Page 1 of A Very Daddy Christmas

1

Cora

Shit. We’re three months away from Christmas, and our bakery isn’t getting nearly as many orders as it should be in advance of the busiest holiday of the year.

“Miss Levine?” a client snaps me back to reality.

“Oh, so sorry, Mrs. Lemming,” I nervously giggle. “This fair is really draining the life out of me. Where were we?”

“Is it like this every year?”

“Yes.”

The Madison County Holiday Fair is the biggest holiday-themed expo of the year. Vendors and artisans from all over Colorado gather here from October first through Christmas Eve to showcase their best products. You name it, we have it.

“You seem nervous,” Mrs. Lemming says, eyeing me closely.

“I am. A little.”

“Your first time?”

“My sister Eva usually attends these commercial events,” I say. “I stick to baking—behind the scenes.”

Mrs. Lemming smiles gently. “You’re going to do fine, Cora. It’s only the first day, and we all know the Levine Bakery is the pride and joy of Madison.”

I only wish we had more customers to attest to that. “It hasn’t been the same since the St. James Mall opened its doors, though. Everybody’s jumping on the ‘live fast’ train, grabbing their coffees in paper cups and their bear claws in brown paper bags, always rushing, never stopping to just—”

“Smell the coffee?”

“Yeah.”

I glance around again. It’s a huge event and it’s always an honor to be a part of it. Even though the low figures are concerning, Mrs. Lemming is right— it’s only the first day. I shouldn’t be discouraged. Yet I see so many people stopping by other stalls, buying other cakes, sampling other pastries and hot chocolate. I feel tired and left out. Drained.

Our landlord opened a mall with just enough competition to squish us. I warned Eva about him. I can’t tell her “I told you so,” though. She’ll wring me like a wet t-shirt.

“Let’s see how the week turns out before we worry,” Mrs. Lemming says, tugging her mauve winter hat down so it covers her ears. Curls of gray hair flow from beneath it, cascading over her shoulders, and she’s clad in a gray, woolen overcoat. “And put me down in advance for a big order, honey.”

I whip out my pad and pen, instantly fashioning a bright smile for this God-fearing, church-going lady who keeps coming backto us for the good stuff. “A big order? Expecting all the family over for Christmas?”

“Yes, indeed. All five kids. Ten grandchildren. Spouses and a couple of cousins, too!”

“Oh, wow!”

“I’m thinking twenty-five people, approximately. I’ll have the Black Forest cake. You girls make it best. And some apple and cinnamon cupcakes. Can you do one of those giant yule logs too? Chocolate, caramel, maybe throw some peanut butter in there…”

“Of course, Mrs. Lemming,” I say as I write everything down, my mind already working out the production costs and an estimate on the prices. “You’ll get some of our signature candy canes as well, on the house. What about the hot chocolate varieties? Have you checked the menu yet?”

She squints at one of the colorful menus on display, nodding slowly. “I’ll get back to you on that, Cora. One of my grandsons is bringing some of his fancy tea boxes from New York, according to his mother.”

“Sure, let me just…” My voice trails off as I look up and see him coming.

The bane of my existence.

Orson St. James.

“Are you distracted again?” Mrs. Lemming giggles, but I can barely hear her. “Cora?”

“Mrs. Lemming, I’m sorry. Again.” I give her a faint smile. “I’ve recorded your pre-order and I’ll give you a call early in December to confirm. Is that alright with you?”

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