Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance

by Krista Sandor

  Bridget twisted the hem of her apron and blinked back tears. While most eighteen-year-olds were going to parties and preparing for college or a gap year to travel the world, she’d started working two jobs to make sure her fifteen-year-old sister had everything she needed. She’d become Lori’s legal guardian and a single parent before she’d even lost her virginity.

  “I want you to know that Tom and I are so grateful, Birdie.”

  Bridget swallowed past the emotion. It made sense that Lori would be feeling sentimental and reflecting on their parents and grandmother. They’d spent their last Christmas as a family at Kringle Mountain House. And truth be told, she could hardly believe she’d be back there after all this time.

  “Hey, what are big sisters for?” she answered, trying to keep it light. But not even she was immune to the onslaught of memories. She could picture her grandmother, feel the papery skin of her cheek the moment before the kind woman took her last breath a decade ago.

  Take care of your little sister, Birdie. You’re all she has now.

  “I didn’t mean to get all mushy,” Lori said, clearing her throat.

  Bridget dabbed away the moisture welling in her eyes with the edge of her apron. “Well, I fly in tomorrow, and we can be all sorts of mushy when I get there. I know that Grandma, Mom, and Dad would be so happy for you.”

  Another sliver of silence stretched between them before her sister spoke.

  “Birdie?”

  “Yeah, Lori?”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind that I’m getting married here?”

  Bridget wasn’t expecting that.

  “Mind? I think it’s wonderful! We always said that whoever got married first would have to do it like Mom and Dad did at Kringle Mountain House.”

  “There’s something else.” Lori paused.

  “What?”

  “I have a bad feeling about something, Birdie.”

  Bridget’s stomach turned to stone.

  “Is it Tom? Did something happen? Did you have a fight?” she pried.

  “No, nothing like that,” her sister replied, lowering her voice.

  “Then, what, Lori?”

  “I’m worried about Scooter. Tom’s on the phone with him now.”

  “Who?” Bridget shot back.

  There wasn’t any Scooter on the guest list.

  “He’s Tom’s best friend, and he’s going to be his best man. I texted you the details. Tom had asked him, and he’d been waiting on the guy’s answer. He finally agreed. Tom’s over the moon, but I’m not so sure about it.”

  “Is Scooter the lunch from hell guy?” Bridget asked, vaguely remembering the mention of the man.

  Lori huffed an audible breath. “Yep, that’s him. About a month ago, he flew up from New York City to have lunch with Tom and me. The man gave me the cold shoulder and didn’t speak to me the entire time. He answered any question I asked him with a grunt, and then he got a call and left the restaurant before our entrées had even arrived! But he had time to slip the waitress his card and tell her to call him when she got off.”

  Bridget gasped. “Now, I remember. What a sleazeball! What does Tom say about him?”

  “Just that Scooter’s a good guy with a complicated past. They’ve been friends for years. I’m trying to be kind and patient and give the guy another chance. He is Tom’s best friend, and my fiancé has a heart of gold. But I won’t lie. It’s not easy, and I’m concerned he may have ulterior motives.”

  “What does this Scooter do again?” Bridget asked. She needed some intel on this creep.

  “He and Tom went to law school together, but now he runs a business where he buys and sells companies. He’s a successful guy—a hard-nosed businessman from the sound of it.”

  “What do you think his ulterior motives are?” she pressed.

  “For one thing, Tom says that Scooter’s not sold on the institution of marriage at all. And I get the feeling that he thinks I’m wrong for Tom or doesn’t approve of me. I don’t know! I’m worried about what he might say or what he might do once he gets here.”

  Bridget clenched her jaw as anger coursed through her veins.

  Who the hell was anyone to judge her sister’s character? Smart, kind, and dedicated, women didn’t get better than Lori! And she wasn’t about to let anyone—let alone some douchebag named Scooter—wreck her sister’s happiness. She’d made a promise to her grandmother that she’d take care of Lori, and she wasn’t about to sit back and allow some jerk with an agenda to ruin her little sister’s wedding.

  Hell to the no!

  But she couldn’t unload on the guy—not to Lori. As much as she wanted to have a bitch fest and roast the guy’s testicles, it wouldn’t do any good. This guy was Tom’s friend, and she had to defuse this now and put her sister’s mind at ease.

  Not to mention, she felt like there was something else weighing on her sister’s heart. But managing this Scooter was priority number one.

