Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance Page 4

  As usual, thinking about Mave sets butterflies off in my stomach.

  Those eyes were like a brand to my brain. I can’t forget them. They seemed to gleam with an incandescent sparkle. Even so, I sensed something grave beneath his air of confidence.

  Something heavy.

  A sadness within the mischief.

  A quiet, hidden pain.

  Or maybe I’m just imagining things. Maybe I’m hoping that a man as good-looking as Mave isn’t all perfect inside.

  Maxine stands in front of the mirror and fluffs her big, curly wig.

  I hesitantly admit. “I did stop by the building…”

  “Seriously?” She whirls around. “If you die of frostbite because of a pipe dream, I’m going to be pissed.”

  I fix one of her curls for her. “It won’t be a pipe dream much longer. I’ve almost saved up what I need for a down payment.”

  She lifts her chin and fixes her collar, buttoning it all the way to the top. “You realize you’ll need some kind of income to keep that place open?”

  “That’s where my bakery comes in. When I finish my hours at Aunt Lee’s and get my license, I’ll be set.”

  “Humph.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”

  “A plan.” Maxine pauses and gives me a firm look. “But it’s still scary.”

  Before I can tell her there’s no need to worry, footsteps thud toward me.

  “Auntie Clark! Auntie Clark!” My little nieces charge into the living room, filled with more energy than that pink bunny with the drum.

  “My little angels!” I drop to my knees and give Moesha and Tanisha a big hug.

  Their tiny fingers curve around my neck. The scent of cocoa butter and hair grease fills my nostrils and reminds me of my own childhood.

  I smile from the fondness of the memories. Mama sitting me between her legs and braiding my hair. Mama slicking every inch of my light brown skin with lotion, so I didn’t get ‘ashy’ during the day. Mama teaching me how to bake.

  A lump forms in my throat because I’ve never been this far from home for so long. I should give mama and daddy a call later.

  My nieces release me and step back. “Did you bring anything?”

  “You know I did.” I dig into my purse and produce the Christmas cookies I brought from work. These ones I paid for. “Tada! The best Christmas cookies in the world for the best nieces in the world.”

  Like rabid sharks sensing blood in the water, they launch for the container.

  I yank it back. “Moe, as the oldest, you share it out and make sure you do so fairly.”

  “Yes, Auntie,” she says in that cute little voice, her dark skin glistening like flawless black silk.

  I hand her the container and she scurries to the kitchen to share out the goods, the determined Tan right on her heels.

  Maxine shakes her head. “You’re buying their love with cookies.”

  “It works. Why reinvent the wheel?” I lift a shoulder. “Plus, it’s convenient. The bakery has loads of these. I can keep them stocked until New Year’s.”

  “So you only thought about the kids?”

  “Don’t worry,” I whisper, sliding my hand into my purse and bringing out a plastic bag that barely crinkles. “I’ve got you covered.”

  Her eyes brighten as she accepts the cookies. “You know what? This buying love thing does work. I love you more already.”

  “Shut up.” I laugh and grab a thick grey scarf from the hook. Wrapping it around her neck, I squeeze her shoulders gently. “Are you okay? Is your stomach still upset?” This morning, I heard Maxine throwing up in the bathroom. I almost didn’t go to work, but she insisted she was fine. “Did you take something?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes flit away from mine. “I should go.”

  “Have a good night. Make lots of tips.”

  “Thanks, Clark.” Maxine dips her feet into sensible black pumps, one hand on the wall to keep her balance. As she moves, she hollers to the kids. “Be good for Auntie, okay? Don’t let me come back from my shift and hear you were fighting like cats and dogs again.”

  “Yes, mama!” Their cheeks stuffed with Christmas cookies, Tan and Moe sound like two little saints. Saints that turn into rottweilers when they fight.

  I shake my head as a pleased grin inches over my face.

  Even if I’m far from my parents right now, staying with Maxine and the girls fills that hole in my chest. I love being surrounded by family, especially around this time of year. Plus, it helps that I can save on renting my own apartment. Every penny counts.

