A Sugar Cookie Christmas
Wintervale Promises: Book 1
Melodie March
Contents
1. Annabelle
2. James
3. Belle
4. James
5. Belle
6. James
7. Belle
8. James
9. Belle
10. James
11. Belle
12. James
13. Belle
14. James
15. Belle
16. James
17. Belle
18. James
19. Belle
20. James
21. Belle
22. James
23. Belle
24. James
Epilogue ~ One Christmas Later
Recipes from Wintervale - Belle’s Pink Peppermint Sugar Cookies
Recipes from Wintervale - The Middle Road Inn Maple Pumpkin Pie
Also by Melodie March
1
Annabelle
“Annabelle! Annabelle! Where is the berry tarte for table five?”
Annabelle Harrison brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.
Since her restaurant had been named one of the “Ten Restaurants to Watch” by New York Magazine, the dinner rush at the Arcadia Café in SoHo had become almost unbearable. Before they had started booking every table a month in advance, Annabelle could take her time crafting her desserts. Three-tier cakes and trays full of decadent chocolate truffles and pies with perfectly-flaky crusts: people would see the cases full of Annabelle’s creations from the street and then come in and stay for the classic French menu her partner Sam had imagined. Their entire business had come from walk-by curiosity or word-of-mouth.
But now, thanks to the article, Annabelle and Sam never had a moment’s peace. It was the best kind of busy, but both of them often lamented the days when they had time to experiment with new recipes and would usually be home before midnight. Those days were long gone.
“Annabelle?” Sam asked again, snapping Annabelle from her daydream.
“Right, sorry,” Annabelle answered as she retrieved a beautiful rainbow tarte from the counter across from her. “The glaze should be set.”
Sam stopped in front of her and stared at her intently until she began to feel uncomfortable. “What? Did I forget something?”
“What is going on with you, Annabelle? You seem… distracted.”
Annabelle brushed her hair away again, this time leaving behind a streak of icing sugar on her forehead. Sam laughed and tossed her a towel to clean it off.
“I’m just tired. I was here at 6am starting that order of Dulce de leche cupcakes for the wedding in Brooklyn. Then they called this afternoon and asked for German chocolate instead. So… make sure the special tomorrow is cupcakes.”
“Where was I when that happened?” Sam asked, sticking his finger in a bowl of icing next to Annabelle. She reached out and slapped his hand away.
“You were doing that interview with the Register. Speaking of, can you stop doing interviews? Every time you do one of those, our business goes up ten percent.”
Sam laughed as he snuck another taste of the frosting. “Isn’t that the point?” Annabelle rolled her eyes and threw the bowl to the dishwasher.
“You realize I can’t use that now that you’ve put your fingers in it.”
“You are in a mood. Do we need to hire you some help back here?”
Annabelle looked around at the packed kitchen. Their chef, Harley, was swamped with lunch orders, as panicked sous chefs and line cooks buzzed around him. Servers rushed in and out, grabbing plates and disappearing back into the dining room as fast as they could move. The hustle and bustle, the chaos of her own restaurant, it was all she had ever wanted. But she was just so exhausted.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Let’s talk about it after the New Year. I can’t think about anything right now. We’re about to start planning for holiday orders and Christmas dinner bookings and that’s the worst time to have to deal with the whole hiring process… and don’t even get me started on training.”
Sam raised a suspicious eyebrow at Annabelle. “Honey, that’s exactly the time to hire people.”
Annabelle picked up a stray, unfrosted, cupcake and chucked it at Sam’s head, which he deftly, but narrowly, avoided. “Keep it up and you’re getting spray cheese in your stocking for Christmas.”
“Some things shouldn’t be joked about, mon ami,” Sam said as he hurried back out of the kitchen, leaving Annabelle with an order for five chocolate soufflés. She sighed as she began hand-beating egg whites and cream of tartar, wishing she hadn’t come up with something so complicated as the night’s dessert special.
With every passing day, and every night the restaurant was completely booked, the pressure was on to top herself constantly. It was what kept her coming into the kitchen every day with a spring in her step, but she had to admit that it was beginning to wear her down.
But she and Sam had worked too hard to get where they were to give up now. Best friends since culinary school, the duo had worked their way up through some of the best kitchens in New York, training and making connections, until they’d garnered the support to open Arcadia. Sam started out in the kitchen with Annabelle, crafting their rustic French menu and creating the food that had made them popular. But it wasn’t long before they both realized his forte was marketing, schmoozing the customers, and getting out and introducing people to the restaurant.
Ever since, Annabelle had been alone in the back. Not technically alone; the kitchen was always packed with people. But she felt lonely. She didn’t have her friend to keep her company, and since she was the only person working on the desserts, she spent most of her time crafting her masterpieces in the corner where she kept all of her equipment. It almost made her wish that when they’d designed Arcadia, they had put her pastry station out in the dining room. At least then she could have seen the customers while she baked.
