The Christmas Crush

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Town hall stood three blocks from Sweet L’s Bakery at the southern end of the square, right behind the gazebo. The community Christmas tree had a place of pride in the center of the gazebo. Each year, the day after Thanksgiving, everyone gathered to hang ornaments and string lights. The lights wouldn’t be lit until Christmas Eve, though, in a big ceremony headed by Santa, who rode in on a fire truck.

Lawrence had seen Santa arrive in New Hope every Christmas Eve to light their tree since before he could remember. Pictures by the tree of Lawrence and his sister, Lonnie, from babies on up, filled family photo albums. Blue eyes shining, their smiles bright with excitement, cheeks and noses pink from the cold. Nana kept the picture of four-year-old Lawrence on her mantel year-round, in a pretty golden frame. Everyone in the family said the look on Lawrence’s face—thrilled innocence—perfectly captured the holiday joy people longed for this time of year.

As an adult, Lawrence knew the magical moment where Santa touched the tree and the lights burst on was part of a carefully coordinated plan by the mayor’s staff. First, a town trustee clicked a walkie-talkie to catch the crowd loudly counting down. Next, a second trustee in town hall on the other walkie-talkie flipped the real switch when they shouted “Zero.” Still, Lawrence never lost the feeling of wonder when the tree came to life and all the little kids gasped. Grown-ups cheered, and Mrs. Claus handed out candy canes.

Tonight he took the wide stone steps up to the town hall two at a time, balancing a big box of cookies in his hands. He tried to ignore the sense of dread overtaking him that he might miss next year’s tree lighting. If Sparkle Cookie ran him out of business, if he had to commute to Philly for work, would he still have time for the tradition? Right now he set his own hours, served his own cookies at the tree lighting. No one is taking this away from me , he promised himself.

A welcome warmth greeted him as he swung open the old oak door and stepped into the building. Constructed in 1881, the building hung on to its vintage charm despite the addition of modern technology. Computers at the front desk and a screen outside the mayor’s office displaying an events calendar didn’t detract from the worn wood floors or exposed beams.

Lawrence hung a left at the desk, went down a narrow hallway adorned with black-and-white photos of New Hope in its early days. Horses, wagons, even the little brick building that now housed Sweet L’s made an appearance in the grainy pictures.

“Hey, Lawrence, over here.” Pamela, the florist and his mom’s best friend, waved him into the spacious main room. Old high school classmates, former teachers, and other business owners filled the space, chatting and sipping cider from Styrofoam cups.

“Hi there!” He gave Pamela a hug. “Mom says I’m supposed to ask you about her poinsettia order. She and Dad can’t make it tonight.”

“Okay, pick it up from my truck after we finish here.” Lawrence passed the cookie box to Carmen, who swooped over with a quick “Hello.” She swirled away as fast as she’d come, heading for a table with a red-and-green plaid tablecloth to set out the cookies on plastic trays.

“You all right, kiddo?” Pamela asked. “You look flushed, but it’s freezing outside. Getting sick?”

“Nah, I’m fine. It’s just all these layers.” He pulled off his cream knit hat, the matching mittens, and unwound the long scarf from his neck. He ran a hand through his thick hair to save it from hat head.

Fine, huh? A bit of a stretch. His heartbeat kept speeding up and slowing down, and his stomach had been clenched in antsy knots all day. Every time Sparkle Cookie crossed his mind, he felt sick. His eyes shot around the busy room until he spotted Carm’s daughter, Dr. Isabel Garcia-Peters. At least she could revive him if (when) he passed out.

Despite being surrounded by friendly faces, and even though Mayor Montgomery was stern but fair, waves of unease rolled through him. How could he convince everyone Sparkle Cookie shouldn’t be allowed to move into town? His friends were one thing, but they weren’t the only ones with a stake. Some outside investors owned property in town and wanted the rent Sparkle could pay.

He saw a couple of executive-type guys in their midforties, sporting button-downs and crisply pressed pants, sitting in the third row of folding chairs facing the podium. They stood out in the sea of comfy flannel and soft sweaters. Lawrence didn’t recognize a single one. If he only had to convince his friends and neighbors, he wouldn’t feel this gnawing stage fright, but he assumed he had to win over those guys too. He wished he could meet them at the pub a block away and intimidate them with his size instead of having to use his words.

