Page 17 of A Very Merry Enemy
“That’s it? Wow. Might have to do this every day of the season.” I tap my card against the reader, not even flinching at the price. I’ve been working since I could drive, saved every penny. Money’s one thing I have plenty of.
“Would you like a receipt?” she asks, voice unamused.
“Oh yes, please. Love a good tax write-off.”
She rips the paper from the printer and tosses it at me. It floats through the air and I catch it before it hits the ground.
I chuckle. “Have a great day.”
“Get. Out.” Her voice is ice.
“Pleasure doing business with ya.”
I help grab boxes of cookies and walk out. The door slams behind me hard enough to rattle the windows.
Outside, I place everything at the picnic tables near the snack shack. The giant inflatable Santa beside the gift shop waves in the wind like it approves of my plan.
Holiday stands at the bakery window, arms crossed over her chest.
A few people walk over to the bakery, see the Sold Out sign, and immediately start complaining.
I head inside the main gift shop, squeezing between customers browsing ornaments and wreaths. In the back office, I grab poster board from behind the door and a fat red marker from the top drawer.
I write Free Cookies in huge letters so no one misses out. I carry it outside and tape it to the picnic table. Within seconds,people swarm.
“Lucas, what’s this?” Jerry Bradley asks as his kids snatch cookies from the boxes, comparing which ones taste better.
“Thought I’d spread some Christmas spirit today,” I say, biting into one of Holiday’s peppermint fudge brownies.
It’s incredible. Chocolatey and sweet with the perfect texture. It’s the kind of brownie that melts on your tongue. She’s always been an incredible baker. But I make a face as if it tastes like reindeer shit and toss the rest in the trash.
I know she’s watching, and that image will live rent-free in her head for weeks.
Today feels like a victory. I get to be the hero, handing out free cookies while she stews in her anger. As I move through the crowd, handing out boxes, I catch pieces of conversations.
“Who made these?”
“Holiday Patterson. She’s back from Paris!”
“These are incredible. Where can I get more?”
“Right there at the cookie shop. The menu changes every day!”
“Holiday’s a world-renowned pastry chef.”
“We’re coming back tomorrow. Early. Let’s line up at seven.”
My jaw clenches. By noon, there isn’t a single crumb left. The quilting circle ladies walk past me, chirping about what a sweet man I am for promoting Holiday’s pastries with so much passion.
I smile, but this is backfiring. I didn’t do this to help her. I did this to piss her off.
My phone buzzes.
Matteo
Saw you gave away thousands of Holiday’s cookies on Instagram! Are you two a thing, because if not…
Lucas
