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I sighed. “Damn it.”
“Here. We’ll put a sign in the window.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a pad of paper, plus a fat red marker. After she scrawled ‘Santa Wanted’ on it in big block letters, she picked a smaller black marker and added for them to ask inside. “I guess you’ll be at the grotto?”
“I have tons to do, so yes. Mrs. Barton said she’ll ask around and send anyone that way.”
“No problem. Erin’s out the back getting the last of the stock ready for the stall tomorrow. If anyone stops by, I’ll send them your way.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the hug she offered me. “I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry yourself. Go on, now.” She pulled a small tape dispenser from a shelf—was the back of the counter like Mary Poppins’s bag or something?—and proceeded to go to the front of the bakery and tape it to the window.
I still had no hope this would work out.
Instead of lamenting that right now, I went through to the back and into the kitchen where Erin was haphazardly spooning icing onto several Bundt cakes.
She glanced over. “What’s up? I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I need to bitch.” I put the donuts on the counter and leaned against it while I took off my gloves. “My life is falling apart.”
“In order for your life to be falling apart, you have to have it together. You’re twenty-seven and have not yet managed such a thing.”
“Thank you for the support, bestie,” I drawled.
“Always here to please. What’s wrong?”
I let my bitch flag fly and let it all out. I didn’t realize just how annoyed I was—I know, right?—until I was able to complain about everything without being interrupted or told I was being unreasonable.
It felt so good.
“That sucks,” Erin said when I was done, putting the spoon down and looking at me. “Does she really believe you’ll find a Santa?”
“I think she’s the only person in town who does,” I replied. “Your brother is busy, according to your mom. At least she’s put a sign in the window.”
“You might have to do that. Make some signs and ask everyone to put them in windows and on their stalls.” She grabbed a cloth and wiped her hands. “Are they hot donuts?”
They were more warm donuts now, but whatever.
“You’re lucky I love you.” I nudged the bag in her direction, and she took one out of it.
“Yum,” she said, biting into it. “If you have to delay the grotto opening, you’ll have to.”
“Do you want to go and tell her that? She’s about to implode with all the things everyone is putting on her.”
“Well, not to be a bitch, but…” Erin looked at me. She’s about to be a bitch. “I doubt you being a brat is helping her. I know you’re pissed off about everything but look what she’s dealing with. The last time your dad got the flu, he ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, Quinn. The person you should be yelling at is Verity, not your mom.”
“For Verity to tell me I’m being a bitch and then cry to Mom anyway?”
“She’s thirty-two and she’s being a baby.”
“That’s my point. At least Mom knows I’m mad, but I’ll do it. Verity will just wail and whine and bitch and cry all day and nobody will ever hear the end of it.”
She shook her head. “You never should have let her stay over Christmas. She lives down the road.”
“I know that. Didn’t you hear what I just said, though?” I sighed, sagging my shoulders. “You’re right. I should apologize to her. It’s not her fault.”
“Here.” Erin walked over to the fridge and pulled out half a cheesecake. “Butterscotch. Her favorite. I was going to take it home, but you can take her a huge slice of this.” She proceeded to set it down, cut a chunk off, then set it in a cake box. “Do you want to take it now or later?”
“Later. I have nowhere to keep it cool at the grotto.” I straightened. “I don’t suppose you have a spare—”
“Bundt cake?” She grinned and pointed to one with lemon drizzle on. “There you go. I have more in the oven.”
“You are my favorite person in the whole world.”
“Only because I’m the only one who will put up with your shit.” She smirked. “I’ll be here until nine tonight. Text me when you’re coming, and I’ll make sure it’s ready for you.”
“Thank you.” I hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Have another donut.”
She took another from the bag and bit into it with a grin. “Good luck finding your Santa Claus.”
“I need more than luck,” I said, grabbing my donuts and gloves. “I need a truckload of vodka.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Fuck off.”
Erin laughed me out of the door, and I took my grumbles with me, back out into the snow, and headed for the grotto.