Guys had a way of backing down like that delivery driver when Lawrence stood to his full height of six foot three. He wouldn’t ever engage in a physical altercation, but he wasn’t against flexing a bit to get bullies to buzz off.

Pamela led him like a skittish puppy to a chair near the middle of the room. She patted him on his shoulder, and he realized his response about being fine hadn’t fooled her. Chewing away at his bottom lip, he scanned the crowd, hoping to see his buddy, Trey. He wanted to make small talk to keep his mind off the meeting as long as possible while they waited for the mayor.

No sign of Trey yet. Then his gaze fell on another person he didn’t recognize. A very pretty person with wavy hair the color of melted milk chocolate. A light-purple V-neck sweater skimmed over her curves. Well, who are you? Her hair slipped off her shoulder as she pivoted in his direction. Quickly he turned away so she didn’t catch him staring like a creeper. She didn’t look like an executive. She looked like an angel on top of the tree.

A new nervousness took over his body, made his palms sweat. He rubbed them against his knees, the corduroy fabric rough under his hands, in case he got a chance to introduce himself. Maybe she was someone’s cousin or friend in town for Christmas. A friend of a friend, perhaps.

Lawrence knew every woman around his age in town, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing this one before. And he would remember. He’d only dated one fellow townie. Most of the New Hope girls had been his friends since kindergarten and felt more like sisters than potential lovers. That ex had moved away for college and never come back. Of course, he’d dated around in culinary school in the city, had a girlfriend for ten months, but he’d been out of school for years now.

No wonder I’m nervous. I’m so out of practice it’s ridiculous. Time to stop staring or hiding and act like a grown man. He pasted a confident smile—at least he hoped it was confident, not goofy—on his face and looked back at the mystery woman.

Downright gorgeous, prettier than the last time he’d seen her five seconds ago. She smiled at Carmen, her long legs half the height of his petite assistant. Glossy lips parted and she took a small bite of a cookie. His cookie. When the flavor hit her tongue, her eyes rolled back. Lashes fluttering as she savored the taste. His chair creaked, and he almost fell out when her eyes opened to rest on him. A bit of powdered sugar clung to her lips; she licked it away.

He nearly leapt out of his chair to get to her. Just as he got to his feet, there was a clamor from somewhere behind him, people shifted, and he couldn’t see her. The mayor strode in, followed by the police chief and the town administrator. Lawrence craned his neck, but he couldn’t find where she had taken a seat. He sat back down, bounced his legs, flexed his fingers.

“I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight,” Mayor Montgomery said, her friendly but authoritative tone silencing the chatter. She placed her hands on either side of the podium. “I know we’re anxious to discuss snow removal in common areas, and, of course, business licenses for nonlocal enterprises. We said we’d do snow first, but it looks like we have some out-of-towners, so let’s start with business licenses. Mr. Higgins has something to say, if I’m not mistaken.”

The room fell so silent it was the quietest thing he’d ever experienced. He had not planned on opening the meeting. He had not planned on giving his speech in front of a beautiful stranger. Thoughts fluttered around in his head; someone coughed to prompt him to speak. The flush flared up again, turning his neck and cheeks hot, and certainly red.

“We have to put a stop to those crooks at Sparkle Cookie,” he blurted out, completely forgetting the more diplomatic words he’d rehearsed in his truck on the way over.

“Now why would you want to do that?” asked a sweet voice. He searched for the source. Then, across the aisle, the mystery woman rose, fixed her eyes on him. “I’m Elena Voss, VP of marketing at Sparkle Cookie, and I’m here to convince you our bakery is going to be the best thing that ever happened to New Hope.”

Lawrence’s shoulders fell, panicked responses rising before his good sense could catch up. “I’m sure your cookies are fine, ma’am, but—”

Ma’am? Why on earth had he called her ma’am ? What was wrong with him? She couldn’t be older than twenty-five. Had he insulted her personally on top of insulting her job? Thus far, he’d called Elena a crook and an old lady. This was going worse than his worst nightmares.

