Daddy, I Want a Mommy for Christmas

Elena's POV: The bell above my bakery door jingled for what had to be the thousandth time this morning, and I groaned. Goddess. I loved this bakery with all my heart, but... Couldn't a girl ask for a moment of peace? I just wanted to breathe, but no. I didn't have time even for that. “Elena, we’re out of gingerbread men again!” my assistant, Margo, shouted, sounding about three seconds from abandoning ship. Of course they are. It’s December twenty. People want gingerbread like it was the freaking oxygen or something. Were they eating them, or doing something else with them? I was this close to asking them about it. I pressed both flour-covered hands to the stainless-steel prep table with a frown. I blinked. There was a mountain of dough waiting for me, and I wondered if anyone would notice if I disappeared and didn't return until well after New Year's. Spoiler: they would. My bakery was always packed, noisy, warm, and smelled like cinnamon, butter, and caramel. I loved it. This was my dream, but some days, I wanted a moment of peace. “Elena?” Margo looked in again, wide-eyed. “You okay?” No. Absolutely not. But I gave her my usual smile—the one I reserved for customers, friends, and anyone I didn’t want worrying. “Yep. Tell Mrs. Patel the next tray will be out in five.” Margo gave me a worried look before she disappeared. I got back to rolling dough. Cutting shapes. Moving like a machine powered by caffeine and mild panic. When all I wanted was to walk out. I sighed. I was so focused I almost didn’t hear my phone buzz inside my apron pocket. I frowned when I saw Jason's name flashing across the screen. I had told him... a million times that our almost-engagement was completely, utterly over, but the asshole had the brainpower of a firefly. No, even littler than that. I glared at the screen until it stopped buzzing, then shoved the phone into my apron pocket. Just thinking about him made my chest tight, and my tongue bitter. Not because I missed him—Goddess, no. It was more like… irritation. Regret. Maybe a little grief for the person I twisted myself into, hoping to fit into his neat little picture-frame life. Which, I later found out was not perfect at all. He’d always said I worked too much at the bakery—that I should strive for “real goals,” that my cute little business wasn’t a solid financial decision. He said it with that degrading little smile of his. It always hit me the wrong way, but then he would call it a joke, and pretend to laugh about it. This bakery was my real goal. My dream. The only thing I didn’t let crumble when everything else did. This was all I had, all I fought for, all I protected. And the worst part? I earned more than him. Way more. But I never said it to his face, because I was always classy--which was a mistake. Which was why, during our engagement dinner, I simply lifted the pumpkin-spiced latte the waitress set beside me… and poured it over his perfect, beloved cashmere sweater. The exact sweater he’d bragged about for weeks. He froze. The entire restaurant froze. For a moment, even the piano music froze. I set the empty cup down gently, dabbed my fingers clean with a napkin, and said, “You’re right. I do work too much. Which is why I don’t have the time for this anymore.” I stood up. "And Jason... I own the bakery; it's not a rental. It is mine. And by that calculation... I own a bit more than you do."" His face flushed. He sputtered, glaring at me. "What the hell, Elena?" he had screamed, his voice slightly high-pitched. "You keep making me feel like I am somehow less than you, but... I'm not. My life is perfect, and I think the only imperfect thing is... YOU. Goodbye, Jason. This is over." I should have done it way too earlier, but I was too busy, and I did like him, but then I realized I was too good for that no-good asshole, who always had to put me down to feel like he was doing me a favor. Then I stood up and walked out with my dignity trailing behind me like a very dramatic wedding veil. I didn’t look back. Not when he gasped. Not when he hissed, “Elena! Are you crazy?” Not even when he tripped chasing after me and slipped on spilled latte foam. The universe had done enough for me that day. My phone buzzed again, snapping me out of the memory. The screen lit up, his name flashing bright as if I’d ever want it to. I exhaled, long and slow. Relentless bastard! I let it go dark. Then shoved it back in when the door opened and Harper stormed in, holding onto a wooden spatula. “Emergency intervention,” Harper said, tapping me on my shoulder with the spatula. “Drop the dough, bestie.” Harper was my best friend. My chaos twin. And the runaway wolf... or so she called herself. She wasn't really a runaway. She had a pack to walk back into when... she wanted. Whenever she wanted. After all, her brother was the current Alpha. “Harper, I don’t have time for—” “Nope,” she interrupted, flicking flour off my cheek. “You don’t have time to function. You haven’t slept in three days. You ate a cookie for breakfast as Margo told me.” Margo, the traitorous assistant! I should have known when she looked at me like she wanted to shake me awake... “It was a protein cookie,” I argued weakly. “Elena, it had frosting.” I opened my mouth. Closed it. Okay, she wins that one. Harper smiled a little, shaking her head. “Look, I know the holidays are insane, but you’re about to burn out harder than my mom’s fruitcake.” She laughed, shaking her head. I had