The hours in the sweltering kitchen passed by at a snail’s pace, until finally, Annabelle had not only finished every order in the dining room, but the last of the wedding cupcake order. Once the cupcakes were boxed and put in the cooler to await their delivery, Annabelle wandered out into the clean and empty dining room to join Sam for their nightly espresso; it was the only thing that gave them the energy to walk home after a busy day. She smiled happily when she found Sam waiting for her, two cups of espresso set at his elbow.
“Kitchen cleared down?” he asked as he slid the tiny cup of creamy Italian coffee across the table to Annabelle.
“Sparkling like a Christmas tree light. Harley headed out the back with the dishwashers. They were going out for drinks, but I didn’t have the energy.”
Sam pouted as he sipped his espresso. “Why don’t they ever invite me?”
“Because,” Annabelle laughed, “you said no so many times that they assumed you were a snob.”
“I am a snob. But I still might have gone out for a martini with them.”
Oh, you sweet fool, Annabelle thought with a smile. “They don’t go to martini bars, Sammy. They go to ‘beer and peanuts on the floor’ kind of places.”
“That’s so unsanitary,” Sam answered, scrunching up his nose.
Annabelle patted his hand with a loving nod. “Snob.”
“Alright, alright, I get it. Anyway, what time are you coming in tomorrow?”
Annabelle looked down at her watch and clicked her to
ngue thoughtfully. “A quarter to never. You’ll be fine, right?”
“The heck I will. We have an office party of twenty booked here tomorrow. If you don’t show up, I’ll come to your apartment and drag you here by your bunny slippers.”
“I’m just tired,” Annabelle said with a sigh. “I’ll be here. You know I will.”
Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You better, missy.”
The friends finished their espresso and then said their goodnights as they headed in opposite directions to their apartments. Sam lived near Central Park in one of his family’s condos, but Annabelle lived in Brooklyn, which meant she had to walk to the train and then ride the subway for half an hour to home. It wasn’t a terrible commute in the morning but when she was going home at two or three in the morning, every trip felt like the longest ride of her life.
It was almost 2:30 when she walked through her front door, freezing and desperate for sleep, but still too wired to even consider getting in to bed. Annabelle grabbed her favorite flannel pajamas out of the wooden chest at the end of her bed, slipped on the bunny slippers that Sam always made fun of, and curled up on the couch to watch an episode of trashy reality TV. She was just starting to drift off when she heard her cell phone buzzing in her purse with the realization that she hadn’t looked at it once all day.
With an exhausted groan, Annabelle got back up and shuffled over to her purse to dig out her cell. “I’ll be seeing you in a few hours, Sam. It couldn’t wait?” she muttered when she finally retrieved it from the bottom of the bag. But when she saw who the missed calls and messages were from her heart froze in her chest.
They were from her grandmother, Meg.
Annabelle had been raised by Meg in Wintervale, Vermont after her parents had suddenly passed away when she was a little girl. Where most people liked to say they were old souls, Meg was a young soul in the body of 70-year-old woman. She owned a small shop in the center of town that sold toys and accessories for cats called Meow & Then. Meg was such a fixture in the community that the people of Wintervale liked to visit the shop and stay for a chat even if they didn’t have a feline friend to spoil.
As soon as the first packable snow fell, Meg was on the slopes, skiing and snowshoeing, and in the summer, she would hike and jog with her lady’s outdoor club, The Green Mountain Grannies.
When Annabelle moved away from Wintervale to pursue her dream of going to culinary school, leaving her grandmother behind had been the hardest part. At first, she had taken the train back and forth to see Meg at least once a month. But it didn’t take long for her trips to become less frequent, and after a while, visits became phones calls, and phone calls became emails. Annabelle hadn’t intended to become so distant, and in truth, she thought about her grandmother every day. But things had just gotten so busy that everything not related to the restaurant had fallen by the wayside, including Meg.
So, when Annabelle saw that Meg had been trying to get in touch with her for hours, her stomach dropped. Usually, her grandmother didn’t give her much trouble about her busy schedule. “Just drop me a line when you can, Belle,” was what she would say. But she would never call her more than once, even if she was missing her granddaughter. Annabelle listened to the first message in a panic but calmed down when she heard her grandmother’s warm voice.
“Hey, Belle! Hope I’m not bothering you down there in the big city. Listen, Bellsie, I had a little bit of an accident earlier and it looks like they’re taking me away in ambulance,” there was a pause and Annabelle heard her grandmother swat and mumble at someone, then, “she doesn’t need to know I fell off the roof! Anyway, I knew you’d be mad if I didn’t tell you. Don’t worry about me! I’ll call you later!”
Annabelle slumped down in her kitchen chair and felt sick again as she tapped the next message.
“Belle, it’s grandma again. The doctors are saying I broke my leg and it might be hard to get around since there are so many steps in the house. None of the Grannies have space for me or Henry and I’m not sure what to. Can you call me back?”
