Kimber Chin

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***

Was that enough? Enough for Santa, at least three squares for the big guy, one for each reindeer, they’d be hungry after all that flying, and one for Mrs. Claus? To ensure it was, Joy poured more rice krispies into the glass bowl, some of the cereal scattering on the tiled kitchen floor.

Last year, her mommy made sugar cookies and she decorated them. But last year her daddy wasn’t sick and Joy had to be a big girl, her mom told her so. That meant thinking of others and doing all the things she could to help. She gave up stirring with the spoon, that was too hard, using her hands instead. This she could do. She wasn’t allowed to use the oven by herself, she wasn’t that big of a girl, but she could melt marshmallows and margarine in the microwave. She hoped Santa liked these as much.

Because she really needed this Christmas present. The grim faced doctor said something about it not being much longer. Joy didn’t know what that meant but it couldn’t be good. Her mommy cried and cried. Joy hated to see her mommy cry.

A feather, out of place in this dream, tickled her nose. She turned away from it, her fingers sticky with mixing the rice krispies and marshmallow. She needed to finish these squares. Santa would be arriving soon and everyone knew he needed something to eat. A weight settled on her right shoulder. The smell of musk. She breathed in. She knew that smell. It smelled like…

“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty.”

“Tyler.” She opened her eyes, disoriented. His cold nose pressed against hers.

He kissed her, slowly, lazily, tasting of horseradish and charbroiled beef. She frowned. “You ate dinner without me.”

“Not dinner, a snack.”

Steak was a snack? Her stomach growled and he laughed.

“Come.” He pulled her into a seating position. “Marcel fixed you some chow. You can eat as we talk.”

Talk? “About what?” And what was he doing in her room? Joy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, thankful she had napped fully clothed.

“Tonight, we make muffins.” He slid her shoes onto her feet.

“Muffins?” What was he talking about? And we? No, no we. He meant her.

“Lots and lots of muffins. We need a simple recipe, common ingredients, but festive. Do you have one?”

She had hundreds. “Orange Cranberry.” It was a holiday classic.

“Oh, man.” His mouth rounded. “The same kind you made for my exec team last year?”

He remembered. “Yes.”

“Lucky guests.” His hand rested on the small of her back as they walked.

“Guests?” She was too dazed to protest his cuddling.

“Didn’t I mention?” Mock surprise. He knew darn well he hadn’t. “The hotel will be giving each guest a free All American Muffin tomorrow, made from All American ingredients, and baked by the owner herself.”

Herself? She couldn’t bake hundreds of muffins for tomorrow. “I…”

“With help from hotel staff.” Tyler nipped her concern in the bud. “Of course, we’ll have to bake for the press too. They love covering good news stories for Christmas Day. Stranded baker, that’s you.” He hugged her. “Spreads small town cheer to fellow travelers.”

Bake all night and then face the media. “I-“

“But don’t worry about that.” He assured her. “You concentrate on the baking and I’ll organize the rest.”

~ * ~

It was three in the morning and Joy was exhausted. She stood at the mixing station, directing her team of bakers, anyone on the night staff with a spare minute. She had broken down the task into easy-to-do components so baking skill was not required.

Used to working the night shift, the hotel pastry chef, her second in command, was in a great mood, singing Spanish Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. Joy, not knowing the words, hummed along. It created a festive feel, the sole reason she could keep her eyes open.

“I’ve got good news and bad news.” Tyler bounced into the kitchen. He was still here, with her, by her side. Where he got his energy from, Joy didn’t know. “Which do you want first?”

“The good.” Any more bad news and she was going to cry.

“The Mayor will be dropping by for breakfast.” He beamed, proud of himself. Joy wondered what type of favor he had called in to accomplish that. “And the West end location wants muffins too.”

Another hotel? Her shoulders drooped. “The bad news?”

“The Mayor doesn’t like cranberries and we have to bake another thousand muffins.”

She swayed. She couldn’t think about this. It was too much.

A strong arm kept her upright. “Raul, take over for twenty minutes. You know the process, right?”

“Sure do, boss.” He called everyone boss.

His sleepy hon. Tyler walked Joy to the hallway, preserving her authority in front of her makeshift staff, before swinging her into his arms. It felt good to have her there, a solid weight, soft and round and warm.

“I can walk,” she mumbled.

He doubted that. “Sleep.” Should he bring her upstairs to their room?

“Have to…” Big yawn. “Make muffins.”

“Raul’s doing that.” No. Upstairs was too far. He settled in a secluded couch, his flour covered Joy filling his lap. “You take a fiver.” He lied, intending to let her sleep for longer.

“Tyler?” She blinked up at him.

Too cute. He kissed her forehead. “Yes, hon?”

“Thank you.” And she closed her eyes, burrowing her face into his shoulder.

No, thank the powers that be. For granting him his Christmas wish. The first moment he saw Joy, standing behind the counter, claiming to know a top secret muffin buttering technique so her shaky-handed elderly customer’s dignity would be saved, he knew.

But Tyler was a cautious man and wife was an important role, a lifelong partnership, one he only planned to fill once. It was too important to base on his gut and his heart and a certain other part of his anatomy right now enjoying the way Joy fit against him. So it took over a year of digging and daily muffin eating to confirm what he already knew. Joy was a once-in-a-lifetime find.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, content to breathe in her freshly baked scent, to have her softness pressed against him. He didn’t know much about the muffin business. He planned to learn. He wanted to make her happy and Joy needed him by her side, needed a partner she could rely on.

Especially if this morning worked the way he hoped. When All American reopened on the 26th, they’d be swamped with business. Too much business for the regular staff to handle. Tyler groaned, his drowsiness evaporating. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before. He took out his handheld and started texting.

***

Part 4 will be available November 25th.