Page 40 of A Gingerbread Romance

“What are you doing up so early, though, Jean? Isn’t it only about four in the morning where you are?”

“Yes. We’re loading up on the bus to go to Dallas today! I’m leaving New Orleans, and my goodness, did we have fun here?” The old woman had been rising well before dawn for fifty years. Greta shouldn’t be surprised.

“Well, that’s great. It’s good to hear your voice, Grandma.”

“Yours too, doll. How have the last few days gone at the bakery? I’ve only got a few minutes before they start asking for our luggage and doing roll call, by the way. Can’t talk for long.”

Greta filled her in on things as quickly as she could, glossing over what could be shared later. She reached town and crossed the street at the first light. The sun had risen a bit more since she’d left the house, so it was easier to see, and various shopkeepers, delivery drivers, and street cleaners were already out and about. She loved her early morning walks to work.

“But let me ask you something before I let you go, Grandma. How did you find Henry Berg, and how did you manage to afford his services?”

“Henry Berg?” said Jean. “I don’t know anyone by that name, Greta. Who is he?”

Greta’s brow tightened. “Sure, you do, Grandma,” she urged. “He’s the business consultant you hired to help me with the bakery this month, and he’s done an amazing job. Our numbers are up, and we’re going to be able to meet the rental increase in March because of what he’s done for us, which is going to be twelve percent, by the way.” She hadn’t even had a chance to tell Jean about that.

“Twelve percent?” said Jean. “Well, I suppose we’ll manage.” She was quiet for a moment. “But no, honey, I don’t remember hiring any business consultants. I’m not sure we can afford someone like that? Has he sent you a bill?”

Greta’s stomach began to churn. How had Henry Berg ended up in her store, helping her, then? He’d never billed her, and he’d said he’d been paid the last time she’d asked, just to be sure. This was odd. Very odd. “No, Grandma. He said we don’t owe him anything. I just figured you’d already paid him…”

She heard a distant voice in the background on Jean’s end and then Jean spoke. “I didn’t do any sort of thing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The chill outside suddenly felt more intense, and Greta shivered. She dropped her gaze to the ground as she reached the front doors of the bakery, which were locked, although the bakers would already be inside whipping up fresh goods for the day.

Greta heard more voices on Jean’s end.

“Oh, honey,” said Jean, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get going. They’re calling us over to the bus now.”

Greta cleared her throat, thinking hard. Was her grandmother starting to forget things? No, the woman was still as sharp as a tack, wasn’t she? “Okay. No problem, Grandma. I’ll talk to you tomorrow evening to say Merry Christmas, okay?”

“Okay, honey. Call me when you close the store tomorrow!”

“I will. Have a wonderful time in Dallas!”

“Thanks. I will! Love you, dear!” Greta heard the click on the other end of the line.

She sighed and dug into her purse for her key, then unlocked the front door and went inside. Something was going on. She’d have to call Berg and find out what.

* * *

Jonathan glancedacross the living room in Wade’s gorgeously remodeled fieldstone home in the country, adorned as it was in fresh pine and holly, at Greta, who stood talking to a group of the women at the party. Tim and his brothers chattered loudly next to him, laughing and talking, and he smiled at the scene.

The lights on the Christmas tree—upon which he was sure Jocelyn had done most of the decorating because it looked like something out of a magazine—twinkled brightly, emanating a warm glow across the room. Carols and seasonal pop tunes echoed softly in the background, and the room buzzed with cheerful conversation. Jonathan took a sip from his mug of hot mulled cider with its shot of dark rum. Delicious.

And try as he might, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy, this excited about whatever the future might hold. It was turning out to be a very merry Christmas Eve, indeed.

He pushed a quiet breath through his nose. Maybe he should try to bring it down a notch, though, and not plan out the rest of his life with Greta just yet, as exciting as it sounded? Things were still very new between them, and he had a tendency to dive in too deep, too soon.

Then again, that might be difficult. She was just so enticing—festive, stylish, and alluring. His eye caught her figure in the white sweater she’d worn tonight, layered under a red and white scarf and paired with a patterned red skirt that fell just above the knee. Her legs in the heeled pair of tall brown boots made his own knees go a little weak.

He looked away, though, because he’d better focus on taking things slowly. No need to rush.

And fortunately, Greta seemed to have carved out a spot for herself here among the group. Linda adored her already. The two of them had exchanged tips on making pie crust early on this evening, since Linda had brought the pies.

Jocelyn and Trista’s father, Ivan, and his wife, Rhonnie, as well as Chloe’s parents, had clustered about for a while, too, as Jonathan stood by her side. The older crowd were huge fans of the Smithfield and most of them knew her grandmother, at least as an acquaintance, so they’d treated Greta like a rockstar. Greta had indulged their every question and compliment with a modest, gratified response.

She was amazing, and he still couldn’t believe she was his. His thoughts swirled. Better not take that for granted, though, either. He’d seen her again last night after work when he’d stopped over, but they’d still only had a total of three dates. He didn’t count the times they’d spent together as quote-unquotefriends,although those moments had cemented his feelings for her.

“We’re so glad you brought her, man.” Wade slapped him on the back. “Proud o’ you, bro’, for going after her. You two seem really happy.”

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