My Christmas Valentine

♥ Megan ♥ The bell above the bakery door had not stopped chiming since sunrise, and my little world smelled like butter, sugar, and peppermint. Trays of gingerbread men cooled on every surface, candy cane cupcakes lined the display, and the espresso machine hissed in the background while Christmas music played from the small speaker near the till. I wiped flour from my cheek with the back of my hand and slid another tray of cinnamon stars into the oven. Heat rushed over my face, but outside, Rockland’s main street glowed with fairy lights that the council had strung between the lampposts. Every time the door opened, a gust of cold air swept in along with pine and the faint sound of carols. “Order for Mrs. Turner is packed and ready,” Josh called from the front. “She brought her granddaughter. Very serious about sprinkles,” I smiled, my heart already lighter just from the sound of his voice. “Give her a gingerbread man from me,” I answered. “The granddaughter, not Mrs. Turner. Mrs. Turner had enough sugar last week,” a chuckle drifted back toward the kitchen. I heard the soft murmur of voices, the crinkle of boxes, and the familiar ring of the till. Sweet Treats had never felt more alive. This season always brought out the best in people, and in my bakery, it turned into orders stacked in leaning towers and lists taped to every wall. There were Christmas Eve cookie platters, corporate boxes for end of year functions, school fundraisers, and custom cakes that all suddenly needed to be perfect at the same time. My notebook lay open beside the mixer, covered in scribbles and little stars and underlines. Somewhere between the cranberry blondies and the peppermint fudge, a different kind of excitement pulsed under my skin. Shane. I thought of him at Ironworks, probably already halfway through a morning class, calling out encouragement while people tried to survive burpees. I could almost hear his laugh and see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he teased someone. And of course, I could almost feel the way his hand always found the small of my back when we walked anywhere together. My gaze slid to the clock above the pantry door. Ten thirty. If everything went according to plan, I could slip out for twenty minutes. “Natasha,” I called loudly as I raised my voice above the music and the hum of the ovens. “How are we looking on the mince pies?” she appeared from the walk-in fridge with a tray balanced on her hip, her dark hair pulled up in a messy knot. “The crust is chilling, and the filling is ready. I can start assembling it in ten minutes. Why?” she asked. I tried to keep my tone casual, but I felt the flutter in my stomach. “I need to run out for a bit. Just half an hour. Do you think you and Josh can manage without me?” I asked her. Josh poked his head around the doorway with his eyebrows raised. “The queen of Christmas herself wants to leave her kingdom?” “Very funny,” I said, but I smiled anyway. “Everything is on the list. I only need to pick up something,” “Something or someone?” Josh teased with a smirk. “Is Shane getting an early present, because I am feeling very underappreciated,” “Shane is getting a Christmas present,” I said. “You are getting a bonus and the day off after New Year,” Josh pressed a floury hand over his heart. “I feel seen,” he remarked. Natasha laughed and shook her head. “Go,” she said. “If we get stuck, we will phone you,” “Ok,” I said. “Call me if anything catches fire,” “Don’t jinx us,” Josh said. I untied my apron, suddenly aware of the fine dusting of flour on my leggings and the smear of chocolate on my forearm. I scrubbed my hands at the sink, splashed water on my face, and quickly fixed my hair into something that looked less like I had lost a fight with a mixer. As I stepped into the front of the bakery, my chest ached in the best way. Children pressed their noses to the glass, adults debated about flavors, and someone laughed near the window table where we had placed a small Christmas tree covered in paper snowflakes. Luna slept on the cushioned chair in the corner, and her tail flickered lazily. “Don’t worry, Luna will guard the shop…she is very fierce,” Luna didn’t react at all, but I chuckled as I shook my head at him. “I will be back soon,” I said as I grabbed my coat from the hook and wrapped it around myself. “Try not to sell the oven while I am gone,” “No promises,” Josh replied. The cold hit me the second I stepped outside. My breath came out in little puffs, and my cheeks prickled as I turned up my collar and started down the street. Rockland looked like a postcard. Garlands hung across shop windows, the florist had crates of poinsettias on the pavement, and someone up the road tested a string of colored lights that flickered in uneven patterns. I tucked my hands into my pockets and felt the nervous energy buzzing under my skin. For weeks, I had scrolled through websites at night and wandered through shops on my days off, searching for the right gift for Shane. I wanted something that would say everything I felt without needing a speech. What do you give the man who had slipped into your life and made every ordinary day feel new? When I had walked into the little leather workshop on the edge of town and seen the display of handmade bags, I had known. The craftsman had looked at me with kind eyes and listened while I tried to explain who Shane was, what he did, how he lived in track pants and gym shoes, and carried his life from class to class in a worn-out backpack. The man had suggested a custom, handmade bag as a gift, and I had jumped at the prospect. Now, it was time to collect Shane’s gift. My boots clicked against the pavement as I crossed the street and turned the corner. The sign swung gently above the narrow doorway, the painted letters neat and simple. I pushed the door open and stepped into a space that smelled like leather and polish and sawdust. “Ah, Megan, you are right on time,” the owner said as he looked up from his workbench. His name was Daniel, but in my head, I had started to think of him as the bag wizard. “How did it come out?” I asked, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice. He smiled and reached beneath the counter. When he set the bag down, I felt my breath catch. It was perfect. The leather was smooth and deep black, the stitching even and strong. The handles were reinforced, the shoulder strap padded, and the pockets arranged exactly the way we had discussed. On one side, in precise embroidery, his name stood out in red. Shane Seeing it there made something warm and fierce swell in my chest. This was more than a gym bag. It was every early morning he had woken up before dawn, every class he had taught, every time he had cheered someone on until they believed in themselves the way he believed in them. It was the life he had built and the life we shared, all captured in leather and thread. “You like it?” Daniel asked. “I love it,” I said, my voice soft. “He is going to lose his mind,” he wrapped the bag carefully in tissue and slid it into a sturdy box. As I paid, I imagined Shane’s face when he opened it, the way his eyes would light up, that slow smile that always seemed to start in one corner of his mouth. I hugged the box to my chest as I stepped back out into the cold. Snow had not started yet, but the sky held that pale, expectant look. Maybe it was silly to pin so much hope on a gift, but it felt important. Not because of the price or the brand, but because I wanted him to see himself the way I saw him. Strong, steady, dedicated, and so deeply loved. I tightened my hold on the box and quickened my steps. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he opened my gift on Christmas morning. I just couldn’t wait. ♥ ♥ ♥