Page 106 of Theirs for the Holidays

“I turned on the charm. Half of my deliveries were middle aged women ordering for holiday parties while their husbandsare at the office all day. So I batted my eyes and threw around some compliments, andviola.” He gestures to the brimming jar.

“If you did all that for tips, thenyoushould keep them,” I say, shaking my head.

“No, I did it for you, Peaches.”

“I’m supposed to be paying you, not the other way around, Sawyer.”

“Well…” He sidles up to me leaning in to nose at my neck. “If you want to pay me, you could let me give you a tip of my own. If you know what I mean.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing at the sheer corniness of that pick up line. “That was horrible, truly. I can’t reward that kind of behavior.”

He chuckles, and his brothers roll their eyes.

“I do have something for all of you though, now that I have a free moment to grab them.”

We head into the kitchen where a batch of cookies has been chilling, waiting to go into the oven. I put those in, along with some other things to refresh the bakery case before the end of the day.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Rhett says. He produces a bottle of water and a bag from Porter’s. “Lunch for you.”

“Oh.” I blink at the offering before taking it from him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Rhett shrugs. “You’ve been running all over the place, and you handled the lunch rush by yourself. We see how busy you are, and we want you to take care of yourself while you’re feeding everyone else in town.”

Something burns in the back of my throat at his words, and I realize that my eyes are stinging with unshed tears. I don’t know what to say or even how to react, so I duck my head, unwrapping what turns out to be a thick roast beef sandwich.

It’s still warm, and one bite proves that it’s exactly how I like it. Toasted bread, honey mustard, pickled onions, and melty cheese.

My throat goes tight when I try to swallow, and I try to hide the fact that I feel like I might cry.

“Violet?” Lennox asks, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Did they put peppers on it?” Rhett asked. “I told them no peppers.”

I shake my head, chasing the bite with a gulp of water. “No. No, I’m fine. It’s just…” I look up, and all three of them are watching me with concern.

That just makes the lump in my throat even worse, but I have to tell them something. It’s just hard to know where to start or where to find the words.

“No one’s ever really taken care of me like this before,” I finally explain. “My family doesn’t take the bakery seriously. If I tell them I’m working hard or swamped with orders, they just wave me off like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s the same as when I was a kid playing with my Easy Bake Oven or making mud pies. None of them would have ever thought to make sure I have lunch on a busy day. None of them would have cared. Sometimes it feels like they’re just waiting for me to fail—that maybe they evenwantme to fail, just so they’d be right about the fact that me opening a bakery was a bad idea.”

It feels a little pathetic to say it out loud, and I sigh, ready to apologize for wasting their time with my whining.

But when I look at them again, they all look indignant.

“That’s bullshit,” Lennox says shortly.

“I know. I shouldn’t think that way about my own family, but?—”

“No,” he cuts me off. “It’s bullshit that they would make you feel that way. Whether they actually think that or not, it’s clear from how they act that you have a reason to feel the way you do.We’ve been here for this long, and we haven’t seen any of them in here once.”

“They… never really come by,” I admit. “There have been times when I’ve been here, and my mom will call me and ask if I can run an errand for her or come over to help with something, and when I tell her I’m working, she’s just so… dismissive.”

“If your family can’t see how much you’ve accomplished here, then that meanstheyhave a problem, not you,” Rhett says firmly.

Sawyer nods. “Exactly. Look at how much you’ve done. You’ve turned this place into a beautiful bakery, and people love your baked goods.” The timer goes off on the oven as if on cue, and before I can move, Sawyer crosses to it and grabs oven mitts to take the tray of cookies out.

He doesn’t wait for them to cool, instead juggling a soft, hot cookie in his hands until he can take a bite. “Fucking delicious,” he groans. “Is that sea salt?”

“Miso.”