Page 13 of Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty

“You are a bleeding heart,” Amelia sighs, then she loops her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Thanks.” I laugh softly. We pause so I can gather several bags of flour, and then we carry on.

“So, what are you going to do?” Amelia steals another few grapes from the pouch. “Hang on his arm, look pretty, and let the entire town think you’re dating the hot new doctor?”

“I guess? It’s better than their thinking I’m some old spinster or trying to set me up with their weird friends.”

“You mean Mark?” Amelia snorts. “I’m sorry. I really thought you guys would hit it off.”

“I appreciate your looking out for me. I think with James I just need to attend the party. It’s the charity auction, I think?” We wheel around to the next aisle, and I smile politely as we pass some people. “Just enough for Margret to think she’s got a scoop on some gossip, and then he’ll have one less thing to worry about. I mean, his dad died. And he worshiped that guy. If it wasn’t for him and those seminars across the country, we never would have met, and while all of that ended in heartbreak, I got Emma. So maybe it’s the least I can do.”

“Your heart is too big to share a piece with someone who already hurt you,” Amelia says, and her shoulder rubs against mine. “But nah, I get it. Do you think you will tell him, then? About Emma?”

“God, no.” There’s no way in hell I am telling him the truth. “He might look the same, but we’re not the same people we were. I’m not risking damaging Emma’s life just because he’s randomly shown up. He didn’t want to know then, so he doesn’t get to know now.”

“That’s my girl.” Another shoulder rub, and Amelia darts away toward the confectionaries.

In her absence, my mind runs in circles. James’s being here is like something out of a dream and I can’t get his stupid, handsome face out of my mind. I spent all last night tossing and turning as I replayed our last days together and how bumping into him yesterday felt painfully natural. It was like no time had passed and we were the same two love-struck people.

And now I was to be his date. A good idea at the time. He just looked so sad and forlorn behind that smile of his that it was all I could do to stop myself from hugging him. Amelia’s right. I am a bleeding heart.

“Okay, I am all set.” Amelia returns with a box of brownies and adds them to the cart. “Oh, actually. Would it be terrible for me to ask you to bake something for me?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“I want something sweet for my class for the end of term, and I was thinking of those Christmas shortbread cookies you made last year?” Amelia turns to me with large puppy-dog eyes. “Could you whip me up a batch for my kids this year? I’ll pay you, I promise.”

“And here I thought you were going to take advantage of my bleeding heart.” I laugh. “Sure. Just let me know how many you need and when.”

“Mooooom!” Emma’s voice carries through the bakery like birdsong, only scratchier, and I laugh despite being elbow deep in dough.

“I’m in the back, sweetie!”

Emma comes sprinting through, followed a few seconds later by my mom.

“Hi, darling.” Mom presses a kiss to my cheek and then scoffs softly. “Goodness, Lily, you’ve got flour all over you.”

I send her a sidelong glance as Emma attaches to my leg. “Would you use the same tone if I were covered in motor oil?”

“In a bakery?” Mom teases. “Absolutely.”

Rolling my eyes, I crouch down the best I can and kiss Emma’s head. “Hi, baby. How was Grandma’s?”

“It was so good!” Emma bounces up and down excitedly. “She let me drive the car!”

“What?” I jerk back upright as my heart rate rapidly increases. “What?”

“No, no, no!” Mom laughs and grabs Emma, pulling her away from me and tickling her. “I just had her sit in the driver’s seat and test pedals for me while I was working on something. I promise, no driving took place.”

“Oh, thank God,” I breathe out.

“You rascal, I told you if we told your mom it would give her a heart attack!” Mom tickles Emma mercilessly, and she squeals and giggles for a few minutes until she’s released.

“I did not need to envision my six-year-old behind the wheel of a car,” I groan, although the sudden spike of anxiety renews my forceful kneading of the dough in my hands.

“I was driving when I was six,” Mom says. “Of course, things were different back then.”

“Did road safety even exist when you were a kid?” I tease, earning myself a gentle smack on my arm.

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