Wild Holiday Nights: Holiday Rush / Playing Games / All Night Long

“Stay quiet and you won’t get hurt. Just show me the cash drawer now.”

Equal parts fear and fury had Calla shaking from head to toe, and her voice shook, too, as she spoke.

“Does this look like a doughnut shop? I don’t have a cash drawer. My customers pay by credit card, and there’s no cash kept on the premises. Not even a register, which you would have seen if you’d looked through the window first.”

Something sharp jutted into her spine as hard fingers grabbed her shoulder.

“I don’t believe you. A fancy place like this has to have some money around somewhere.”

Tears stung as she wondered, for a brief second, if she would ever go home for Christmas again. If she had listened to her mother and closed for the holiday, maybe she wouldn’t be in this spot now.

“I have some money in my purse. And my credit cards, too. That’s all,” she said as calmly as she could, hoping to placate her attacker—and hoping that money was all he was really after. He was welcome to it. There wasn’t much, and her cards were almost maxed out buying everything she needed for the shop.

Suddenly, she wished she had taken more to the weapons and self-defense training her father and brothers had always tried to push on her.

“Where?”

“My purse is in my office. Go back through those doors and—”

“I think you and me will go back there and get it together,” he said, his voice slurring a little. As if he’d been drinking or something.

Then Calla heard a noise in the alley behind the store, a door slamming and voices. Someone was out there, maybe someone from one of the neighboring businesses or apartments.

No way could she walk back into the dark recess of her office with this guy. There no one could see them. She’d be helpless.

“Help!” she yelled as loud as she could, tripping as she pulled sharply away, falling forward and scrambling across the floor toward the back door. “Help! I’m being robbed!”

Please, let someone hear me, she thought desperately as her attacker cursed and came forward after her. She spun around to see where he was. He was tall, young—maybe in his mid-twenties, she guessed, seeing his face as he rushed toward her.

No gun, she also noted with relief—until she saw the gleaming knife in his hands. She was close to the door, and the only thing between her and the intruder was the cake.

She scurried behind the cart and pushed hard, rolling the metal cart toward the thief. The dangerous-looking blade he’d been carrying slid across the floor as the cart—and her gorgeous cake—slammed into him.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?” someone called from outside. Jack Samosa, the dry cleaner from two doors down, stepped inside, shocked as he took in the scene before him.

Before Calla could warn Mr. Samosa, who was an older man, he was almost knocked over as the robber ran out the door into the alley.

“What the... Calla, are you all right?” he asked as he rushed to her and helped Calla pick herself up from the floor.

She was still shaking as she nodded, unable to speak yet. Then she took in the scene before her.

The cake she’d just spent four days working on was now decorating her back-room floor. She stared at the mess, not answering Mr. Samosa though she heard him, in the distance, calling the police.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she whispered, sliding back down to the floor to sit among the mess until the police arrived.

* * *

FOUR DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, Gideon Stone walked along the streets of Chelsea, scanning the Christmas decorations and crowds as he searched for the storefront of Calla’s Cakes. It had to be here somewhere. Finally he spotted the small silver sign with black script hanging high above the entry a few yards in front of him. People were gathered in front, watching something.

As soon as he joined them, he realized what they were watching: Calla.

It had been a few years since he’d seen her, but she was even lovelier than he remembered. Her dark brown hair was longer now, though pulled back in a severe braid at the moment. That only emphasized her ivory skin even more so—not tanned like it used to be in Texas—and huge green eyes.

The bakery window wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before, either. There weren’t glass cases with rows of goodies, but a single, bright room with ovens, refrigerators at the back and worktables poised in front of the large windows where Calla apparently worked in front of an audience.

Then he remembered Nathan, her older brother and Gideon’s friend, mentioning that. She called it performance baking—it was some new thing in the city. He hadn’t had any idea what it meant at the time.

Calla seemed completely unaware of her onlookers as she sat sculpting a row of different-size bells from golden blocks of cake. As she finished one perfect bell, she looked up, showing it off to the group as they expressed their admiration. Calla smiled back and held up her finger in a gesture to wait. She gathered the scraps of cake from her carving and put them in small white cups, topping them with a dollop of something white and creamy before carrying them outside to her company.

The crowd cheered lightly as she emerged from the wrought iron door at the entrance and started passing out the cups of cake. Murmurs of appreciation rose from those gathered. Gideon waited until she handed a cup to him. He took it and didn’t let go for a second as he waited for her to look up.

When she did, her lovely lips parted slightly and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gideon? What are you doing here?”

She smiled, and he started to speak, but stopped when her smile faded.

“Nathan sent you, didn’t he?”

She pulled away her hand before he could confirm or deny, though she’d hit the nail on the head the first time. He hadn’t planned on lying about it, but he’d hoped she would be more receptive. Her family was simply worried, and he was doing them a favor.

At least he got some of the cake, topped with a fragrant whipped cream. As he put the small chunk to his lips, the aroma hit him first, the wafting scent of rum and nuts. Then the light, buttery texture floated over his tongue and took over his senses. It was the only time a piece of cake ever made him close his eyes in pleasure.

“Wow,” he managed, wanting to enjoy it for as long as possible.

“Glad you like it.”

He opened his eyes again to find Calla’s cat-green gaze on him, her tone as chilly as the weather.

He almost said “wow” a second time, but swallowed it down with the last of the cake.

“You should have been here for the chocolate mocha she made the other day,” a guy next to him said with a sigh of appreciation.

He’d met Calla once when Nathan had invited him over to their family ranch. That was eight years ago. She’d just graduated culinary school and had been home for a month over the summer, only twenty-two. Very pretty and very kissable.

Gideon had discovered that fact at a barbecue at the family ranch after they’d both had a little too much to drink. Though she had given him the green light for more than a kiss, he’d backed off. She was young, and she was his friend’s sister. Moreover, she was his training officer’s sister.

Definitely off-limits.

His eyes fell to her mouth. That hadn’t changed at all.

“That might be the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” he said and watched color rise in the perfectly smooth, porcelain skin of her cheeks. His heart beat a little faster, and he had to get hold of his response.

She was still Nathan’s sister. He had to remember that, though he wanted to take back his comment that the cake was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“I suppose it’s no coincidence that you’re here? That you aren’t on a Christmas vacation and happened by?”

He shook his head. She glared.