Fat for Christmas 2

Chapter 1

Deborah groaned as she rolled onto her side, the mattress creaking beneath her weight. She pressed a hand to her belly, still taut and swollen from the previous night’s escapades in the bakery. The faint aroma of cinnamon and butter lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of her own gluttonous conquest. Beside her, Shirley stirred, her cheeks flushed and her nightgown stretched tight over her rounded frame.

“Deborah,” Shirley mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and something close to pride. “I think we might have outdone ourselves this time.”

Deborah let out a laugh that was half a wheeze. “Might have? Shirley, I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a week.”

The night before had been a spectacle of excess, a test of their endurance as bakers and eaters alike. It had started innocently enough—sampling a few cookies fresh out of the oven, sneaking bites of frosted gingerbread while they cooled on the racks. But as the hours wore on, the boundaries between taste-testing and feasting blurred. They had piled powdered sugar-dusted pastries onto plates with reckless abandon, each promising it would be “just one more.”

Shirley sat up with a groan, rubbing her belly in slow, circular motions. “That last batch of caramel pecan tarts was the death of me,” she said. “I don’t even know how many I ate.”

Deborah smirked, propping herself up on one elbow. “I stopped counting after the sixth pie.”

“Oh, please,” Shirley said, her eyes twinkling despite the grogginess. “You had more than six. I saw you. There was the pumpkin pie, the pecan pie, two apple pies, and—”

“Don’t forget the chocolate silk pie,” Deborah interjected. “I wasn’t about to let that go untouched.”

“And then you went back for seconds,” Shirley added triumphantly.

The memory of it made Deborah’s stomach lurch and growl simultaneously. The aftermath of their indulgence was strewn across the bakery’s kitchen—empty pie tins, frosting-smeared mixing bowls, and a mountain of crumbs scattered over the countertops like confetti. They had finished the night sprawled on the bakery floor, laughing hysterically at their own excesses, too full to even contemplate cleaning up.

Shirley sighed, flopping back against the pillows. “We really are hopeless, aren’t we?”

Deborah grinned. “Hopelessly good at what we do, you mean, but remind me next time to stop before the cinnamon rolls.”

Shirley laughed, the sound rich and hearty. “Oh, you mean the ones drenched in maple glaze? Because I seem to recall you had four of those.”

Deborah waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

They lay there for a moment, the quiet of the morning broken only by the sound of their soft, labored breathing. Shirley reached over and gave Deborah’s hand a playful squeeze.

“You know what?” Shirley said, her voice brimming with mischief. “We’ll just have to bake twice as much today to make up for it.”

Deborah groaned again, her smile betraying her delight. “And eat twice as much, I’m sure.”As the sun streamed through the frosted windows of the bakery, Shirley hummed a cheerful tune, her hands busy arranging trays of cookies onto a festive display. Her movements were unhurried, yet there was a palpable energy about her, an excitement that bubbled over as she worked. Deborah, still nursing a cup of strong black coffee and the lingering effects of last night’s indulgence, watched with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re unusually chipper for someone who ate their weight in pastries last night,” Deborah teased, leaning against the counter.

Shirley turned to her with a broad grin, her cheeks rosy. “And why shouldn’t I be? Hannah’s coming home today!”

Deborah tilted her head. “Hannah?”

“My favorite niece!” Shirley said, clapping her flour-dusted hands together. “Well, my only niece, but that’s beside the point. She’s been away at college for nearly two years now. I can’t wait to see her.”

“Ah,” Deborah said with a nod. “So that’s what’s got you practically floating this morning.”

“She’s always been such a bright, clever girl,” Shirley continued, her voice softening with affection. “And she has the Albright knack for baking. At least, she did when she was younger. I’m hoping to show her the ropes while she’s here, you know, get her interested in the business.”

Deborah took a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing Shirley over the rim of the mug. “You think she’ll want to stay in town and work at the bakery?”

Shirley hesitated for a beat, her smile faltering just slightly. “Well, that’s the dream, isn’t it? Keeping the family business alive, passing it on to someone who cares as much as I do.”

Deborah lowered her mug, her expression softening. “That’s a nice dream, Shirley. And hey, maybe Hannah just needs to spend some time here to see how special this place is. I know I didn’t really get it until I was in the thick of it.”

Shirley’s smile returned, brighter than ever. “Exactly! Once she sees the bakery during the holidays—how busy it gets, how much joy it brings to people—I think she’ll fall in love with it, just like you did.”

Deborah chuckled, setting her mug aside. “Well, I look forward to meeting her. If she’s half as charming as you are, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

“Oh, you’ll love her,” Shirley said, her voice brimming with confidence. “And she’ll love you, too. How could she not?”

The bell above the bakery door jingled suddenly, signaling the arrival of their first customers of the day. Shirley’s eyes lit up as she wiped her hands on her apron, ready to greet them.

“Well,” Deborah said, straightening up. “Time to earn our keep.”

“Let’s make it a day to remember,” Shirley said with a wink.

As the morning bustle began, Shirley’s excitement lingered in the air, an infectious reminder of the joy that the holidays—and family—brought to their little corner of the world.

The bakery was in full swing, the warm aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg mingling with the soft chatter of customers browsing the displays. Deborah was stacking a tray of glistening sugar cookies near the counter when the bell above the door jingled again. She looked up, expecting another regular, and froze.