“My cookies are scrumptious, I assure you,” Elena said, smiling out at the audience. Her lovely face was already drawing sympathetic looks from the townspeople. He saw Pamela smile back at Elena. He was losing his own supporters.

And the way she said scrumptious had him thinking about anything but cookies. He willed his hands to stop trembling, swallowed, and tried again. “What I’m saying is, we already have delicious cookies in town.” A few people clapped, led by Carm. His confidence grew. “And we don’t need corporate box-mix cookies churned out on conveyor belts. We don’t need chain restaurants coming to town, driving up rents for the people who actually live here.”

“True, I don’t live here, but I think this place is special, and I want to see it succeed too. We all do, right?” Her responses were calm, measured. She seemed unflappable, like an experienced attorney giving a convincing closing statement. Mayor Montgomery nodded in agreement from her place at the podium. “Sparkle Cookie locations bring new jobs. Our proven brand name draws new customers, who will shop at other places in town once they’re here.”

The heat in his face changed from anxiety to frustration when Elena mentioned driving town business. New customers might help Pamela at the floral shop or the Martinezes’ book store, but it would destroy his bakery.

His passion for handmade treats overwhelmed his tact. “They’re not going to buy more cookies from Sweet L’s once they’ve filled up on your gar—”

He stopped himself in the nick of time, before he said something else he’d regret. He finally saw Trey in the crowd, who was furiously shaking his hand in front of his throat in a Cut it out, man gesture.

“Why do you care so much about cookies anyway, sir?” She said sir pointedly, a rejoinder to his ma’am . Her eyes narrowed; a fiery expression replaced the sweet one. With triumphant relief, he realized she’d made the same mistake everyone made about him. She assumed he didn’t know the first thing about baking. This was his chance to turn the tide in his favor.

In a level voice he asked, “Did you enjoy the cookie you sampled from Sweet L’s Bakery?” He already knew the answer. He’d seen her lick those full lips to get every last morsel.

“It was delicious,” she admitted, confusion at his sudden change in demeanor plain on her face.

“They’re delicious because they use local ingredients, like butter from the Johnsons’ farm, or handpicked berries from Betty Sander’s sustainable community garden. What makes them special is each batch is made right here. With love.”

She scoffed, crossed her arms. “You can’t taste love.”

“You can absolutely taste the love in my cookies, Ms. Voss.” Then he turned her own phrase against her, said each word slowly for maximum effect. “I assure you.”

Applause broke out again. All the townspeople knew firsthand the difference his love made to a batch of cookies. Elena’s mouth dropped open; her eyes widened. “You’re … you’re Sweet L?”

“My loyal customers call me that,” he said. “You can call me Lawrence. Or Mr. Higgins.”

She plopped down in her seat, arms still crossed. His chin jutted out, smirking with pleasure that he’d won. Mayor Montgomery said she’d review Sparkle Cookie’s business license to make sure all was in order, which might delay the opening. He saw Elena blink away tears.

With those few blinks, shadows from her lashes against her cheeks, all the pleasure of being right drained away from him.

Mr. Martinez slapped his shoulder in congratulations, Carmen shot him a thumbs-up from the cookie table, but he felt worse than when the night had started. He’d gotten his point across, Mayor Montgomery seemed persuaded, but he couldn’t shake the certainty he’d gone about it the wrong way.

Then Elena grabbed her bag, hurried toward the door, and the regret set in deeper than it ever had before. With her back to him, he noticed her shoulders were shaking. No, please tell me I didn’t make her cry.

Weren’t people from big corporations supposed to be soulless drones obsessed with the bottom line? Not pretty women with kind smiles and confident manners. A confidence he’d personally shot down.

He looked to her empty chair and realized that in her haste, she’d left behind a leather glove. No doubt he was the last person she wanted to see. He hesitated for a moment, embarrassment from his own actions holding him back, making his limbs heavy.

She could always buy more gloves.

But that wouldn’t give him a chance to apologize.

So he abandoned his chair as the topic switched to snow removal, snatched up the glove, and went after her.