by Kennedy Fox
“Now, you’re pushing it.” I wiggle my finger at him.
“I want to talk to you about something. What time is good for you?”
“I can’t. I’m baking with my mom all day.”
He nods in understanding. If you know my mom and holiday baking, you know it’s not to be messed with. “The day after then?”
“That’s Christmas Eve, and I spend it with my family.” Disappointment flutters through me, surprising me. I’m not supposed to want to spend time with him.
He nods, turning quiet as if he’s thinking of a different plan. “Give me your number.”
I raise a brow. “What?”
“Your number. We can figure something out.”
“Miles.” I sigh. “This won’t go anywhere.” It’s stupid to get our hopes up. Sure, we can exchange numbers and talk, but we live on opposite sides of the country.
He jerks his head toward an empty table in the corner after Maliki delivers our drinks, and I follow—as if I’m in a trance. He pulls out a stool for me, his hand brushing along my shoulder when I sit, and then joins me.
He blows out a long breath before speaking. “I want to tell you what you should’ve known when you broke up with me. I want you to know why my family did what they did.”
“Miles. That’s the past, and we had that discussion years ago.”
“We had ten minutes.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You broke up with me in ten minutes, didn’t give me a minute to explain myself, and then walked away for good.”
I gulp. Had I been that awful? “All right. I’m listening.”
He steeples his hands together and rests them on the table. “My parents almost lost everything when they did what they did. They were close to bankruptcy.”
My mouth falls open. That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“After inheriting the building from my grandfather, they discovered he owed thirty thousand dollars in back property taxes that they were responsible for. My parents didn’t have that money just lying around, so they worked out a payment plan. In order to pay it, they had no choice but to raise the rent for the businesses in their building.”
Raising my mother’s rent.
Our parents had been best friends since childhood. Since my mother’s pastry shop, Pastry Puffs, was in that building, her rent was raised. She’d been a loyal tenant, never late on a payment, and had never had complaints. After Miles’s grandfather died, and his father, Chadwick, became the owner, that changed. A month after his death, my mother received a notice in the mail that rent was increasing three thousand dollars when their lease was due to be renewed … two weeks later.
Three thousand dollars.
That isn’t chump change. Our family couldn’t afford the rent. My parents went to Chadwick, pleading for them to reconsider, but they refused to budge. Pastry Puffs closed, and so did three other businesses in the strip. They received backlash from that decision from our neighbors and friends. The Lancrofts had gone from having many friends to only a few.
I’ll never forget the day my mother closed Pastry Puffs. With tears in her eyes, she demanded I stay away from their filthy family. That meant breaking up with my boyfriend. After I managed to sneak out and talk to Miles, I begged him to talk to his family to reconsider. He said no, they couldn’t, and I knew what I had to do. He didn’t care about my family, so I told him it was over.
“There were so many sides to the story, Mariah,” Miles continues. “Yes, your parents were hurt in the process. Their anger is understandable, and I’m sorry that happened. It was a bad situation all around. My parents had to decide whether to keep a roof over our heads and feed us or raise their tenants' rent. Deep down, you can’t say your family wouldn’t have made the same decision.”
“Why didn’t they ask for help?”
“Have you met my father? You know his pride.”
“They could’ve given my family a break. They were friends for decades.”
“You don’t think that’d piss off the rest of the tenants?”
I scrub a hand over my forehead and sigh. He’s right. That would’ve only made them hated more.
This wasn’t what I expected to learn tonight. My hope was to come here, drink, and not think about Miles. It’s turned into the opposite. Now, I’ll be thinking of him all night.
And tomorrow.
“Look, there’s a vacant space in the building where your mom’s shop was,” Miles says. “I’m willing to work with your parents if they’d like to open back up.”
I wince. “What?”
“I’m trying to extend an olive branch here.” His face softens. “I don’t want us to hate each other.”
“My mom will never open another business.” I rub at my wrists. “She gave up that dream after Pastry Puffs shut down.” My father recently retired, and they purchased an RV to travel. She only bakes like she had at Pastry Puffs when I’m in town to help her.
“What about you?” His brown eyes meet mine. “Are you interested in the space?”
“What?” I stutter.
He doesn’t break eye contact. “I’ll rent the space to you then.”
Rent the space to me?
The idea of having my own shop is brought up again.
Could I do that?
I told Phoebe I’d never rent from a Lancroft, that I’d constantly worry about rent being raised, but from the look on Mile’s face, I trust him.
“Miles,” I start but am interrupted by my phone beeping. It’s a text from my mother.
Mom: No drinking too much tonight. We have a long day tomorrow. I told your sister curfew is up!
Seconds later, my phone beeps again.
Phoebe: Did you get lost in the bathroom? Mom says you’re not allowed to be baking hungover tomorrow. Time to go!
I dim my phone screen and set it on the table. “I have to go.”
“About that number?” Miles asks, leaning back in his chair.