  Slipping out of my shoes, I pad to the Bluetooth speaker resting on top of the television stand. Beside it are pictures of Maxine and Moe as babies.

  Their father, Levonte, is not in the picture.

  Literally and figuratively.

  A scowl inches over my face, but I try not to let it show. Feeling resentful of that jerk’s flighty ways doesn’t change a damn thing. Even if he is an irresponsible bastard, he is the father of my two gorgeous nieces.

  Eager to get the bad taste of Levonte out of my mind, I link my phone with the speaker and dance to the Christmas jam that fills the room.

  Soon, I hear giggling. Moe and Tan rush over, joining me in the middle of the living room that’s become our own personal dance floor.

  I hold Moe’s hand, swinging it from side to side as I mouth the festive lyrics.

  “Me too!” Tan pushes in.

  We all hold hands and dance in a circle until we’re covered in sweat and collapse into the sofa to catch our breath.

  Still laughing, Tan turns to me. She’s got more of her daddy’s features than Moe does with her almond-shaped eyes, thick eyebrows, and the little dimple in her cheek.

  “Auntie, why do you love Christmas so much?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.” She grins. “Moe says that Santa doesn’t bring toys to adults. You don’t get anything on Christmas so why do you love it?”

  I burst out laughing. “That’s not true. I get a lot of things.”

  “Like a bike?” Tan asks.

  Moe rolls her eyes. “No, like makeup. Duh.”

  “It’s more than that.” I turn to face them, pulling my knees up under me. “When I see Christmas lights and Christmas trees, I’m instantly reminded of beautiful memories with my family.”

  “Memories?”

  “Yeah. Toys get old, break and get thrown away, but the memories you have with your family, those never die.”

  “It sounds like adults are just cheap,” Moe says, an eyebrow arched.

  I laugh and pull them closer. “No matter where you go in the world, even if there’s no snow, even if it’s in the middle of the ocean, you can put up a Christmas tree and lights, and it’ll feel like home. It’ll feel warm.”

  “I don’t get it.” Tan tilts her head. “How would it feel like home?”

  “It’s like…” I grapple for an answer. “It’s like Christmas cookies. You know how warm and happy you feel biting into one? Even if you’re at school or on the playground or at home, it’s the same feeling. The place might be different, but the memories it brings are the same.”

  They both nod.

  “Christmas makes me feel like that.”

  A tiny wrinkle appears in Moe’s forehead. “I get it now.”

  “Of course you do.” I tickle Moe’s stomach and then Tan’s. They shriek with laughter and I grin when I say, “You’re both the smartest cookies in the world. Now, choose three and only three bedtime stories. I’ll read them all before bed.”

  “Auntie, why do we always have to sleep early when you watch us?” Moe groans.

  “Because Auntie has to get up super early to bake. Now, come on.”

  I help them get into their PJs and brush their teeth.

  The bedtime routine takes a lot longer than it should because I’m whipped for these kids and I end up reading way more stories than I promised.

  Later that night, I’m too excited to sleep,
so I pull out my laptop and click through my recipes, finalizing the menu I’m going to serve at the bakery and making reminders for all the tasks I need to do.

  Just because I haven’t gotten the bakery—yet—doesn’t mean I can’t prepare for it.

  I work until an hour where I know I’m going to pay for my stubbornness in the morning and then I force myself to go to sleep.

  My alarm blares loudly the next morning. I roll over in the sofa-bed, my eyes lingering on the clock in the kitchen.

  2:15

  Every bone in my body begs me for more rest, but I ignore it. Scrubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand, I push off the bed and yawn.

  The hint of a dream lingers in the stillness.

  Big hands, dark hair… A scent so out of place it lingers in the mind as well as the air—sun and sand, warmth personified. I want to wrap my arms around him and press as close to the fire as I can…

  It was just a dream.

