“Right, these are for the ladies.”I bite into one too, and it melts in my mouth.
By five, the bakery’s finally quiet.We’re beaming from such a good opening.The lights outside flicker on, red, gold, and green across the snow.Humbug leans against the counter, arms crossed, flour on his black T-shirt.
“You did good, Peppermint,” he says, eyes soft.“Real good.”
I wipe a streak of frosting on his cheek.“We did good.”
He grabs my wrist, kisses the inside of it.“Wedding’s three weeks away.You ready for that circus?”
“More than you think.”
He grins.“You still want the reception at Sno-Globes?”
“Only place in Evervale that can handle all your brothers, the numbers and the rowdiness.”
He laughs, and I swear I can feel it all the way through me.
That night we head across town, baby bundled between us in his red coat.Sno-Globes shines like a jewel box, frosted windows, twinkle lights, aroma of pie and pine everywhere.
Sugar’s already there holding our corner booth, waving us over.After it came out Jimmy, the owner was committing insurance fraud, and scamming the town, he left Evervale.
The bar went up for sale, and the club helped Sugar buy it.Somehow, the Executioners got off Scott free in this whole mess and ended up a silent partner.
Frost’s so large he makes the booth look small.He’s grinning under that wild beard, one arm slung around the shoulder of a woman with glossy auburn hair.
“Remember my sister?”Sugar asks, rolling her eyes.“Holly.You can thank her for every wreath in town.She’s been redecorating Evervale like it’s Santa’s front porch.”
Holly laughs, soft and musical.Frost looks downright smitten.
“Don’t listen to her,” Frost says.“Holly’s the only reason I own more than one towel now.”
Humbug shakes his head.“Hell’s freezin’ over.Frost’s domesticated.”
“Careful,” Frost says, lifting his glass.“You’re next, brother.”
I nudge Humbug.“He’s right.We’ve got cake tastings and tux fittings waitin’ on you.”
He groans like a man facing capital punishment.“Why’s there gotta be cake?We own a bakery.”
Sugar smirks.“’Cause no woman’s lettin’ you serve day-old donuts at her wedding, that’s why.”
We all laugh.Then Sugar brings plates, chicken-fried steak for Humbug, peppermint pancakes for me, some monstrous burger for Frost.Lighter fare of Salmon for Holly.The baby steals my spoon.Holly steals a fry from Frost, and somehow the whole table feels like family.
After dinner, Holly leans in.“You coming to Bitchmas?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, eyeing Humbug who doesn’t want me to go.Last year, I couldn’t because I was pregnant.This year I can drink.I’m just surprised Holly’s been invited to go out with the women of the Evervale Executioners MC.Opening the bakery, I’ve missed too much.
“So, when’s the big day?”Holly asks.
“New Year’s Eve,” I say.“Midnight vows.Fireworks.”
“Romantic,” she says.
“Loud,” Humbug mutters.“And no Christmas.I told her any more Christmas, and we could just sign the papers and call it done.”
“Over my dead body,” I say, even though I agreed to a change of pace.“I already bought the dress.You’re gettin’ married proper, in front of God and everyone who’s ever seen you scowl through Christmas carols.”
Humbug sighs, pretending to suffer.
