Julian’s sculpted brows rose. “A what now?”
“Someone’s been messing with people’s holiday displays,” she explained. “Knocking things over, breaking stuff. The bakery and bookshop were both hit.”
Miles leaned closer to the camera. “Cass, that doesn’t sound like harmless Christmas mischief. Do you have security? Locks? Maybe a festive taser?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It’s probably just bored teenagers or the wind or… whatever. I’ve got Muff, I’ve got marshmallows, and I’ve got backup cocoa. I’m good.”
Julian didn’t look convinced. “Just promise us you’ll be careful, okay?”
She nodded, even as her stomach fluttered. She didn’t want them to worry—not when she’d fought so hard to come here and prove she could do this on her own.
“I promise,” she said. “Besides, if the Gingerbread Jerk wants to come for me, they better bring it. I’m scrappy when provoked.”
The shop’s bell jingled. Cassidy looked up, relieved to see Madison step through the door. Her fiery red hair spilled out of the beanie she had tucked on her head. “Sorry, I have to let yougo. I have a customer.” She panned the camera to her friend to prove she wasn’t lying.
Madison played along, waving back.
“Fine, fine. We’ll call you later,” Miles insisted.
“Looking forward to it,” she said with a wave before hanging up.
She turned her attention to Madison. “Thank you for coming in when you did.”
“Happy to help. What’s that all about?”
Unlike with her family, Cassidy didn’t feel like she had to hide her feelings around Madison. Perhaps because they had something in common, coming back to the Midwest after being away for so long.
“My brother. He and his husband, Miles, are worried about me.”
Madison nodded. “It’s a big leap. Starting over.”
Cassidy leaned against the counter. “Yeah. And honestly? I was a mess when I came home from Paris, so I get it.”
Her friend stepped closer as if imparting a secret. “Well, for what it’s worth… your chocolate is magic. Trust me, I know these things.”
Cassidy brightened. Madison was a food critic for one of the country’s top culinary magazines, and she didn’t sugarcoat things. If she said it was good, it had to be.
“Thanks. I needed to hear that.” Cassidy stood up taller. “So, what can I get for you?”
“An extra-large cup of your spiced hot cocoa to go. Kit’s assembling a massive gingerbread house in the lobby, and her visions of grandeur are giving me anxiety.”
“That’s saying something.”
“You haven’t seen this house.” Madison lowered her voice. “She’s got gumdrop turrets, Cassidy. Turrets.”
“Is that even structurally possible?”
“Not according to physics. But Kit doesn’t believe in physics. Or rules. Or the limitations of icing.”
Cassidy grinned, ladling the cocoa. She liked Kit and could appreciate her enthusiasm for the season, unlike some people she knew.
As though she’d summoned him with her thoughts, she caught sight of Liam as he stepped outside his shop. All rugged with his red checkered flannel, worn jeans, and leather work boots. He stood, hands on his hips, surveying his space.
Then he pulled out a measuring tape and Cassidy’s throat went dry.
She decided right then that there was something very sexy about a man with a plan—especially when that man looked like a living lumberjack and smelled faintly of cedar and honey.
She almost smiled—until he scowled at the string of Christmas lights hanging off his awning, shook his head like the lights had personally offended him, and muttered something she couldn’t hear but wasdefinitelynot in the Christmas spirit.