Annabelle sniffed and scratched behind her ear at just the mention of her grandmother’s cat’s name. Even the thought of being near a cat triggered her allergies. She tapped the next message with a shaking finger and tried to ignore the wave of guilt that swept over her.
“Belle, honey. It’s really important that you call me. It doesn’t matter what time it is. They’re sending me home in a cast up to my business with nothing but a wheelchair. My friend Gladys is picking me up in her van and she’s going to stay with me as long as she can but Belle… I think I need you to come home.”
Her grandmother’s voice was still ringing in her ear and a cold sweat broke out across her brow.
Home? To Wintervale?
She gulped as she called Meg and listened to rhythmic hum of it ringing. For a moment, Annabelle thought her grandmother might be asleep. But then there was a relaxed sigh and the stillness was broken.
“Belle! Oh, my gosh. I thought something had happened to you!”
Annabelle couldn’t help but laugh. “Happened to me? Gran, you fell off the roof! What were you doing on the roof?”
“Henry, that orange monster! He ran out the window when I was putting a wreath up and… anyway! Belle, the hospital is saying they can have a nurse set up for me, but she can only come a few hours a day and I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to impose on all of my friends to keep spending nights here with me, but I’m basically trapped in the living room, and Belle…”
Meg didn’t have to answer the question; it hung implied in the air. There was no question that Annabelle would go to her grandmother. The woman had given up a huge portion of her life to raising Annabelle; it was the least she could do. But she also couldn’t stop thinking about cake orders and Christmas parties and cupcake deliveries…
“Belle?”
Annabelle snapped back to the present. “Yes, grandma. Of course, I’ll come help you. I’ll be out on the morning train and I’ll stay until we can figure out some full-time care for you.”
“Oh, thank you, Belle! I can’t wait to see you!”
Meg kept on chattering about her Christmas decorations and how Henry had already knocked over the tree once, all while Annabelle continued to think,
Sam is going to kill me.
2
James
“Daddy! Where is my cereal? DADDY!”
It was just after 7am and James Everley had barely stepped out of the shower when he heard his daughter, Daisy, shouting for him from the kitchen.
James sighed and rested his head against the wall. He took a deep breath to try and gather his strength for the day ahead. There was nothing he loved more in the world than the sound of his little girl’s voice, but some days were harder than others when it came to doing everything on his own. Ever since Marisa—
“Daddy!” Daisy called from outside the bathroom door, startling him and preventing him from going down a rabbit hole of memories. “Are you ever coming out?”
James quickly jumped into his jeans and pulled on a flannel shirt. He ran a comb through his hair and padded out of the bathroom in his bare feet, chasing after Daisy as she raced back to the kitchen. “Your cereal is where it always is; on the third shelf in the pantry where you can reach.”
Daisy scrunched up her nose and opened the pantry door. She pointed at the empty shelf. “Nothing! We ran out two days ago. You were supposed to go to the store yesterday, remember?”
James ran his fingers through his beard in frustration as he suddenly remembered everything he had forgotten to do the day before: go grocery shopping, turn in Daisy’s permission slip for a field trip to a Christmas tree farm, and pick up one of her presents from the toy store in the next town over. He allowed himself a moment for the luxury of reminiscing on how much simpler everything had seemed when Marisa was able to handle half of everything, but the moment had to pass in an instant. There was never time for those kinds of thoughts anymore. All Ja
mes could do now was move forward.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said as he scruffed up Daisy’s curly blonde hair. “I promise I’ll go today. We have a few extra minutes this morning. Do you want me to make you pancakes?”
Daisy shrugged. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Maybe just some eggs? You need your protein, daddy. Just make the same thing for both of us.”
James laughed at how much Daisy reminded him of his late wife. She was precocious, and wise beyond her seven years, plus she had a spark of curiosity about her that always made her seem like she was seconds away from telling you the best story ever. She was always upbeat and excited about everything, but she was never more alight than she was at Christmas. Ever since they had lost Marisa, the holiday seemed to be the one thing that Daisy clung to keep her spirits up all year round. James understood the impulse, even if they never talked about, but on some level, it broke his heart. He had no idea how his daughter held on to that joy given that Marisa had died on Christmas Eve.
There were no limits to the ways in which his little girl amazed him.
James looked at the clock on the wall; they had forty minutes before the school bus came. Daisy only had a few days of school left before holiday break, and one of them would be spent on the field trip, so she was a bundle of excitement as it was. But this morning, she could barely sit still as she waited for him to make breakfast.
“You filled out the permission slip, right dad? When we go to the Christmas tree farm, they’re going let us bring home our own tiny tree! We can decorate it together and put it in the window in my bedroom! And we can use that tiny string of lights we never know what to do with that mom… that we never know where to put. So, you have the form, right?”
A Sugar Cookie Christmas: A Sweet Holiday Romance (Wintervale Promises Book 1) Page 1
