Page 43 of A Gingerbread Romance

The rest of the evening continued happily as the caroling began again, with talk of turning one of the bedrooms upstairs into a nursery.

“I’m so happy for them,” Jonathan said to Greta and Linda later when the three of them stood around watching the twins unwrap a few early presents from their aunts and uncles. Linda was staying the night at Wade’s, having driven in from Baltimore that morning and so had helped command Jocelyn’s kitchen for the big meal. “Wade’s always wanted to be a father.”

Linda nodded. “He’s going to make a wonderful dad.”

Greta was so happy for them.

Eventually, Jonathan returned to the festivities as the evening wound down, and Greta found herself with the women, cleaning up the last of the mess in the kitchen.

* * *

Greta tookanother one of Jocelyn’s dinner plates from the drying rack and dried it with a towel. The men, the boys, and a few others were still out in the living room, talking and laughing.

Trista took the next dish and dried it while Linda washed and Jocelyn, Chloe, and Rhonnie put food away and wiped countertops. “So, Greta,” Trista said, “How did your bakery do this season? Jonathan told us you made a lot of changes this month?”

Greta was surprised she’d brought it up. Then again, he and Tim were close, and Chloe had helped her with the coffee shop. Of course, they knew. “Yes, actually, we did really well. We just opened the new coffee shop that Chloe helped me with a couple of days ago, and it’s already doing well. Only two days so far, but I’m hopeful.”

“That’s great,” said Jocelyn, and the others nodded and congratulated her. “And Jonathan said Wade’s friend has been doing a great job for you, too.”

“Wade’s friend?” said Greta, confused.

“Yeah,” said Jocelyn, “Henry Berg.” She turned and stretched to put the gravy bowl in an upper cabinet. “We thought it was so sweet of Jonathan to hire him for you.”

Greta’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she stared blankly, barely aware of anything else going on in the room.Jonathanhad hired Berg?

Linda stopped to study her face. “Greta, honey?”

Greta’s heart raced. She’d tried to reach Berg today after the busy day at the bakery and after making the delivery. She’d called and then left a message when he hadn’t picked up.

But it had been four thirty in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Quite understandable she couldn’t reach him and that he hadn’t returned her call. She’d decided not to worry about it for now. The question could wait until after the holidays.

Her thoughts circled back, and she swallowed over the lump in her throat. The mysterious benefactor had been Jonathan all along? Her heart flooded with gratitude, but then her brow creased.

He hadn’t thought to tell her? He’d had every chance. And now here she was, looking ridiculous in front of his family, who apparently all knew about it.

She shook off the thoughts, hearing her name coming from Jonathan’s aunt. “Greta, are you all right?” Linda asked with concern.

“Yes, uh, thanks,” she lied, playing it off. “I’m fine. I just…uh… Will you excuse me?” She set the dry dinner plate on the counter and the towel next to it then held up a finger, forcing a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, heading for the restroom down the hall, her thoughts racing.

* * *

Something had changedin only the past hour or two, but Jonathan couldn’t figure out what. Greta had gone quiet, reserved, since she’d come from the kitchen with several of the other women. She hadn’t said anything was wrong, nor had she indicated that she needed to talk, and she’d given warm hugs and smiles to his family when they’d all said goodnight. But she hadn’t said a word as they’d walked to his car under the stars.

He glanced over at her as he drove them back to town, mulling it over as colorfully lit homes flew by outside against the backdrop of a clear, black sky.

He’d already tried bringing up a few things that had happened over the course of the evening, like Jocelyn’s pregnancy and the evening’s musical entertainment, and Greta responded politely but without her usual enthusiasm or warmth.

Was she simply tired? He’d understand, if so, but this wasn’t like her. Jonathan furrowed his brow.

They reached her street, and he made a left turn toward her house. “Anything wrong?” he finally ventured.

She cleared her throat but only answered “No” with a long stare out the passenger side window, her gaze seemingly on her own house, its soft white lights beckoning in the dark.

“You sure?” he asked with more concern, pulling into her driveway.

She inhaled deeply but didn’t reply. He parked the car and cut the engine. “Greta, if something’s wrong, I hope you feel like you can talk to me. Did I do something to upset you?”

Finally, she turned to him, her gaze cold and sharp. “When were you going to tell me that you were the one who hired Henry Berg?”

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