Christmas Dreams and Santa Schemes

by Barbara Lohr

  Then he got to work. The air filled with that yeasty smell he’d grown to like. When the loaves were ready, he started shoving them into the oven. Then he worked on the pastries. He’d watched Sarah enough times now that he knew what to do. The cheese crowns were the first to go in, followed by cinnamon buns. Not knowing what Sarah’s plans were for the day, he set out plenty of butter for cookies. As he worked, he listened for her car.

  But when she finally arrived, she barely looked at him. “Hey, Ryan. How are you doing today?” She slammed the door shut behind her.

  “Fine.” He sidled closer, pivoting a little on his boots. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Why?” Ripping off her scarf, she hung it up.

  “No reason.” His question seemed to offend her.

  Tension had a hold on Sarah’s pretty face. Hardly pausing for breath, she began to rattle off instructions. “Business was great Saturday, but customers emptied the racks. We’ve got to get going.” Pressing a hand to her forehead, she looked upset. Her red-rimmed eyes were accented by her pale skin. Had she even slept last night?

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, stepping closer. “Slow down, Sarah.”

  “I can’t. Not when there’s so much to do.” Ripping off her coat, she missed the hook on her first try.

  “Let me help. Everything will be fine.” Ryan lifted her heavy winter coat from the floor and hung it up

  “Thanks, Ryan.” Tension rolled off her body as she slipped into her apron and pulled on her hair net. “We have to bake sand tarts, lemon bars, thimbles and maybe even gingerbread men today.”

  Then she sniffed. “Have you started the pastries?”

  “Done.” He wanted Sarah to know she could count on him.

  “Oh, good. Great.” Her shoulders eased a bit. But she still didn’t really look at him as he strolled between ovens and the cooling racks. Instead she checked the butter.

  Ryan finally gave up. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Sand tarts. You know where the pecans are.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t going to notice. Get over yourself. But he wanted to know what was bothering her. He got to work chopping, zesting, sifting and measuring.

  Last week when they worked together, he’d enjoyed seeing her face flush from the heat, laughed when she ended up with flour on her nose or cheek. And while they worked, she chattered. He liked the sound of her voice more than what she was saying.

  But this morning she was quiet and worrying.

  “Nathan’s acting up in school. He brought home a note. I have to call Mrs. Wilcox today.”

  “Can’t they cut the kid some slack?” He took out a tray of rye bread. If he had a dollar for every time his mother had to call a teacher, he’d be a rich man. “This is a rough year for him...and you.”

  “Sure, they know it’s because of Jamie. But what can I do about that?” Her voice caught. He felt helpless. The boys missed their dad.

  “What did they say they wanted for Christmas?” Sarah pinned him with her eyes. “Why did you make me move away? I couldn’t hear.”

  Now, this was a hard one. “Just the usual stuff. I can’t remember. There were so many kids that day.” He jammed the tray of bread onto the cooling rack.

  “I suppose so.” Her expression clouded. “You were awfully busy.”

  Nathan and Justin were his only nephews. No way would he not remember their Christmas list. But he could never tell her. Ryan thought back to his own childhood toys. “Trains. I think they mentioned trains.”

  Sarah’s eyes brightened. “I did take them to the train shop. What’s so secret about that?”

  The bread timer went off. How could he explain why he couldn’t tell her? Opening the oven door, he grabbed a pan with his bare hands. Pain seared him. The pan teetered on the edge of the rack.

  One look at his face and Sarah grabbed the red mitts and transferred the pan to the cooling rack. He just stood there, feeling like an idiot. “Are you all right?”

  Shaking off the mitts, she faced him. Ryan had to drop his gaze. He didn’t want her to know that his hands felt like they’d been thrust into hot coals.

  “Cold water.” She nudged him over to the sink.

  “Don’t know what I was thinking.” Now, that was a lie. All he thought about was her.

  “Just an accident. I’ve done the same thing.” She turned on the cold water.

  Standing next to the old sink, he let the water flow over his hands.

  “What is it?” Sarah said briskly. “This isn’t like you. What’s on your mind?”

