Page 75 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“But do we really believe that?” I ask, my chest tightening with anxiety. “Those people out there are weirdly loyal to St. James and Hamilton. I doubt they’ll just abandon their campaign against us, especially if they lose. Even if we keep the building, we could still lose the business.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Eva says.

“Why not? It’s staring us right in the face, isn’t it?”

She tears up as she looks at me. “Because it’s a reality I’m not ready to face. Because if I do face it, then yeah, it will feel like we worked our asses off for practically nothing. I don’t want to accept defeat. I can’t.”

“I don’t want to, either.”

“Then let’s hold on for a little while longer. Let’s take deep breaths and figure out ways to fight back, to keep the bakery open. To see it thriving once again, someday soon,” Eva replies. “Let’s keep baking and brewing coffee, let’s keep smiling, knowing that eventually everything is going to be alright. The last thing I want to do is show St. James and Hamilton that we’re ready to give up.”

“We are not ready to give up.”

“No, we’re not. We’re just really tired. But we’ve been tired before.”

It’s quite the pep talk we’re working through here, but it does seem to get the job done. I’m still tired. Still out of it on every possible level. Still embarrassed and terrified it will keep gettingworse.

Eva has a point, though.

It is too early to give up. St. James and Hamilton would love to break us down before Christmas.

We need to win the escrow bid first. Then we can contemplate surrender if business doesn’t pick up.

We’re not dead yet.

23

Cora

Christmas Eve is quieter than usual, making my shoulders feel heavy and my stomach tight as I wait for each hour to pass until December twenty-fifth. It’ll be the end of our turmoil. It’ll mean that Orson’s attempt to kick us out of the building did not work, and that we will, in fact, become the new owners of the building.

“I thought this day would never come,” I say, bringing a cup of hot chocolate to my lips.

“It’s almost done,” Sebastian replies. “Just a few more hours.”

We’re in the living room, gazing upon the Christmas tree. The guys enlisted Dario’s help to decorate it earlier in the week, and the final result is uniquely beautiful. Red and gold baubles against the balsam fir’s deep green foliage. Golden cones and red velvet ribbons flowing everywhere. Soft amber lights and white glass snowflakes. An angel sits atop the tree, clad in beige and gold, his wings spread out, his aura shining beneath the chandelier’s subtle glow.

Looking at the tree comforts me, giving me much needed peace, even though my most destructive thoughts return with a vengeance whenever I look away.

“I know you’re trying to keep my spirits up, and I do appreciate it, babe. But admit it, you’re as terrified as I am of the other possibility,” I say, nestling in his arms.

A Christmas-themed movie plays on TV, but no one’s paying attention. We can hear Riggs and Waylan laughing in the kitchen, along with Dario’s voice as he keeps asking for salted caramel popcorn.

“We’re not making that tonight,” Waylan reminds him. “We’re saving that for Christmas Day, okay buddy?”

“Besides, Cora brought all those salty and sweet treats from the bakery,” Riggs says.

“But I wanted the popcorn,” Dario keeps protesting.

I can’t help but laugh. “One of them will cave in eventually.”

“My money’s on Waylan. He cannot resist those puppy eyes,” Sebastian mutters. “You’re right about being scared, though. I’m scared for you and for Eva because I know how badly you want that building. I also know you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” I plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “That means the world to me.”

I hear a cupboard door opening. “Fine!” Waylan exclaims. “One bag. And we’re sharing.”

“Yay!” Dario cheers, prompting both Sebastian and I to snicker amongst ourselves.

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