  One that I definitely shouldn’t be having.

  The only person I know who smells like sunshine is Mave.

  My boss.

  Big fat no-no.

  With a sigh, I stagger to the bathroom. When I’m done with a quick, hot shower, I dress in my shirt and khakis and return to the sofa-bed to clean up the blankets.

  Maxine’s two-bedroom apartment can barely fit her and the girls, so I’ve been crashing on the couch in the living room for the past six months.

  My back hates me for it, but my bank account is kissing my feet.

  Only one more month of this.

  I’ll still be dirt-poor after I’ve bought the bakery space, but I plan to live in the building until the place turns a profit.

  Maxine will scold me until her eyes roll back in her head when she finds out, so I’m keeping that fact to myself, but I don’t plan on sleeping on her couch forever.

  Five minutes later, I tap on Maxine’s bedroom door and whisper, “I’m heading out now.”

  “Okay,” my sister croaks. Immediately after, she rolls over and starts snoring again.

  This moment is completely erased from her mind. In a few hours, she’s going to text me and scold me for not telling her that I’m heading out. Like clockwork.

  At least she’s not throwing up today.

  Happiness thrumming through my chest, I leave the warm apartment behind and brace the cold.

  The subway station looks deserted.

  I plug my headphones into my ears, letting music keep me company.

  Twenty minutes later, I get off at my stop.

  Strange.

  The Christmas lights, that anyone can see from the curb, aren’t twinkling inside the bakery.

  Confusion fills my head, but I shrug. Maybe the new manager decided to cut the lights to save on the electricity bill.

  It’s a wise decision. The bakery needs to save money anywhere it can.

  Whistling Mariah Carrey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’, I push my key into the bakery lock. Turn. Push.

  The bell above the door jangles cheerfully when I enter, but that’s the only cheerful object in the room.

  My jaw drops when I see the bare walls, counters, and shelves. It’s like a tornado blew through the bakery, but all it took was the Christmas decorations.

  “What the hell?” I flip on all the lights.

  The miniature stockings on the mantle. Gone.

  The wrapped gifts on every table. Gone.

  Every hint of Christmas has been stripped away.

  The bakery looks violated, like a woman scrambling through the streets with no clothes on. I want to wrap her in a garland and Christmas lights. Bring her dignity and smile back.

  The bell jangles again and the sound gets swallowed by the thick silence.

  Rosa, my fellow baker, steps into the room. “Holy crap.” Her dark eyes take in the scene. “Were we robbed?”

  I wrench my scarf off and scramble past the counter. “Maybe it’s a prank.”

  Rosa follows me into the kitchen. Nervous laughter bubbles from her chest. “What a… weird prank to play.”

  When I turn on the lights in the kitchen, I notice a memo posted to the wall. Snatching the document, I read the stark, cold lines.

  Christmas cookies will no longer be served here.

  Beneath the note is signed ‘Mave’.

  My nostrils flare. Is he insane?

  Rosa winces. “It could still be a joke.”

  “Whatever it is,” I crumple the paper into a ball, “I’m not going to stand for it.”

  “Clark…”

  “Let’s get to work,” I say, my eyes aflame.

  I keep watch on the clock as Rosa and I bake the day’s supply of treats.

  Leona pokes her head in the kitchen to squeak out a ‘good morning’ before she scurries to the front.

  I’m assuming she had a part to play in this, but I’m not upset at her. She was only following orders.

  The day starts and Mave still isn’t in yet.

  Every minute that ticks by feels like an hour.

  “I’ve never heard of a manager who comes to work so late every morning,” I mumble.

  It hasn’t gone unnoticed that Mave has been dropping into the bakery when most of the tedious work is done. It’s bad enough that he doesn’t take this place seriously. And now he screwed with Christmas?

  My patience chews away at me until I’m about to explode.

  When I finally hear his voice rumbling through the door, my fury bubbles over like a volcano about to erupt.

  It’s time I have a word with the manager.

