Page 29 of Blame It On the Secret Santa

“Yeah, and some of us have been up since three this morning making lattes to keep the crazy town of Sugarplum Falls running,” he countered. “Some of us need the afternoon pick me up more than others.”

“Has it been that busy?” my dad asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but people are way more stressed about Christmas this year than usual. We’ve had lines out the door since we opened, and the drive-thru line has blocked traffic on Main Street. Piper is closing today, but I imagine she’ll stay open late to get through the line.”

“Wow. I didn’t know people were so stressed right now,” my mom said with a cinnamon stick poking out of her bun.

“Mom, you have cinnamon in your hair,” I commented, pointing to it.

She reached up and felt around until she found the cinnamon stick.

“Oh, my goodness. I thought that was a pen.” She looked around the messy kitchen that had cooling racks scattered about with stacks of cookies on them. “I wonder what I did with the pen.”

My dad leaned over the pot that was boiling on the stove, using the tongs to pull something out.

“Found it,” he said, holding up the dripping wet pen.

“Oh my God!” I burst into laughter, making everyone else laugh with the snort that came out with it. “Mom!”

“What? I’m sorry, but things have been busy, and I’ve been distracted. It’s not my fault. This is why I said we should have just gotten everything from Sugarplum Sweets and saved everyone the trouble this year.”

“Yeah, but I like our family tradition,” I said softly.

Sure, the day was long, and my feet would be killing me by the time I sat down, but I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. Baking as a family were some of my fondest memories growing up, and spending time in my grandparent’s kitchen as we learned from them.

“Mine too,” Sam replied, hanging his coat on the back of a chair. “Even if I’m always late and miss most of it. I still enjoy being here and doing this as a family.”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but once I finish this latte, I’m bringing out therealafternoon pick me up,” my mom said, nearly downing her latte in one big gulp.

Sam and I exchanged a look with each other before staring at our mom in disbelief.

She set her empty cup down and then went to the fridge.

“Eggnog, anyone?”

Sam and I both groaned, knowing that my mom’s eggnog always messed people up. She didn’t bother to measure when she made it, which meant it was usually stronger than anything Aiden served at Sugar Faced Bar.

“I’ll order the pizza,” Sam said as I pulled off my apron and hung it on the wall.

“I’ll start cleaning up.”

We all knew that once the eggnog was out, that was the end of family baking because no one wanted to bake while they were buzzed—and we would all end up that way if we drank it. On nights like this, it was common for Sam and I to stay the night, so we didn’t have to worry about driving home. While I still had my old bedroom to sleep in, Sam would crash on the couch, which he claimed was more comfortable than his old bed that my parents got rid of when they converted his room into a craft room for my mom.

An hour later, I was resting on the couch with my feet up, enjoying the warm fire as I finished my second cup of eggnog. The pizza was supposed to arrive any minute, but I could already feel the warm fuzzies creeping into my head.

I grabbed my phone and opened the text messages. It had been over twelve years since I had called or texted Sean, but I never had it in me to delete his phone number. I chewed my nails as I debated sending him a text message, hoping he hadn’t changed his phone number.

He had been overly nice to me when he took care of me after I fell, and it wouldn’t hurt me to say thank you for it. It wasn’t like I was forgiving him or professing my love for him—just a simplethank you.

I scrolled through the names in my phone until I found the one that saidFucker Face. I clicked on it and started writing my message.

Me: Dear Sean. I am sorry.

I squinted at my phone to try to read the words, but everything was blurry, and it looked like it was spinning around me. I pressed send and then started another message.

Me: You are not an ass, but you have one.

Me: A nice one.

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