  “I guess it’s just the whole Christmas thing.” He grabbed a towel and Sarah turned off the faucet. Ryan should be better at lying. He’d had plenty of experience.

  “You’re thinking of your brother, aren’t you?” Sarah’s own eyes filled. “Oh, Ryan. Don’t think I don’t feel the same. Both me and the boys.”

  The emptiness in her eyes only made his own pain worse. It killed him to even bring this up, but he wanted the best for her. And that wasn’t him.

  “Have you ever thought of dating, Sarah?”

  “No way.” Grabbing a sponge, she wiped down the butcher block counter with jerky strokes. “I can’t even think of it.”

  Taking the sponge from her hands, Ryan set it on the sink. He was no good at talking about feelings. “The boys might need a man around the house.”

  Sarah looked at Ryan as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. The thought of having another man play ball with his nephews or take them to movies made his head hurt. Maybe he should suggest some limits. “Of course, I’d want to check him out first.”

  The hurt in her eyes turned to outrage. “Oh you would, would you?”

  Shuffling in his boots, Jamie nearly lost his footing. What right did he have to say something like that? “I just want you to be careful, that’s all, Sarah.”

  The words felt like chunks of dry bread in his mouth. He wasn’t any good at this. Jamie had been the one who always said the right thing. His older brother could be clever and kind at the same time. Not Ryan. He laid out whatever was on his mind like a slab of meat at Froehlich’s Butcher Shop.

  Sarah was studying him and her eyes softened. “I know you mean well, Ryan. You’re always here for us. Thank you for that.” She lay one cool hand over his.

  The light touch of her skin zinged through his body. “I’m h-happy you think of me like that. Dependable, I mean.”

  Years ago, she never would have said that he was there for her. He was the pain in everyone’s side. The black sheep of the family. His behavior caused too many calls from the principal. Too many complaints from neighbors that he’d busted their fence or taken all their ripe cucumbers or done donuts in their fields with his pickup. Back then he’d found his stupid pranks hilarious.

  Now he wished he could punch the reset button. For her.

  Blood pounded in his temples from holding back. Sarah smelled like almonds from mixing the sand tarts. How easy it would be to wrap his arms around her. Whisper words in her hair that would probably horrify her.

  She gave her apron a tug over the full figure he found enticing. “We’re fine. I’m, well, everything’s fine. So the boys really said trains?”

  Nodding slowly, he swallowed hard. No way could he reveal what the boys had asked for without looking like a fool. Time to change the subject. “Do you mind if I ask you a business question?”

  “Sure. Ask away.”

  “Why do we focus on baked goods when the shop’s named The Full Cup.” He really pulled that one out of the air. But he had been wondering.

  Her surprised laughter filled his ears and his heart. “Good question. My dad named the business. He thought flavored coffees would be the future. Mom liked to bake but Dad pictured a cozy coffee shop, maybe with some bakery. The fancy machine my father bought was way beyond Mom. She gave him a hard time because ‘that contraption’ cost a lot of money.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Your dad had a point. Espresso coffees go for
a pretty price.”

  “I know that. But Mom still hates that machine. She doesn’t know how to work it.” Her curls had escaped the net. Frowning, she played with one, and he could almost feel it tickle his burned hand. “The flavored coffees take time. I can’t be in the front working the machine and in the back baking too.”

  Ryan couldn’t let this drop. He also couldn’t stop staring at that curl. “I understand. But still...”

  “What’s that smell?” Sarah sniffed and ran to the wall of ovens.

  The cheese crowns. What else could go wrong? While he stood here dreaming about soft curls, the cheese crowns had become charcoal briquettes.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah.” Clumsy as usual, he had trouble pulling the baking mitts over his burned hands.

  But Sarah was on it. She had the trays out in a second. “Oh, dear.” Her face fell as she stared at the charred edges of the pastries.

  “I’ll do another batch.”

  Her eyes swirled to the clock. “No problem, Ryan. We can live one day without them. Let’s get to work on the cookies, okay?”

  But it wasn’t okay. Not for him.

