The Loneliest Dragon at Christmas (An MM Monster Christmas #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

J ack watched Avery walk away.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Lacy mused.

“He is.” Jack turned his gaze from the door.

“Those eyes! And that hair!” Lacy straightened some of the pastries on the counter. “Think Avery will come back again?”

“Why? You interested in him?” A pang of jealousy shot through Jack. Which surprised him. Even if Avery was exceedingly handsome, Jack wasn’t stupid enough to be interested in a classy servant like that. “And I thought you were only interested in women?”

“I am,” Lacy said. “And I already have someone.”

“Since when?” Jack asked.

Lacy put her hands on her hips. “I told you about her! Orim! We met at a bridge party.”

“Oh yeah.” Jack vaguely remembered. But honestly, Lacy went through love interests with ridiculous speed.

“We’re in love.” She giggled. “She’s a troll, and you should see her swing a club.”

Jack chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Well, I look forward to meeting her and seeing her swing a club.”

A mischievous grin spread across Lacy’s lips. “I was thinking of you and Avery together. You’d make a very cute couple.”

“Him and me?” Jack shook his head. “Nah. Don’t think we’d suit.”

“Why not?” She stood in front of him, pouting.

“I’ll bet you a divet that he is one of those nose-in-the-air servants who works in one of those lavish houses in the rich part of town, like where Uncle Trenton, Aunt Augusta, and Cousin Larry work.”

“Yeah! Works in one of those houses!” She put her hands on her hips.

Jack gave her a lopsided smile. “Those servants make a lot more money and live in far nicer places than us.” He pointed upwards to their apartment above the bakery. “And they look down on people in our part of town.”

The whole family lived in the five-room apartment, except Ordelia, who’d moved out when she got married. But it was still nine siblings all cramped together.

“Bet that man hasn’t had to share a room with his younger brother most of his life.”

She continued to pout.

“And you saw him, so prim and put together with that posh accent. He probably wouldn’t want a burly baker like me who’s always covered in burn marks and flour and who always has jam in his hair.” Jack reached out and mussed her hair like he’d done when she was a little girl.

She pulled away and made a face.

“I’d embarrass someone as smart-looking as that.” Jack smiled to gentle his words. “And you remember what we told you about Uncle Trenton and Aunt Augusta.”

She sneered. “I remember.”

When Jack had been young, they’d been on good terms with their cousin, uncle, and aunt. In fact, they’d rented rooms just down the street and worked in the bakery. He and his cousin Larry had been similar ages.

Then Uncle Trenton had gotten a job in one of the apartments on the other side of town. Aunt Augusta had gotten one too. And when Larry their cousin was old enough, he’d gotten a job in a similar house as a junior servant. They’d all moved and never came to the bakery anymore, even to visit.

Then their parents had died in a carriage accident thirteen years ago.

Jack, who’d been only fifteen, and his older brother, Grady, at seventeen, had been the eldest of the ten siblings. They’d been at their wit’s end trying to work out how to run a bakery whilst also looking after their younger siblings.

One night, they’d gone to their aunt and uncle, their only family.

Their uncle stood in the door, a curl to his lip. “We can’t help you. You’ll need to work out how to run the bakery on your own.” He spoke in that new posh accent he’d learnt.

“We’re trying,” Grady said. “But we could use some help. We know how to bake, serve customers, and keep the bakery clean.” The siblings had grown up working in the bakery. “But we don’t know how to keep the books. Or where to get supplies. You used to work in the bakery. Could you help us just whilst we get our feet under us?”

Their cousin Larry stood back behind his mother and father, arms crossed, expression blank.

“We have our own work,” Aunt Augusta said, voice clipped. “We are very busy.”

“We could come here at night and ask advice when you’re finished,” Grady pleaded. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “We could bring the books. We can come whenever it suits you. Whatever time you can give. It would help.”

Uncle Trenton looked blankly at them. “We don’t have the ability to do that.”

Jack and Grady stared at them in confusion.

“Look, we aren’t going to work in your run-down bakery,” Aunt Augusta said. “Never again.”

“Run-down?” Jack pulled back in shock.

“What’s changed?” Grady snapped.

“Everything!” She pulled herself up and glared at them. “We worked hard to make our way up in the world. We’re not going to lower ourselves back down to your family’s level.”

Their uncle sniffed. “We are sorry for your loss. But my brother and his wife brought this on themselves. Nine children! And then adopting a pixie off the street! Of course they could never do better for themselves than a ramshackle bakery in Hovel Quarter.”

“It’s not called Hovel Quarter!” Jack’s fists clenched.

It might be a poor part of town. But it was not a hovel! Their home, their bakery was not a hovel!

“It’s what everyone calls it. And just look at yourselves.” Their aunt gestured at them. “You’re acting like beggars in rags out here on the street.”

Jack flushed with shame. He looked down at his work-worn clothes. They had a couple of holes and stains. But they weren’t rags.

Jack’s fists clenched. “That’s not true,” Jack bit out. His family worked hard. He worked hard. His parents had worked hard.

“We can’t help you.” Uncle Trenton raised his chin. “You’ll have to work it out on your own.”

Their uncle slammed the door in their faces.

Jack stared at the closed door, trying to comprehend how their aunt and uncle had abandoned them in their time of need. They hadn’t seen them much in recent years. He assumed it was because they’d all been busy with work.

But they were still family. Shouldn’t that count for something?

Apparently not if you lived in Hovel Quarter.

Jack’s jaw tightened. Embarrassment churned inside him. He’d never felt this prickling, humiliating shame before.

“We don’t need them,” Grady said, voice tight. “We can make it work without them.” He turned and strode away.

Jack had followed.

And they had made it work. Over the past thirteen years, they’d all pulled together and worked hard. They’d kept the bakery going. They’d kept the roof over their heads.

Sure, they still didn’t have a lot of money and probably never would. But they’d survived. The bakery did well. It made enough to pay everyone a wage to keep them comfortably fed and clothed and even allowed them to have a little pocket change. They were happy and healthy. That was enough for Jack.

Fuck arrogant pricks who thought themselves better than his siblings, and the bakery.

Lacy had never known, of course, how bad he and Grady had been treated by their aunt and uncle. They’d given their siblings a much softer version of events.

Lacy leaned towards him. “Well, not all those servants are like that. The handsome Avery seemed to like our bakery. And you deserve someone nice.”

“And I’m sure in time I’ll find someone. I just don’t think it’ll be Avery. But maybe I’ll come to the next bridge party and meet a handsome troll. If I’m lucky, that is.” He waggled his eyebrows, and his sister laughed.