Page 10 of The Mechanic's Secret Santa

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She props her elbows on the edge of the prep table. “Why aren’t you out with Aaron? I thought you two had another date planned tonight.”

“I might have cancelled,” I mumble.

“Did your mom sign over the deed?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then why did you cancel?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“I’d drink to that.” She lifts her head and scans the room. “You don’t have any alcohol here, do you?”

“Had to get rid of it while my mom is in town. Though she seems to have picked up drinking social cocktails, I doubt she’d approved of our bakery nightcaps.” I ball up some sugar cookie dough and offer it instead.

Piper pops the dough in her mouth and lets out a happy, satisfied moan. “God, you really are the best baker. You tell your mom about the expansion yet?”

“No!” I realize I may have shouted that and add in a quieter tone, “I don’t plan to until it’s up and running—successfully.”

“For the record,” Piper says, “I think she’d approve.”

“Thanks. I just?—”

“Meg, there’s a delivery guy here,” Tara, one of my high schoolers who mans the register on nights and weekends, announces from the doorway.

“Delivery guy?” I’m not expecting any deliveries for two more days. And certainly not one so late in the day.

“He’s kind of a jerk,” she says, dropping her voice. “Says he’s not bringing all the boxes inside.”

Boxes.Shit!

“What’s wrong?” Piper asks.

“He’s not supposed to bring themhere.”

I rush out to the front in time to see the taillights of a delivery truck disappearing down Main Street. Several stacks of boxes are piled on the sidewalk, collecting a dusting of freshly fallen snow.

“What are all these?” Piper asks, brushing away the snow and revealing a new logo only my designer—Piper—has seen at all. But I never told her what I had already done with said logo. “Are these for?—”

“You can’t saya word.”

She uses her fingers to zip her lips and throw away the key.

“Help me load them into the bakery truck?” I softly plead as I search the streets for a trace of Mom’s car. She’s out with her old book club tonight, but I forget where they were going. All I remember is that my date with Aaron seemed unnecessary because the odds of us getting spotted were low.

Low, but not zero.

“I’ll pull the truck around,” she says, rushing back inside.

Together, the two of us work to stuff the truck full. The last two boxes take up temporary residence in the passenger seat. Because Brooklyn will need the truck in the morning, and I can’t risk Mom walking by the truck and seeing a new logo painted on all sides of the boxes in the front seat, I have no choice but to move them now.

“I can help you,” Piper offers as I climb into the driver’s seat of the truck. “Part of that whole hiding thing.”

Though Piper and Becky Sue know about the expansion, I haven’t shown either of them the inside of the new location yet. I was saving that for a Christmas surprise. I’ve caught Becky Sue trying to peek through the paper-covered windows on more than one occasion.

“If you really want to help, I need those sugar cookies cut out and on pans.”

“I got it covered.”

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