Marry-Me Christmas. Shirley JumpЧитать онлайн книгу.
noon, Sam was already so exhausted, she was sure she’d collapse face-first into the double-layer cinnamon streusel. But she pasted a smile on her face, kept handing out cookies and pastries, all while dispensing directions to her staff. She’d called in her seasonal part-timers, and everyone else she could think of, right down to Mary, who did the weekend cleaning, to help keep up with the sudden influx of tourists. It seemed every person in a three-state area had read the article and turned out to see if Joyful Creations would live up to its reputation of bringing love to people who tried Grandma Joy’s Secret Recipe Cherry Chocolate Chunk Cookies.
Sam had long heard the rumors about her grandmother’s cookies—after all, they were the very treats Grandma Joy had served to Grandpa Neil when they had first met—but had never quite believed all the people who credited the tiny desserts for their happy unions. Then a reporter from Travelers magazine had tried them on a trip through town and immediately fallen in love with one of the local women. The two of them had run off to Jamaica and gotten married the very next weekend. Afterward, the reporter had raved about the cookies and his happy ending in the airline publication, launching Sam’s shop to national fame, and turning a rumor into a fact.
Ever since, things hadn’t slowed down. Sam had worked a lot of hours before—but this was ridiculous. Nearly every spare moment was spent at the bakery, working, restocking and filling orders. But it was all for a larger goal, so she kept pushing, knowing the bigger reward was on the horizon.
“I can’t decide.” The platinum-blond woman, dressed head to toe in couture, put a leather-gloved finger to her lips. “How many calories did you say were in the peanut butter kiss cookies?”
The smile was beginning to hurt Sam’s face. “About one hundred and ten per cookie.”
“And those special cherry chocolate chunk ones?”
“About a hundred and fifty.”
“Do those cookies really work? Those love ones?”
“That’s what people say, ma’am.”
“Well, it would really have to be worth the calories. That’s a lot to work off in the gym, you know, if I don’t meet Mr. Right. And if I meet Mr. Wrong—” the woman threw up her hands “—well that’s even more time on the treadmill.”
Sam bit her lip, then pushed the smile up further.
“Do you happen to know the fat grams? I’m on a very strict diet. My doctor doesn’t want me to have more than twenty-two grams of fat per day.”
From what Sam could see, the woman didn’t have twenty-two grams of fat in her entire body, but she kept that to herself. “I don’t know the grams of fat offhand, ma’am, but I assure you, none of these cookies have that many per serving.”
The gloved finger to the lips again. She tipped her head to the right, then the left, her pageboy swinging with the indecision. Behind her, the entire line shifted and groaned in annoyance. “I still don’t know.”
“Why don’t you buy one of each?” Sam said. “Have one today and one tomorrow.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” The woman beamed, as if Sam were Einstein. She handed her money across the glass case to Ginny while Sam wrapped the cookies in wax paper and slid them into a bright white Joyful Creations box, then tied a thin red ribbon around the box. “But…”
“But what?”
“How can I decide which one to have today?”
Sam just smiled, told the woman to have a merry Christmas, and moved on to the next customer. Four hundred of Grandma Joy’s secret recipe cherry chocolate chunk cookies later, the line had finally thinned. Sam bent over, taking a moment to straighten the trays, whisk away a few crumbs and bring order back to the display.
Then, through the glass she glimpsed a pair of designer men’s shoes, their glossy finish marred by road salt, dots of dried snow. Her gaze traveled upward. Pressed trousers, a dark gray cashmere dress coat. White shirt. Crimson tie.
He was back. Flynn MacGregor.
Blue eyes, so deep, so dark, they were the color of the sky when a thunderstorm came rolling through. Black, wavy hair that had been tamed with a close cut. And a face set in rigid stone. “I have waited. For hours. Watched dozens of customers come through here, thinking you have the answer to love, marriage and apparently the beginnings of the earth.” He let out a breath of displeasure. “I had no idea you could get such bonuses with your coffee cake.”
His droll manner told her it wasn’t a joke, nor a compliment. “I don’t purport to offer anything other than baked goods, Mr. MacGregor.”
“That’s not what the people in that line thought. That very long line, I might add. One that took nearly three hours to clear out. And now—” he flicked out a wrist and glanced at his watch “—I’m never going to get to where I needed to go today if I don’t get this interview done. Now.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to make it farther than a few miles. I doubt the roads are clear. The weather is still pretty bad.”
“My editor is from the mailman school of thought. Neither blizzard nor earthquake shall stop a deadline.”
She eyed him. “And I take it you agree with his philosophy?”
“I didn’t get to where I am in my career by letting a little snow stop me.” He leaned forward. “So, do you have time now, Miss Barnett?”
Clearly, Sam’s best bet was to fit in with his plans. Business had slowed enough for her to give the reporter some time anyway. “Sure. And it’d be great to sit down for a minute.” Sam turned toward her great-aunt. “Aunt Ginny, could you handle the counter for a little while?”
The older woman gave her a grin. “Absolutely.”
Sam pivoted back to Flynn. The man was handsome enough, even if he was about as warm and fuzzy as a hedgehog. But, he had come all the way from Boston, and Lord knew she could use the publicity. The airline magazine story had been a great boon, but Sam was a smart enough business person to know that kind of PR wouldn’t last long. “Can I get you some coffee? A Danish? Muffin? Cookies?”
“I’d like a sampling of the house specialties. And some coffee would be nice.”
He had good looks, but he had all the friendliness of a brick wall. His words came out clear, direct, to the point. No wasted syllables, no wide smiles.
Nevertheless, he offered the one gift Sam had been dreaming about for years. A positive profile of the bakery in the widely popular Food Lovers magazine would be just the kickoff she needed to launch the new locations she’d been hoping to open this year. Heck, the exposure she’d hoped and prayed for ever since she’d taken over the bakery. Coupled with the boost in business the airline magazine’s story had given her, Joyful Creations was on its way to nationwide prominence.
And she was on her way out of Riverbend.
Finally.
Not to mention, she’d also have the financial security she needed to fund her grandmother’s long-term care needs. It was all right here.
In Flynn MacGregor. If that didn’t prove Santa existed, Sam wasn’t sure what did.
She hummed snippets of Christmas carols as she filled a holly-decorated plate with a variety of the bakery’s best treats. Gingerbread cookies, pecan bars, cranberry orange muffins, white mocha fudge, peppermint chocolate bark, frosted sugar Santa cookies—she piled them all on until the plate threatened to spill.
“Don’t forget some of these,” Ginny said, handing Sam a couple cherry chocolate chunk cookies.
“Aunt Ginny, I don’t think he needs—”
“He came here for the story about the special cookies, didn’t he?” Her great-aunt gave her a wide smile. “And if the stories