“I’ll think about it.”
He smiles as if he’d expected that answer. “See you tomorrow then.”
“I told you I was baking with my mother all day.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll be at dinner. See you then.” He stands, tips his head in my direction, and leaves.
What the hell?
Chapter Four
MILES
Mariah had stared at me in disbelief when I told her the truth about my parents and then offered her the vacant building space.
Last night, my mother told me that she and the Jenkins are working on restoring their friendship. I was happy for them, but I didn’t consider it life-changing to me. Surely, Mariah had moved on. After seeing her at the coffee shop with no ring on her finger, I asked my mother about her. According to the gossip—my mother heard from a friend who heard from a friend of Phoebe’s—Mariah moved to California to attend culinary school. She hoped to start a bakery, but that hasn’t happened yet. Phoebe’s goal is to convince her to move home and find work here.
It’s so damn easy to score gossip around here.
What do people say when they hear my name?
That they never expected me to come home?
I never expected it either, but I’m glad I did. Fate is sending me countless reasons to stay in Blue Beech and settle down. My family is making amends with the people here. Phoebe is working on convincing Mariah to move home. I have enough money to live comfortably without working another day in my life, and this morning, I talked to an investor about buying shares of my company.
“What made you move home?” I ask Maliki after closing out my bar tab.
“My dad nearly lost the place, and my sister begged me to,” he replies.
Not the answer I hoped for.
“Do you regret it?”
“At first? Yes. Now? Nope.” There’s certainty in his tone, no bullshit.
“What changed?”
“I made a business I loved, I fell in love wit
h a woman, and I realized small-town life was for me after all.”
His response takes me aback. Not what I’d expected from a man like him.
On the drive home, I decide to make my decision by Christmas. I made this trip because I was considering moving home, but now that I’m here, there’s more force behind that idea. I left to find a life outside this small town, and now, I want a life here. I think of the betrayal I felt in New York, how someone I trusted with my life shoved a knife in my back, and wonder if that’s how Mariah’s family felt. My jaw turns tight at the thought of them experiencing that hurt.
Chapter Five
MARIAH
“Anyone want to tell me why Miles Lancroft said he’d see me at dinner tonight?” I ask, shuffling into my mother’s kitchen.
“Oh, boy,” Phoebe says, her gaze shooting to my mother.
“What?” I ask, my eyes on my mother. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nelli and I are reconnecting,” my mom answers. “We invited them to dinner tonight, like old times.”
Every year on the evening before Christmas Eve, my parents throw a dinner for their friends. It started small but has become somewhat of a community dinner. So many people attend that they now host the party at the Town Hall building. People help out, so my parents aren’t the only ones responsible for food and decorations. My mother is always in charge of desserts. The day of, Phoebe and I always spend the day baking with her. I help while Phoebe lingers around the kitchen and taste-tests. I love baking with my mother. I learn so much and enjoy our quality time together.
Back then, I planned to take over Pastry Puffs after my mother retired. When her bakery closed, it devastated me. There went my future—my dream to follow in her footsteps.
This morning, I made a trip to the grocery store so my mother didn’t have to drive in the snow. As I unload the groceries, a swarm of nausea flutters in my stomach, and I focus my attention on my hands, careful not to show my emotions.
“You’re upset,” my mother says, always one to read me well.
I whip around to face her—unsure of how I’m feeling. “I’m just … confused, blindsided, hurt that I lost so much, and now everybody is moving on. The problem is, I can’t move on. I lost my relationship, years wasted, so that’s not something easily rekindled.”
“Is it forgiveness you’re having trouble accepting?”
It’s hurt … fear. For so long, I blamed my hatred and heartache on Miles and his parents. Now, as I thought about it last night, I’ve realized there isn’t anyone to blame but myself. I walked away from him. I could’ve snuck around, made it work, and not given up on us. I was eight months away from turning eighteen, and they couldn’t tell me what to do after that. Our relationship ending is my fault.
I brush my hand over my face. “What made you decide to invite them? To try to be friends again?”
“Your father ran into Chadwick at the store, and they started talking.”
“With their fists?” I raise a brow. My father had threatened to kick Chadwick’s ass on numerous occasions.
“No.” She gives me a judgmental look. “After being stuck in a line together, they talked. The Lancrofts feel bad about how everything went down. There was more to the story than we knew, but tensions were so high, no one was willing to hear the other out.”
I nod in agreement, wondering if my parents knew about the Lancrofts’s money problems.
My mother gently taps my hand. “If your father can forgive them, so can you, honey.”
I glance away and start mixing batter. Miles didn’t deserve our breakup. He did nothing while everyone around him caused pain. His parents. My parents. Me.
He was innocent in the situation. He’d begged me not to break up with him, begged me not to make a permanent decision based on a temporary issue, but I was young. Young and listening to my parents.
