Page 22 of Theirs for the Holidays

I point at him. “Bingo.”

“Do you get a lot of customers around this time of year?”

“Oh yeah, it’s been crazy. Between people coming in and out of the shop and the special orders, I am always kind of swamped. But that’s good, you know? Keeps business flowing, and busy months like these make up for the slower ones.”

Rhett seems interested, so I keep talking. I tell him about how my grandmother passed away, and she left me the building, knowing it would be a way for me to fulfill my dream.

“She was the only one who really believed in me,” I say, dropping my eyes to my plate. I push a few stray leaves of lettuce around with my fork. “The rest of my family hasn’t really been all that supportive.”

“Why not?” he asks, frowning.

I shrug a shoulder. “Because it’s not big and flashy. It’s a small bakery and it’s hard to turn a profit on something like that. This is a small town, so I rely on repeat customers more than new foot traffic. I’m never going to go viral or anything like that. It didn’t turn into a massive success right off the bat, so my family basically dismissed it. My mom calls it ‘my little bakery’ every time she mentions it.” I force a laugh, and it has a bitter edge to it. “Like I’m in the backroom with an Easy Bake Oven or something. And… she definitely thinks it’s bad for me. She told me once that it would be a lot easier for me to lose weight if I didn’t own a bakery.”

My cheeks flush because I definitely didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out, and I immediately wish I could take it back. It feels pathetic, and I keep my eyes on my plate, not wanting to see looks of pity—or worse, agreement—on their faces.

“Yikes,” Sawyer says. “But I mean, you see how fucked up that is to say, right?”

When I chance a glance up, all three of them are frowning, reacting to what I said.

“I mean, it’s not very nice of her to say, sure.” I shrug and force a laugh, trying to play it off. It’s an absurdly personal thing to be talking about right now, and the way all three of them are zeroed in on me makes me squirm in my seat. “But I could afford to lose a bit of weight. She’s not wrong.”

“Yes, she is,” Lennox says firmly. “Even if that wasn’t a fucked up thing for her to say to her daughter, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

I blink, caught off guard by that. “I’m… what?”

“Does your body do what you need it to do? Does it carry you through the day?”

I have to consider that for a moment, because I’ve never really thought about it like that. “Well, yes.”

He nods decisively. “Then it’s perfect. You don’t have to do anything to impress your mother.”

It seems like there’s something more he wants to say, but he bites it back. That’s probably just as well, because even without hearing anything else, I’m reeling a bit from his words.

“And she’s missing out on supporting you,” Rhett adds. “Your pastries are really fucking good, and you care about your work. You love it and find joy in it, and because of that you’re going to succeed. I hope you remember how little your family supported you when your bakery takes off. Don’t let them jump on the bandwagon once you get really popular.”

I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face, breaking out into a grin. It’s been so long since people have stood up for me like that, since I’ve gotten a pep talk and felt believed in and seen. It bolsters me, sweeping away the shame and sadness left by talking about my family.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

We finish our food and then get up to leave, going back out into the blustery afternoon. I turn to ask the guys if they have more stops in them or if they want to head back to the house, but then I see Andrew coming down the street toward us.

As always, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine, his hair perfectly wind tossed, and a scarf wound around his neck. His eyebrows climb up at the sight of me with his brothers, and he walks up to us a second later.

“Hey,” he says. Mostly to them. His eyes sort of glance over me and then slide away. “Can I talk to you?”

“Us, or Violet?” Sawyer asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You,” Andrew replies. “Dad wanted me to pass on a message since you’re not staying with him.”

Sawyer looks at me, and I take a step backward. “I need to run next door for something really quick, so you guys talk, and I’ll be right back.”

I zip into the shop before any of them can say anything, letting out a breath. That’s the problem with small towns. You can’t avoid anyone when they could come walking down the street at any time.

“Afternoon, Violet!” Lydia says from behind the counter, waving at me.

“Hi, Lydia. You don’t happen to have any maple sugar in, do you? My supplier couldn’t get any this week, and I really want to play with some for these candied nuts.”

She grins, coming around the counter and gesturing for me to follow. “It’s your lucky day,” she says.