  “Lori, honey, I’ve only met Tom once, but it was clear as day that he loves you. He could barely look away from you. It was like watching Mom and Dad.”

  “Love at first sight,” Lori said, the wistful lilt of nostalgia replacing the worry in her voice.

  “Love at first sight,” Bridget repeated. She closed her eyes. “Dad said the moment he walked into the lecture hall and saw Mom finishing up teaching her class, he knew right then and there that he was going to marry her.”

  “Like me! When I got hired on at Abbott and Associates. Tom walked into my office on my first day to introduce himself, and I don’t think I’ve ever been the same since,” she answered, her tone growing dreamy.

  Her sister’s romance with Tom was right out of a storybook. He’d swept Lori off her feet. The guy sent her flowers and took her on romantic getaways. And he’d done something she’d never expected. He’d asked her for Lori’s hand in marriage. The two of them had only been dating three months, but when he and Lori had flown down to Texas for a visit, the man was as genuine as they come.

  “Is there something else you want to tell me, Lori?” she asked, her sister sixth sense kicking in.

  For a beat, neither woman spoke.

  “Look at me, blabbering on about Tom. How’s Garrett? Is he still able to come with you to the wedding?” Lori replied, shifting gears.

  Bridget blinked. Was it odd that sometimes she forgot that she was dating someone?

  Garrett was in the last year of his surgical residency and worked almost as much as she did. They were…fine. Compatible. Not the stop-the-presses kind of love like her parents or Lori and Tom had. No, what she had with Garrett was comfortable. The sex was…adequate. Or at least, that’s how she’d remembered it. With the holidays, she’d been working hundred-hour weeks, and he’d been equally busy at the hospital. They didn’t have a whole lot of time to tear each other’s clothes off. Well, they’d never done that. But who does that, really?

  Bridget chewed her lip.

  When was the last time they’d even kissed, not to mention slept together?

  Worry settled in her belly, but she ignored the sensation.

  It was all good.

  Yep, totally fine.

  The last time she’d stopped by his place, she’d seen a gift bag tucked away in Garrett’s closet. Upon closer inspection, she’d found it contained a sexy fire-engine red bra and pantie set.

  It had to be her Christmas present.

  You don’t buy sexy underwear for someone you’re not attracted to. Maybe there was more to them? Maybe attending her sister’s wedding together would catapult their relationship to the next level—whatever that may be.

  “Bridget, Mrs. Miller’s here!” Della called, poking her head out the half-opened door.

  “Lori, I need to get back to work. Try not to give Scooter a second thought. I’ll handle him.”

  “He’s supposed to be flying in the day of the wedding, so, hopefully, he won’t have time to do anything too outlandish.”

  “That’s righ
t!” Bridget affirmed. “Don’t give him a second thought. You enjoy Kringle Mountain. I’ll see you soon!” she said, injecting extra cheer into her voice. The last thing she wanted was for her sister to worry about anything the week of her wedding.

  “Do you want me to get the cake?” Della asked, poking her head out again.

  “No, I’ll get it,” she answered, ending the call.

  She hurried inside and headed for the refrigerated room that held all the orders. And there it was—a gorgeous five-tiered cake.

  The Millers had recently fallen on hard times. They’d been loyal customers for years. But when Peggy Miller put in the cake order for her daughter and saw the price, she’d asked for something less elaborate, citing her financial hardship.

  But Bridget had offered to make the cake at half-price. It was the right thing to do. Her grandma Dasher had sold baked goods from her dusty West Texas home. And more times than Bridget could count, she’d witnessed the woman not only charging a fraction of the cost but outright giving away her culinary creations, especially around the holidays.

  Following her grandmother’s baked-goods dance superstition, she twirled to give the cake one last round of love. Then, carefully, she slid the cake out of the refrigerator and headed for the front where Gaston Francois looked ready to blow a gasket.

  “Where have you been? We cannot have Madame Miller waiting,” the little man barked.

  “I apologize for the wait,” she said, setting the cake on a side table as the mother of the bride assessed the marzipan masterpiece.

  “It’s perfect!” the woman exclaimed as tears came to her eyes. “And thank you for giving me a discount. This cake will be the centerpiece of the wedding.”

  “You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure,” she answered, smiling at the grateful customer.

  “Discount?” Gaston hissed, his fat cheeks growing red.

  Bridget threw the man a nervous glance, then turned back to Mrs. Miller. “And I altered the recipe. I glazed the cakes with a simple syrup before I frosted it. It’ll keep it moist and delicious for days,” she added, silently thanking her grandma Dasher for teaching her that trick.

