slid it onto one of the multilevel wire racks to cool, and carried another tray through the double doors to the front counter.
“I’ve got the phone,” Rachel called, as it rang for the millionth time that afternoon. “A dozen sugarplum cupcakes?”
Two of their college employees, Heather and Theresa, whisked past in their new, bright red aprons, which had been ordered for the Christmas season.
“Coming through with a batch of cinnamon spice,” Theresa warned, carrying the tray to the back table, where Kim was decorating with fondant and different colored food gels.
Behind Andi, the double doors to the kitchen reopened, and Eric, their third college-age employee, poked his head out. “Where’s Mike with the Cupcake Mobile? I’ve boxed up ten more orders ready for delivery.”
“He’ll be back soon,” Rachel informed him, hanging up the phone. “Make sure the packaged mixes of brandy butter-cream frosting are ready to be dropped off for shipping.”
“Andi,” Heather said, “there’s a customer to see you.”
She put down the tray of rum ball cupcakes she intended to load into the glass display case and approached the elderly lady who waited for her. “Bernice! How are you?”
“Rachel’s busy, so I wanted to give you this,” she said, handing her a box wrapped in Santa print Christmas paper. “It’s from me and Rachel’s grandpa Lewy.”
“A gift?” Andi took out the ceramic cupcake-shaped frame with a picture of Rachel, Kim, and her inside. In the photo they were wearing pink bandanas over their hair and pink aprons over their clothes with “Creative Cupcakes” embroidered across the front. “This was taken when we bought the building.”
Her heart quickened thinking of that special day. It had been a milestone in their journey to open the cupcake shop and fulfill their dreams.
“It’s to remind you that some things in life are more important than money.” Bernice patted her hand. “What you girls have here is special, and you were right to turn down the offer from that businessman.”
“Thank you, Bernice. I’ll put it in the hutch here for everyone to see.”
A short while later after Bernice had left, Andi and Kim’s father, William Burke, entered the shop. “Glad to see you didn’t quit when you got so busy.”
Andi stiffened at the sound of his dry, begrudging tone. Old habits were hard to overcome.
“Of course we didn’t quit,” she said, forcing a smile. “We aren’t quitters.”
“Not anymore,” her father amended. “I’m glad to see you finally committed to something. You’ve done a good job here.”
It was as close to a compliment as she could get, so she let it go. At least he was trying. Their relationship had been strained since her mother had died, but ever since he saw her determination to make the shop a success, he’d softened.
A few weeks earlier, at Thanksgiving, he’d even thanked the Lord she’d committed to a job and a new marriage. But what would he say if she left the shop and moved away? Would he call her fickle? Would she lose her newly earned respect?
Her mind was so focused on what her father might think of her, she didn’t realize Jake had entered the shop.
“Jake, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” She poured him a cup of coffee, and when she slid it toward him, she noticed the telltale crease on his forehead. “Tough day?”
He sank down onto the stool opposite the counter and gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “I went to interview several foster parents today, and it didn’t go as expected. I’d made appointments, but some of them weren’t home.”
“Everyone’s shopping.”
The crease in Jake’s forehead deepened. A few of the foster parents I talked to were great, but others . . . didn’t seem . . .” He shook his head. “I feel sorry for those kids trapped in the system, moving from place to place, family to family.”
“Rachel’s mother has a friend who’s a foster parent, and the kids all love her.”
“Then her friend is one of the exceptions. There aren’t enough good foster parents for all the kids who need homes.”
“I see a few foster kids every week,” Andi agreed. “Every time I volunteer to pack weekend lunches for the Kids Coalition backpack program or host a free cupcake camp for Mia and Taylor’s sc
hool friends.”
Jake pushed the coffee aside and met her gaze. “I met a boy today. Max. He didn’t look like he’d had a decent meal in weeks. I didn’t want to pry, but I got the feeling he might be one of the homeless kids living downtown in the ‘Shanghai tunnel’ under the street. He made me think of our own girls and how lucky we all are to have each other.”
Andi frowned. “Max is the name of Mia’s imaginary friend. We used to have a dog named Max, and I’m sure that’s where she got the name. Today she insisted he was in the back party room, but when I went in, there was nobody there. Maybe she overheard us talking about moving to D.C., got scared, and this is her way of comforting herself. I’m worried about Mia.”
“I’m worried about Max,” Jake admitted. “What kind of Christmas does he have to look forward to?”
Andi frowned, then said brightly, “I know! We can host a Christmas party for all the foster children in the area. If I ask Mia to help, it might take her mind off her imaginary friend. Local businesses can donate gifts, we can serve cupcakes, and maybe we can even get Mike to dress up as Santa.”
“Or we could sign up to be foster parents,” Jake suggested. “We already have two kids; what’s one more?”
“Oh, Jake!” She stared at him and realized he was serious. “I’ve always dreamed of taking in lots of kids and having a big, happy, home, but—”
“Yes?” Jake asked.
“We have to decide where we’re going to live first.”
Chapter Five
* * *
Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends.
—Margaret Thatcher
UNLIKE GUY, THE tattoo artist, Rachel loved everything about Christmas: parties, tinsel, mistletoe, lights, music, shopping, and gifts. She took an ornament out of the box set on the Creative Cupcakes dining table. “Remember when we were in the first grade and made these?”
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