  ~.~

  By the time Ryan left that day, lemon bars, thimbles and sand tarts filled the case, just in time for the lunch crowd. Sarah felt so bad about his burned hands. He didn’t seem himself today, although his question about the coffee got her thinking. Her mother would have to buy into it and lately Mom was on another planet.

  The holidays were always a busy time for the bakery. They had to “make hay while the sun shines,” as her dad had always said. This income had to last them through the lean months of January and February. This year, that extra income meant more. She had to catch up on their taxes. Did foreclosure lurk in their future?

  She’d finished baking for the day. Turning off the ovens, she called Mrs. Wilcox. Might as well get this over with. Nathan’s teacher was polite but firm. He’d called another boy a name and Sarah was shocked that he even knew that word. Jamie rarely swore.

  “I know things are difficult right now,” Mrs. Wilcox said, concern softening her voice.

  “That’s no excuse for bad behavior.”

  They agreed that Nathan would apologize. “This won’t happen again,” Sarah assured the teacher, feeling the weight of that promise.

  Taking a deep breath, Sarah went out to check on her mother.

  “Doesn’t that case look wonderful?” Her mother greeted her. Sarah stood back from the counter, drinking in the orderly rows of pastries and cookies. Bread filled the racks along the wall behind the counter.

  “It sure does. Ryan’s a hard worker, but he burned his hands today.”

  “Oh, no. Poor boy.”

  “Mom, he’s not a boy.”

  Her mother pursed her lips with one of her tick-a-lock expressions.

  “He’s got something on his mind. I don’t know what.” She studied the coffee machine. All the levers and buttons were intimidating. Mom was quiet and Sarah turned to find her staring out the front window in the direction of the library.

  “Don’t we all.” Leaning over the display case, her mother propped her chin up with two hands.

  “I said something, Mom. Not someone.”

  “What?” Her mom jerked. The woman was blissed out.

  Nerves jumping, Sarah looked around. “Does it look bare in here?”

  Her mom shrugged. “I suppose it’s not very Christmasy.”

  “We need some decorations.” One more thing on her list.

  “The boxes are in the attic,” her mother said, reaching for a white bakery box. “Guess I’ll take some of these fresh cookies to the library. Stir up some business.”

  Suspicion set in. Sarah glanced out to the cold, empty street. “Is the library busy this time of year?”

  Her mother hitched a shoulder. “Of course. Everyone wants to read their favorite Christmas story again.”

  Somehow Sarah doubted that. “I suppose the children’s story hour brings a lot of young mothers.” Mothers who didn’t have time to bake.

  A flush stained her mother’s cheeks. “Actually, I’ve been asked to read to the children this coming Saturday.” Her mother didn’t look up as she filled a box with samples.

  “Mom, you’re taking our profits right out the door.”

  Lila stopped and Sarah felt terrible. She didn’t want her mother worrying. “That’s okay, Mom. Sorry.”

  But her mother quietly returned a couple of lemon bars to the tray.

  “So tell me about the story hour. What will you read?”

  “Frosty the Snowman. Rudolph. You know. The classics.”

  “I see.” Stepping over to the coffee pot, Sarah decided it needed to be freshened. When she turned, she met her mother’s eyes. How involved should she be with her mother’s love life?

  “What?” Mom lifted her brows, wrapping string around the box.

  “Nothing.” What was the use? Sarah held up the coffee carafe. “Guess I’ll make a fresh pot.” She sure would like to meet Stuart.

  “How is Ryan working out in the back?” Her mother’s question broke into Sarah’s thoughts.

  “He’s doing fine.” The words flew from her lips, maybe too quickly.

  Her mother gave her a sly look. “I think he kind of likes you, Sarah.”

  “We need his help this holiday season.”

  “Oh, I think it’s more than that.” With a knowing smile and a girlish giggle, Mom got her coat from the back, swept up the cookies and headed to the library.

  Sarah was left with questions.

  Did Ryan like being around her? Or was it just family duty?

  Seemed like he was pushing her to date. Did he want her to date him or other guys?

