The bakery smelled of cinnamon and butter, the kind of fragrance that wrapped itself around Holly like a blanket. Christmas Eve morning was always the busiest, and she had been up since before dawn, boxing cookies, tying ribbons, and double-checking the lists. The counter was lined with neat stacks of orders, each tagged and waiting for pickup.
She had even baked a few extras—her insurance against the inevitable “forgot-to-buy” crowd. Mr. Woods was first in line, sheepish as ever, fumbling with his wallet while muttering about how Mrs. Woods had reminded him three times. Holly smiled kindly, sliding a box of gingerbread across the counter. She had expected him. She always did.
The bell above the door jingled again, sharper this time. Crystal swept in, her coat too glossy, her smile too s
