Santa Loves Curvy Girls

24. Belle

24

BELLE

M om handed me a letter as I came out of my room to eat breakfast. “Mail for you, sweetie.”

I took the envelope from her, confused. “For me?” No one ever sent me mail; everyone I knew preferred to text or send emails. But when I looked at the white paper and the stamp decorated with a Christmas tree, I found my name was right there at the top.

I sat down at the kitchen table to open it while Yeti followed me and sat at my feet. Who would be writing me a letter?

My first thought went to Santa, my heart aching with hope. But I pushed him out of my mind. We had agreed it was over. And as I looked at the letter inside the envelope, I saw that the letter wasn’t from Santa at all.

It was from Scrooge at the diner, wanting to order a batch of cookies. A few crisp twenty-dollar bills stared up at me.

I looked between the letter and the money, trying to make sense of it. I’d never told him that I had cookies for sale…

I kept reading, taking in his neat, slanted handwriting. He wanted an order of several dozen decorated sugar cookies to start. He wanted to add them to his display case and see if his customers liked them. He asked if I could have the cookies ready within the week, and said to call him if I needed more time.

“Who is it from?” Mom asked, setting a bowl of oatmeal in front of me and peeking over my shoulder. I handed her the letter while sniffing the maple cinnamon oatmeal. It made my mouth water.

“You’re selling batches of cookies now?” she asked, setting the letter on the table beside my bowl. “Good for you.”

“I didn’t know I was,” I muttered, reading the letter again.

She went back to making breakfast for Dad and my brother, who were the late risers in our family, while my thoughts went back to Santa again. He had told me that he and his mom went to Scrooge’s every year on Christmas Day. Was this his doing?

Maybe he really did care for me like I cared for him. My heart dangerously hoped it wasn’t just a fling.

I bit my lip as tears welled up in my eyes.

The truth was that I missed him so much. That final goodbye with him had crushed me, especially because he’d taken the news so well, hardly any emotion showing in his deep blue eyes.

But this cookie order had to be him. He’s the only one who knew about my dreams of opening a bakery one day, besides Mom.

I wiped away a single tear that rolled down my cheek.

What should I do?

Mom seemed to answer for me as she sat across from me at the table with her own bowl of oatmeal. “So, sounds like you’re going to spend the morning baking?”

I stood up and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

She patted me on the arm as I walked past her with my half-empty bowl. “Good for you, hon,” she said.

After rinsing out my bowl, I got everything ready, determined to make the best batch of cookies for my first order. I gathered all my ingredients and began measuring everything out. Even though Christmas had passed, I played Christmas music softly in the background. The rule in this household—and most of Garland—was that we pretty much played Christmas music from November 1 to February 1. That was about the time people took down their trees too. Most people, anyway.

But Christmas music didn’t seem as happy today as it usually did. As I began making the dough, I noticed my mind kept drifting back to Santa. More than ever, I wished I just knew his real name. My heart hurt as I used the special machine he gave me to form the cookie shapes. I couldn’t even tell him thank you for getting me my first order–if it was really him behind this.

Would I think about him every Christmas for the rest of my life? Every time I got a cookie order?

I sighed and took a step back to look at my work. Probably.

My dad and brother woke up a little later, coming in and out of the kitchen while I baked the cookies and prepped the frosting. Within a few hours, the cookies were ready. And I had to admit… They looked perfect.

I packaged them up in cookie tins we had on hand, making a mental note to order some special boxes and labels I could use going forward. Especially if Scrooge was going to be a regular customer. Now I had money to invest back into the business.

My business.

Now that I had my first paying customer (hopefully, repeat customer), I officially had a business.

I smiled but also felt another tear run down my cheek.

I took a picture of the order for memory’s sake and headed down to Scrooge’s to drop them off, thinking about what I would name my bakery one day. “Belle’s Bakery”? “Sleigh Belles” to go with Garland’s Christmas theme? Or maybe “Santa’s Cookies” in memory of the boy who was my first crush and the first to support my business as more than a “one day” dream.

It took about fifteen minutes to walk to Scrooge’s Diner, the one business on Main Street devoid of any type of Christmas decorations. In fact, the only thing even close to holiday spirit was the bells over the door that jingled as I walked inside.

A few people ate at tables. My heart sank thinking of Santa here with his mom on Christmas Day. He’d been in this place, sat in one of these chairs, and maybe one day he would eat one of my cookies from the display, but that was as close as we’d ever get again.

I shoved aside my sad thoughts, focusing instead on this moment. On the fact that I was delivering my very first order.

I walked up to the counter, a smile on my face as I approached Scrooge drying coffee mugs and stacking them on trays. He was a handsome older man, about my parents’ age, with dark brown hair and short stubble on his chin.

“I have your cookies ready,” I told him, setting the tins in front of him.

He thanked me gruffly when I did. “That was fast.”

“Thank you for the order,” I replied.

He pulled open the lid on one of the tins and said, “These look great.” He began taking them out to put in the empty glass display.

I went around the corner and helped him, carefully arranging them so it was easy to see the pretty designs I’d put on them. Since I knew he didn’t like Christmas, I’d made them all scalloped circle shapes with pretty white designs. The icing sugar caught the light, making them shimmer.

A tall guy, maybe a little younger than my dad, came up to the counter to pay for his meal. “Are those fresh cookies for sale?”

“Yes!” I said.

“I’ll take three and a coffee,” he replied, sliding into a seat at the counter.

Scrooge gave him a plate with three cookies and poured a fresh cup. “Enjoy.”

I couldn’t leave, not now with the first customer about to try them.

The man picked one up and took a bite. “Wow, these are as good as my grandmother used to make them.”

Scrooge turned to me. “How about another batch next week?”

I grinned. “You got it, Scrooge.”

He smirked at the nickname, then left from behind the counter to tend to the rest of his customers, and I turned back to the display case, making sure the cookies looked perfect and adding a nice handwritten sign too from a scrap of paper and marker that I found nearby.

“There,” I said, admiring my work.

Now that I had my first customer, maybe I could find another one.

But who did I have to thank for this one? Who was Santa?

I turned back to Scrooge, who was busy getting drinks for people at the tables. I knew it was as easy as asking him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Santa hadn’t wanted to tell me. Even told me he couldn’t . And this wasn’t the way I wanted to find out. If we were to have a relationship, I would want him to tell me himself.

But as I looked around the shop, saw the diner finishing his first cookie, I knew I would think of Santa every Christmas and how he helped me start my bakery.