Alex Bronson stood in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space as effortlessly as ever. He exuded a rugged confidence that had always made Deborah’s heart skip a beat, but it wasn’t just him that caught her attention—it was the woman by his side.

“Morning, ladies,” Alex said, flashing his signature crooked smile. His voice was warm and casual, but Deborah couldn’t help but notice the subtle way his hand rested on the small of the woman’s back as they stepped inside.

“Alex!” Shirley called from behind the counter, her tone as cheerful as always. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Camilla Bennett,” Alex said, gesturing to the woman beside him. She was striking, with dark hair swept into a sleek bun and a tailored coat that seemed far too fashionable for their little town. “Camilla’s a business partner of mine. She’s going to be staying in town for a while as we work on some property investments.”

Deborah forced a polite smile, her chest tightening. “Welcome, Camilla,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. “It’s always nice to see new faces around here.”

“Thank you,” Camilla replied, her tone warm and gracious. “I’ve heard so much about this place—and about your baking. It smells absolutely divine in here.”

Deborah nodded, her smile fixed. “We do our best.”

Alex turned to Shirley. “I told Camilla she couldn’t come to town without stopping by your bakery. She’s got a sweet tooth almost as bad as mine.”

Shirley beamed. “Well, in that case, you’ve come to the right place. Anything catch your eye, Camilla?”

As Camilla moved closer to the display case, chatting easily with Shirley, Deborah’s eyes darted back to Alex. He was watching Camilla with a fondness that made Deborah’s stomach churn. She turned back to the tray of cookies, gripping the edges tightly as if anchoring herself.

“Business partner,” she muttered under her breath. “Right.”

“Deborah?” Alex’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He was standing closer now, his expression unreadable. “You okay?”

She straightened, plastering on another smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He hesitated, his gaze searching hers, but before he could say anything more, Camilla returned with Shirley, holding a small bag of cookies. “These look amazing,” Camilla said. “Thank you so much for the recommendation, Alex.”

Deborah forced a laugh. “Alex always did have good taste.”

The words felt bitter in her mouth, but she said them anyway. Alex gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod—a gesture that said far too much and nothing at all.

As they left, with Alex holding the door open for Camilla, Deborah felt a pang of something she hadn’t expected: jealousy. It was sharp and unwelcome, and it left her standing behind the counter, staring at the empty doorway long after they were gone.

“Well, she seems lovely,” Shirley said, breaking the silence.

Deborah exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Lovely.”

Later that night, Deborah paced the length of the small living room, her phone pressed tightly to her ear. The soft hum of Shirley’s snoring drifted from the loft above, a comforting reminder that at least one of them was peacefully unaware of the turmoil churning inside her.

“Pick up, Alex,” she muttered under her breath, tapping her foot against the hardwood floor. The line clicked, and his familiar voice came through, calm and steady.

“Deborah?” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Deborah’s words tumbled out, harsher than she intended. She took a breath, trying to steady her tone. “About Camilla, I mean.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What about her?”

“What about her?” Deborah repeated, incredulous. “You show up at the bakery with this...this woman and introduce her as your business partner, and I’m just supposed to believe that’s all she is?”

“Deborah—”

“I thought we agreed to be honest with each other,” she interrupted. “Wasn’t that the whole point of this arrangement? To be open, to not hide things?”

Alex sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. “I wasn’t hiding anything. Camilla and I are working on some real estate deals, and yes, we’ve been spending time together, but what does it matter? You’ve got Shirley.”

Her jaw tightened. “This isn’t about Shirley.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered. “You live with her, you share a bed with her, and yet you’re upset because I’ve started seeing someone?”

Deborah’s grip on the phone tightened, her voice dropping. “It’s not the same, Alex, and you know it.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unresolved. Finally, Alex spoke, his tone softer but no less firm. “Deborah, I don’t think this arrangement is working for me anymore.”

Her breath caught. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t do this,” he said, his voice steady. “When we started this...thing, I went along with it because I couldn’t imagine not having you in my life, but the truth is, it’s not what I want.”

“Alex,” she whispered, her chest tightening. “What do you want?”

“I want to be with someone who’s mine,” he said simply. “Someone I don’t have to share with anyone else. As much as I care about you, Deborah, I don’t think that’s ever going to be us.”

His words hit her like a blow, leaving her momentarily speechless. She sank onto the edge of the couch, her free hand clutching the armrest.

“So that’s it?” she said finally. “You’re just...done?”

“I need to go after my own happiness,” Alex said, his voice tinged with regret, “and I think you need to figure out what yours looks like, too.”

Deborah sat there long after the call ended, the quiet of the room pressing in around her. The weight of his words settled in her chest, a mix of heartbreak and confusion. She had always prided herself on being in control, on defining her relationships on her own terms. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Upstairs, Shirley stirred, her soft snores breaking into a quiet murmur. Deborah glanced toward the loft, a pang of guilt settling in her stomach. She thought of Shirley’s unwavering kindness, her laughter, and the way she could make everything seem a little brighter, even on the darkest days.

Deborah leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to figure out what came next. For now, all she could do was sit with the ache of uncertainty and the faint, stubborn hope that things might somehow find their way back to something like peace.