Page 39 of Santa Loves Curvy Girls

My business.

Now that I had my first paying customer (hopefully, repeat customer), I officially had a business.

I smiled but also felt another tear run down my cheek.

I took a picture of the order for memory’s sake and headed down to Scrooge’s to drop them off, thinking about what I would name my bakery one day. “Belle’s Bakery”? “Sleigh Belles” to go with Garland’s Christmas theme? Or maybe “Santa’s Cookies” in memory of the boy who was my first crush and the first to support my business as more than a “one day” dream.

It took about fifteen minutes to walk to Scrooge’s Diner, the one business on Main Street devoid of any type of Christmas decorations. In fact, the only thing even close to holiday spirit was the bells over the door that jingled as I walked inside.

A few people ate at tables. My heart sank thinking of Santa here with his mom on Christmas Day. He’d been in this place, sat in one of these chairs, and maybe one day he would eat one of my cookies from the display, but that was as close as we’d ever get again.

I shoved aside my sad thoughts, focusing instead on this moment. On the fact that I was delivering my very first order.

I walked up to the counter, a smile on my face as I approached Scrooge drying coffee mugs and stacking them on trays. He was a handsome older man, about my parents’ age, with dark brown hair and short stubble on his chin.

“I have your cookies ready,” I told him, setting the tins in front of him.

He thanked me gruffly when I did. “That was fast.”

“Thank you for the order,” I replied.

He pulled open the lid on one of the tins and said, “These look great.” He began taking them out to put in the empty glass display.

I went around the corner and helped him, carefully arranging them so it was easy to see the pretty designs I’d put on them. Since I knew he didn’t like Christmas, I’d made them all scalloped circle shapes with pretty white designs. The icing sugar caught the light, making them shimmer.

A tall guy, maybe a little younger than my dad, came up to the counter to pay for his meal. “Are those fresh cookies for sale?”

“Yes!” I said.

“I’ll take three and a coffee,” he replied, sliding into a seat at the counter.

Scrooge gave him a plate with three cookies and poured a fresh cup. “Enjoy.”

I couldn’t leave, not now with the first customer about to try them.

The man picked one up and took a bite. “Wow, these are as good as my grandmother used to make them.”

Scrooge turned to me. “How about another batch next week?”

I grinned. “You got it, Scrooge.”

He smirked at the nickname, then left from behind the counter to tend to the rest of his customers, and I turned back to the display case, making sure the cookies looked perfect and adding a nice handwritten sign too from a scrap of paper and marker that I found nearby.

“There,” I said, admiring my work.

Now that I had my first customer, maybe I could find another one.

But who did I have to thank for this one? Who was Santa?

I turned back to Scrooge, who was busy getting drinks for people at the tables. I knew it was as easy as asking him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Santa hadn’t wanted to tell me. Even told me hecouldn’t. And this wasn’t the way I wanted to find out. If we were to have a relationship, I would want him to tell me himself.

But as I looked around the shop, saw the diner finishing his first cookie, I knew I would think of Santa every Christmas and how he helped me start my bakery.

25

NICK

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