  5

  Mave

  The scent of coffee hits me when I step into the bakery. I take a deep whiff, celebrating the notable absence of Christmas cookies and decorations.

  Perfect.

  The length of the line impresses me.

  Most of our customers are smiling.

  Some are chatting softly to each other or clacking away on their phone. A few perch in the chairs near the window, enjoying a late breakfast.

  People aren’t complaining about the products, which tells me this is a marketing problem more than it is an issue with the quality of the food.

  Good.

  I can work with that.

  “Morning.” I nod at the people standing in line as I walk past.

  Whispers follow me like a tidal wave. Women squirm, giggling to one another, their eyes doubling back for a greedy second look.

  Leona pulls me aside when I get behind the counter. “Hey, I need to talk to you.”

  “Is it urgent?” I nod to the line of customers. “Things look really busy.”

  “It’s just a quick heads-up about Clark—”

  “I told you I’d handle, Clark,” I whisper. The bell above the door jangles, admitting more customers. “You should really get back to it.”

  Leona releases a shaky breath. “If you’re sure...”

  I stride past her and step into the kitchen.

  The smell of baking bread and scrumptious pastries fills my nostrils. A short, plump woman with tan skin and thin black hair wrapped in a net glances up from the dough she’s rolling out.

  Her frightened expression amuses me.

  I saunter over, a grin on my face. “Morning.”

  “Morning. You’re the new manager?” Her voice holds a hint of an accent. “I’m Rosa.”

  “Mave.” I offer my hand.

  She raises her own but then spies the flour all over her fingers and self-consciously pats it against her side, her eyes on the ground.

  Without hesitation, I reach for her hand and pump it once. “Nice to meet you, Rosa.”

  Her eyes warm. “You too.”

  “Where’s Clark?” I glance around.

  The kitchen is spotless.

  Pastries cool on the steel tables, golden dough crisp and flaking.

  There’s another set baking in the giant stainless-steel ovens.

  “Clark’s in your office.” Rosa’s hands meet in front of her sto
mach and she wrings them nervously. “About the Christmas decorations… she’s not too happy.”

  “You’re the second person to warn me about Clark. Is she that scary when she’s mad?”

  “I’ve worked with her for a few months. She doesn’t tolerate nonsense and when that temper goes off…”

  “I’ve got this.” I tap the counter and flash Rosa a grin. “Keep up the good work.”

  Her smile widens to reveal a gold tooth.

  I head down the corridor and push open the door of the office. The scent of dust and soggy cardboard mixes with the fresh, floral scent of a woman.

  Clark’s perched on the arm of the sofa. She purses her lips when she sees me coming. “Where did all the Christmas decorations go, Mave?”

  “Most people start with ‘good morning’, Clark.” I close the door. It fastens into place with a click. “You want to try this again? Should I leave and come back?”

  “Don’t patronize me.” She shoots to her feet, brown eyes drilling a hole into my skull. Her light brown skin doesn’t reveal a flush, but I can tell she’s hot under the collar by the way she’s fisting her hands.

  I stare pointedly there, my lips twitching. “You gonna throw a punch?”

  “You think this is funny?”

  “No. Of course not.” I unwind my scarf and set it on top of the desk. “We’re about to argue about Christmas trees and Santa hats. This is a very serious matter.”

  Her jaw tightens and her eyes narrow to tiny slits. “I’m not going to mention how you’ve been coming to work late everyday. You’re the manager and that’s your prerogative.”

  “It still sounds like you’re scolding me though…”

  She keeps going as if she didn’t hear me. “Christmas decorations draw people in. It’s the season for it. They expect it.”

  “What people expect,” I walk behind the desk and pick up a folder, flipping through the pages, “is good customer service and a quality product. The rest is window dressing.”

  “Window dressing?” Clark scoffs. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  I set the documents aside. “Believe it.”

  “You should know that I’m trying really hard to be respectful right now, but I don’t think I can succeed.”

  I grin as I watch her.