  Sarah could drive herself crazy with questions like that. Bustling back to the work room, she glanced around with satisfaction. The bowls had been washed and dried. The baking sheets were criss-crossed neatly on the side board. Ryan had even set out the butter for the gingerbread cookies tomorrow. The cookie cutters sat ready.

  If she were honest with herself, Sarah liked having him here. Her mother felt the same. She’d told Sarah that he reminded her of Jamie. He’d been the son Lila Wilkins never had and she’d taken his loss hard. And now it was the holidays. The time filled with memories of putting up a tree and decorating the house.

  Sarah would have to make a point of including Ryan in any Christmas preparations. The boys would like that. Jamie would want her to make sure that everyone had a good holiday. He’d loved family get-togethers.

  Marching back into the front, she flipped the coffee maker on, waiting until it gurgled and the smell of hazelnut filled the air. Who needed whipped cream on the top and all the other fancy stuff? But Ryan had a point and Daddy would agree. What could she do about it now?

  Pent up energy made her jumpy. Taking the stairs two at a time, she found the tubs of Christmas decorations in the attic and lugged them down one by one. No matter what, she would make this holiday happy for everyone. That was a promise she’d made to herself and she intended to keep it.

  When her mother got back from the library, she chattered endlessly about the cute Santa on the desk and how the “staff” were wearing reindeer horns with jingle bells. Sarah almost dropped the glittery red garland she was stringing along the counter.

  That twinkle in her mother’s eyes? Whatever was going on at the library was not about books.

  Chapter 7

  Digging the key out from under the stiff frozen mat, Ryan smiled. He should talk to her about this. Who else but Sarah would hide a key in such an obvious place? He opened the back door. Reaching inside, he snapped on the lights and the back room of the bakery came to life. Coming here in the early morning was a great way to start the day. The room was dark, silent and peaceful.

  Ryan sniffed the air, still warm from yesterday’s baking. In addition to sugar and yeasty dough, a faint whiff of Sarah’s soap lingered. Smiling, he slipped off his coat. Even though he’d blasted the heat
in his truck, he needed to warm up. Pushing through the swinging door, he entered the shop front. The feel of his boot adjustment was still new, and he enjoyed every step.

  He snapped on the light. “Whoa.” Sarah must have been busy. He hadn’t glanced at the front when he came for his second shift. Christmas had exploded in the store with a blizzard of green and red. He blinked. On the main counter stood a red and gold Santa, settled into drifts of white fabric snow tucked with gold and red ornaments. Elves peeked from the shelves. In the center of each glass-topped table sat a small bowl of ornaments. Adhesive snowflakes dotted the plate glass window, as if there wasn’t enough snow outside. The scent of pine tickled his nostrils. And he didn’t miss the mistletoe handing from the light fixture.

  Mistletoe and kissing. He couldn’t even go there.

  While the coffee perked, he studied the darkened street outside. Street lamps dropped pools of light on the snow. When he was growing up with Jamie, they loved the snow and cold. Despite their parents’ warnings and threats, they’d take their sleds down to the ice floes banking the shoreline. Climbing to the top, they’d careen down the slick slopes, screaming with crazy fear.

  Of course someone told their folks. The Pickard boys were at it again and were grounded for a month. Now Ryan wondered at the risks they’d taken back then. Grabbing his mug, he walked to the back.

  For the next two hours he worked, punching the dough down, setting it to rise again. There was something satisfying about baking. Sure he loved the work on Harleys but it didn’t bring the immediate satisfaction that The Full Cup did. He could understand now why his brother had fallen so easily into this role after Jamie married Sarah.

  After the bread rose, he slid the sheets into the oven, his hand still tender from the burns. He became a mindless fool around Sarah. One look from her greenish blue eyes and he was toast.

  By the time Sarah arrived, the racks were full of rye bread, sour dough, white and a multigrain twist he was trying out. He wondered how customers would like the prettier bread. Or maybe it was just another one of his stupid ideas.

  Glancing around, Sarah’s eyes brightened and he fed on that light. “Ryan, I love to come in the morning and see this. You just don’t know.”