“He’ll be there,” Phoebe says, elbowing me. “I saw the way you looked at each other at the pub last night. There’s still something there. According to his sister, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. It might be time to give your love a second chance.”
“I agree with your sister,” my mother chimes in. “Sadly, the breakup happened.”
“You’re the one who told me to break up with him!”
She sighs, her face falling. “And I’m sorry about that.”
I nod, wiping a tear from my cheek. Turning away from them, I busy myself with mixing or gathering ingredients
We spend the next six in the kitchen. I try not to think of Miles—of where we’d be today had everything not fallen apart. It’s craziness in my mother’s kitchen as we cook dozens of cookies, pies, and cakes. I open my mouth more than once to tell them about Miles’s offer to open a shop, but I chicken out each time. They’d say go for it, so I need to make my mind up first.
While baking, we joke, catch each other up, and I make my favorite holiday treats—as well as other’s. As I admire my work, I inspect some of what’s in front of me.
“You made his favorite,” Phoebe says.
“What?” I ask, peering over at her.
A smirk is on her face. “Christmas cranberry pound cake? It’s Miles’s favorite.”
“I happen to love it too.” I force a glare in her direction.
“You hate cranberries.” She snags a slice while I swat at her hand. “Is making him a pound cake a sign that you want him to take you to pound-town?”
“Oh, my God,” I grumble. “Go away before I don’t let you taste anything.”
“What’s pound-town?” my mother asks.
My cheeks redden, and I narrow my eyes at Phoebe. “Nothing.”
She laughs, but she’s right.
Why I made his favorite? I have no idea.
The Christmas parties always make me miss home.
It’s the same every year.
Blue Beech isn’t like working retail during the holidays. No, it’s good-spirited, refreshing, and always fun. Every year, after I leave these parties, I consider moving home. This time, that desire is stronger. Typically, I justify not staying because I have a job and home in LA. That’s changed.
And yesterday, my landlord emailed all the tenants offering a thousand dollars and the opportunity to break their lease. His granddaughter is moving to the city, and she needs a place to stay.
So many reasons are pushing me in Blue Beech’s direction.
My newfound unemployment.
The freedom to break my lease.
Being with my family.
The possibility of finding my dream job—or even opening my dream bakery.
And … Miles.
Christmas decorations adorn the Town Hall building, and “Jingle Bells” is playing when I walk in. There’s a mini-dance floor where kids are playing, people are dancing, and Santa is in the corner taking gift requests.
“Maliki’s girlfriend decorated the place,” Phoebe tells me. “Girl has skills.”
I nod in agreement.
Girl kicked butt in his bar and here. It’s not cheesy decorated either. Bright white lights hang from the ceiling and around the tables. A giant Christmas tree is in the middle of the room, spruced up with bright gold ornaments.
Throughout the evening, I catch up with old friends. We eat, play party games, and like every year, I’m asked why I don’t open a bakery in town. In the past, I’ve brushed off the idea with laughter and change the subject. Now, I’m seriously thinking about it. My mom took the leap to start her business, and maybe with her help, so can I.
“There’s my pastry queen,” Miles says to me, grabbing a slice of cranberry cake and holding it up. “And might I ask who made my favorite dessert?”
I noticed Miles as soon as he walked in with his family and kept my eyes on him throughout the night when he wasn’t looking. His parents kept a short distance from mine until my mother called them over to sit with them. It puts a smile on my face, memories of old times hitting me as I observe them together.
The smirk
on Miles’s face assures me he already knows who made the pound cake.
“It was Phoebe,” I blurt out.
“It was not Phoebe,” Phoebe argues, coming out of nowhere. She points at me. “It was all her.”
Chapter Six
MILES
Mariah made my favorite dessert.
She doesn’t hate me.
She’s trying to—just like I had all those years.
It’s easier to hate someone than to admit you made the wrong decision.
No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t get Mariah out of my head. I’ve dated other women, screwed other women, but Mariah has always held my heart. Friends set me up on dates, but nothing worked. I was asked to be on The Bachelor, for fuck’s sake, and shut it down. It wasn’t for me.
No other woman was better than being with Mariah.
I was afraid I’d never find anyone who would make me as happy as she did. It might sound selfish, but I hoped she hadn’t found love either. In the back of my mind, sometimes I hoped that we’d find each other again. She loved me when I wasn’t making millions and was a small-town guy.
I want her back.
I want us back.
We were young when we fell in love. She broke up with me over something stupid. We’re both older, mature, and could make it work.
She looks gorgeous sitting across from me with her dark hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her perfume—the same she’s worn since high school—nearly gives me homesickness itself. Shifting in my chair, I remember how perfect her body felt again mine and how we used to get lost in each other’s touch. I think about how the holidays would’ve been had we never broke up. My guess is we’d be here, married, our children rambling off random toys to Santa, while I couldn’t wait to rip the tight red dress she’s wearing off her.
I grin. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”
She shyly glances away, not meeting my eyes. “I make it every year.”