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We finish helping Elijah load the carts, and Camilla gives him instructions. “Deliver the top two first. They’re close to one another. And then go to the shipping company to send the rest off.”
He’s frowning, staring into the void, so Camilla repeats the instructions.
“Oh, and maybe you’d better start bringing your coat?” she says. “It’s below freezing sometimes now.”
He grimaces, but then covers it up with a nod and starts rolling the carts back to the van.
“Is he okay?”
She shrugs. “He’s eighteen. That might be normal for an eighteen-year-old guy? I don’t know.”
“What did we ever do without him?” I ask Camilla.
“He’s sweet,” she agrees.
Running her grandfather’s bakeshop has pushed her, but she’s gotten into the swing of things. Along with our long-time bread maker, Danene, we have Elijah to do the deliveries, and Merre, a recent college grad who comes in to help fulfill orders and cashier.
That leaves Camilla and me more time to do what we do best. She bakes and does payroll. I manage the bills, marketing, and design.
It’s the perfect system. But she knows I’d like to move on, at some point, to work in brand management—which would combine my graphic design major, my public relations minor, and my new bachelor’s in marketing.
She fully supports me getting a corporate job. But it’s hard for me to think of leaving what’s comfortable.
Camilla sighs. “Elijahisthe best. Always on time, reliable, polite. He’s a good kid.”
He’s technically only six or so years younger, but that feels like a lot.
“I hope he has a coat,” I say. “The look on his face when you mentioned it made me wonder.”
“Me, too.” She moves her thick blonde hair out of the way to rub her temple. “I could maybe offer him one of Jesse’s old ones.”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Maybe hang it up in the back so he can grab it if he needs it. And he’s been more withdrawn lately, don’t you think?” I ask. She’s still in newlywed-mode sometimes and might not have noticed.
She frowns. “Now that you mention it, yes. He does seem quieter. Like something’s on his mind.”
“Maybe he has girlfriend trouble. Would he ever open up to us?”
“The thought of him having a broken heart kills me,” Camilla says, curling both fists to her throat.
“Let’s keep a close eye on him. Maybe he’ll talk about it eventually. Oh, and hey, I need to get off a little early tomorrow,” I say.
“Sure,” Camilla says. She and I have been partners in this business for long enough, it’s not a problem for me to do what I need to do.
“The festival reached out to me, telling me they like my volunteer design work. They asked if I’d come to the committee meeting tomorrow night.”
She tilts her head and hip to one side. “Seriously? That’s a dream come true for you, right?”
“One of my earliest memories is those Christmas blazers.” I can’t help my smile. “And going to the festival when my grandpa would come to town for Christmas. He’d spoil my siblings and me rotten and buy us fun stuff, like those huge cinnamon rolls. I loved every second of it.”
Camilla’s brows go in the air. “Cinnamon rolls? What about offering cinnamon rolls during the Christmas season? Oh, or maybe dipped chocolates?”
“Either of those could work,” I agree.
But my mind is still on the festival and the committee who runs it. Over their normal clothes, the committee members wear Christmas-printed suit coats showcasing an off-white background with ivy leaves, Christmas trees, snowflakes in shimmery blue, and red and white striped candy canes. In my childhood mind, they were the most mesmerizing jackets. Businessy, yet whimsical. Magical. A symbol of power and Christmas cheer.
And it wasn’t just when I was a kid. I can own the fact that I still want one.
Normalize wanting to wear the tacky Christmas blazers!
