Page 2 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“It is, darling. You have my card details on file, I believe?”

“Yes. I’ll process the deposit before the end of this week.”

She nods once. “Same as last year, right?”

“Thirty percent, yes ma’am.”

Mrs. Lemming follows my gaze. “Why are you scared of Mr. St. James, Cora? He’s a good man. An honorable man. I see him in church every Sunday enjoying our preacher’s sermons. He gives to the poor regularly.”

And he recently bought the building our bakery resides in from our previous landlords. Mr. St. James has been aggressively taking over the city of Madison, one property at a time, over the past few years.

“I have no quarrel with Mr. St. James,” I politely tell Mrs. Lemming.

“You shouldn’t,” she quickly replies. “Orson is a pillar of the community. Frankly, I’m glad Anne sold the building to him. I hear she’s living the dream in Florida now.”

“Yeah, a spot opened up at one of the more glamorous retirement homes. She’s doing well.”

Eva and me? Not so much.

“Mr. St. James!” Mrs. Lemming exclaims as the landlord reaches us.

Orson St. James comes from money. He is ruthless in business, but he gets a pass for every deal he makes because he goes to church every Sunday and writes the occasional check to various Madison charities. It’s his way of giving back, he often says.

I don’t buy it. Not for a single second. This guy gets richer off the backs of the less fortunate. He's thrown people out in the streets and forced small business owners out of their shops. But he puts on a kind smile, his wife attends every fundraising gala, and his grandsons sing in the church choir when they’re not pushing investors left and right across Wall Street… yeah, he’s a great guy.

“Mrs. Lemming!” Orson greets, giving her a polite nod. “What a pleasure to see you here. How are you liking the fair so far?”

“I love it. I just put in a pre-order with Cora,” she replies. “Have you tried her yule log yet? The Levine’s are notorious for it around the holidays.”

He looks at me with a curious twinkle in his light green eyes. “My wife may have brought one home in the past few years or so.”

“It’s gotten better with every season.”

“Mrs. Lemming, you’re too kind,” I say, half-smiling. “Mr. St. James, nice to see you. What brings you to the fair?”

“I’m one of the sponsors and a co-organizer.”

“Ah. Ever the intrepid entrepreneur, eh?”

Mrs. Lemming giggles and sets her purse back on her shoulder. “I need to check the Nativity scenes one more time before I go. I’ll see you soon, Cora.”

“Have a lovely day, Mrs. Lemming, and thanks again. Leave your holiday baking to me.”

Orson and I wait for the retired schoolteacher to leave before we allow our usual tension to seep back in between us, thickening the air and making the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. Hesmiles again, but I can see the ill-intent in his gaze, the way his smirk turns into something downright depraved.

“Not very busy, I see?” he comments.

“It’s only the first day sir,” I reply with a flat tone.

“Cora, have you spoken to Eva about moving into my mall? You’d get a lot more customers there, I guarantee it.”

My blood pressure spikes, but I gather every ounce of strength left in me to keep my composure. The last thing I want is for him see me as weak. Or worse, easy to tear down. This man has a way of making people crumble with just a few carefully chosen words.

“Mr. St. James, the bakery has been in my family for two generations now. Mr. and Mrs. Selznick leased it to my grandparents nearly fifty years ago. Five decades we’ve spent in that place, crafting our best pastries for the good folks of Madison. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know the story,” he mutters, glancing around. “Mrs. Selznick told me all about it when I bought the building from her. She insisted I let you girls do your thing. And honestly, it’s been fine over the past couple of years, but it’s no longer good enough.”

“What do you mean?”

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