once tasted Luna Malia's fruitcake and never tried again. Harper always sent cakes from my bakery, and the ex-Luna sent me boxes of cake decorations in return. I laughed. “I just need to get through the next few—” “No. You need a break, my darling, my bestie." “I can’t,” I said with a frown when the oven dinged. Margo strolled in, and I gave her a glare. She shrugged. "Not my fault, boss. You looked like you'd faint." Margo walked away, and Harper turned me toward her, her fingers on my shoulder. “Sure you can have a break.” Harper pulled something from her oversized tote bag—a folded paper, glossy. "What is that?" I read it and frowned. A reservation confirmation. “Harper…” I trailed off, staring at my grinning best friend. She looked like a cat who just had a whole bottle of milk. Something was definitely fishy! “It’s a cabin rental at Winter’s Edge. It is a tiny mountain town that looks like Christmas punched it in the face. It also gets too festive closer to the holiday.” I blinked, wondering whether to kiss or kill her. “You planned me a vacation?” “Yes,” she beamed. “The rental to the cabin is as long as you want. You can come back only when you feel like you want to. Snow. Silence. Hot cocoa. A fireplace. No gingerbread. No customers. No Jason.” “I’m not going,” I said, shaking my head. “Oh, honey. You’re going,” she sang, untying my apron. I loved her, I do... but...the girl was insane. Before I could argue, Margo yelled from the front: “We’re out of peppermint bark!” I groaned. Harper tapped the spoon against her palm. “I knew it. You’re leaving. Tonight.” “You booked it for tonight?” I stared at her, wide eyed. She nodded. “Yes. If I said ‘this weekend,’ you’d find an excuse. If I said ‘next week,’ you’d schedule twelve cake orders.” I glared. She grinned. I hated that she was always right. “Harper, I can’t shut the bakery down—” “I already talked to Margo. She and her cousin are covering for you. I'll help before I go back to the pack. It’s all handled. You have no excuses now, Lena. You know you need that break.” She was right. I wanted that break as well... “Also…” Harper added casually, looking at anywhere but me. “My brother is already up in that area. Just in case you need someone to help you with something.” I frowned, shaking my head. Caleb Monroe. The man who broke my young heart. I had once bravely confessed to him that I liked him, and he looked at me like I had lost my head and then laughed... and I never went to the Pine Ridge pack again, purely out of the humiliation I had endured and to avoid him, even though I missed Harper's mother, the old Luna. But that was years ago, and. There was no need to go anymore when Harper moved to the city for work. “Why would I need him? What help?” Her smile was suspiciously innocent. “What? I didn’t say anything.” Which meant she definitely said something—just not out loud. A tiny shift thrummed under my ribs, almost like something inside me was stretching awake. My not-quite-wolf. The something-else-in-me I’d never understood, or never seen. Like everytime, it brushed against my mind and then quietly, without another word, retreated. Unlike other wolves, I never shifted at 16. After ten years, at 26, I was still wolfless. “Harper, I really don’t—” “Pack a bag,” she said firmly. “Go breathe. When you come back, you can bake a million cookies. But right now? You’re going to Winter’s Edge.” An hour later, I was driving straight into a snowstorm. Of course I was. When had anything ever went as I planned? I looked at the GPS and frowned. "Are you drunk?" My little blue car crept up the winding mountain road, windshield wipers barely keeping up. The sky was dark, thick with swirling white. My GPS kept losing signal, and I was starting to think Harper sent me into the wilderness to die, because of some unsaid vengeance. “Relax,” I muttered to myself. “It’s just snow. Festive snow. Romantic snow.” The car skidded slightly. “Okay. Murder snow.” By the time I reached the turnoff for Winter’s Edge, the storm was so heavy I could barely see the road. I crawled forward until I spot a mailbox half-buried in snow and a path leading deeper into the woods. I think I had arrived. A flicker of something tugged in my chest again. Like a distant pulse urging me forward. My no-show of a wolf. I had no idea what she was waiting for? It was already ten years too f*****g late. “Fine,” I whispered to no one. “Let’s hope this isn’t how horror movies start.” I followed the path. Trees weighted with snow leaned over the road. The storm howled through the branches, shaking loose flurries that hit my windshield like icy confetti. Finally, a warm glow appears between the trees. My cottage. Except, it was already lit, and smoke curled out from the chimneys. Must be the housekeeper? Relief flooded me as I parked the car, and grabbed my bags, stomping through the snow toward the front porch. And when I reached the door… It opened. The tiny pulse inside me stirred again. Alert. Awake. I swallowed. “Hello?” I called softly. Heart thudding, I pushed the door open and collided on a warm body. "Holy f**k," a growly voice said. I looked up, into strangely familiar eyes. Blue like the frost. "What the f**k are you doing here?" I grunted, jumping back from him. "I should be the one to ask, lady. Trespassing into a stranger's cottage?" I looked at him. He was still sexy as f**k, and he had no idea who the f**k I was. And I knew what exactly happened here. Harper f*****g Monroe. BITCH! ___