  The woman lifted the cake box into her arms. “My daughter is going to love it. You’re an angel, Bridget Dasher.”

  “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Miller,” she said as a blanket of warmth enveloped her body.

  There was nothing better than seeing her confectionary creations bring people happiness. She turned to her boss, but instead of being happy with a satisfied customer, Gaston glared at her, red-cheeked and seething.

  “What’s wrong, chef?” she asked.

  “You did not charge her full price?”

  “No, chef. Mrs. Miller recently lost her job, and her husband’s been ill.”

  “This is not a food bank, Brigette.”

  She should have expected this. The man was a miser.

  She gave him a placating smile. “I’m happy to pay the difference out of my wages. Now, I better get back to work.”

  Gaston turned a deeper shade of red. “You’re not getting back to anything.”

  “I’m not?” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

  This was not good.

  Gaston Francois’s beady gaze darkened. “You dared to change my recipe?”

  Oh no!

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth had grown dry.

  “Not changed, enhanced,” she sputtered.

  “Enhanced?” he growled.

  “Clients had commented that the cakes were a bit dry, that’s all. I decided to try something new,” she rambled, then smacked her hand over her mouth.

  Altering a master chef’s recipe was the culinary kiss of death. She’d only made a tiny tweak, but it was still a change.

  The little man cocked his head to the side as a slippery smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You like to try new things, Brigette? Like giving away my cakes and enhancing my recipes that were perfected at Le Cordon Bleu? You, a girl with no formal training. No credentials.”

  She stared at him. There wasn’t a right answer—not after what she’d admitted.

  “I—” she began, but the chef raised his meaty index finger, silencing her.

  “Now, you can try getting a new job, Brigette. You are fired!” he snapped.

  “Fired?” she cried. Her voice, a shrill scrape of a sound, cut through the hum of the shop.

  The chatter stopped as all eyes fell on her.

  “You, broom boy! Get Brigette’s things,” Gaston called, puffing up like an inflated peacock.

  She looked on as the gangly teen ran through the door leading to the back of the shop, then returned with her backpack.

  The chef grabbed the bag from the boy and thrust it into her chest. “I will not have anyone stealing my profits or modifying my recipes! You’re through here. And I’ll make sure every pastry shop in the state hears about this betrayal.”

  She couldn’t be labeled as a pastry pariah! And like Gaston reminded her, it wasn’t as if she had a fancy degree to fall back on. All she’d ever been was an amateur baker.

  She glanced around the shop as judgmental glares tore into her at every angle.

  What would she do now?

  She was the play-it-safe sister. The keep-your-head-down, do-what-it-takes sister. She didn’t have the luxury of dreaming big.

  A hot rush of humiliation threaded with embarrassment heated her cheeks. With her gaze trained on the floor, she turned toward the door as the crowded shop parted, making way for the disgraced employee. She squinted as the midday sun nearly blinded her as she exited the shop, and the door to Gaston Francois Pâtisserie slammed behind her.

  The final harsh goodbye.

  “What happened in there?” she whispered.

  She started down the sidewalk—a zombie sprinkled in flour and bits of fondant. Garrett’s place wasn’t far from here. She could go there. He’d be at the hospital, and she needed somewhere close by to process the lightning-fast demise of her baking career. If you could call it a career. And she sure as hell wasn’t ready to endure the forty-minute bus ride home. No, she’d go to Garrett’s, get her bearings, think of something to say to Gaston, then go back to the shop and plead her case. He could have a change of heart, right?

  In an hour or so, he’d cool off. He’d see that he’d acted rashly. They’d work it out. He was a passionate Frenchman. These things happened. But the more she kept trying to convince herself that it was going to be okay, the less okay she felt.

  No job meant no income. She’d spent the last of her savings on Lori’s wedding. At least, she didn’t have to worry about her soon-to-be depleted bank account impacting her sister’s big day.

  She rounded the corner and arrived at her boyfriend’s townhouse. Taking the front steps two at a time, she fished her keys from the bottom of her bag and unlocked the door.

  “You need a minute to make a plan. You’re a planner, Birdie. You’ll figure this out,” she said, shutting the door when a shriek from inside rippled down from the second floor.

  “Garrett?” she called as another sound, a low, purring groan, echoed through the space.

  Was he sick? Did he fall, or was he hurt?

  She sprinted up the steps, flung open the bedroom door, then stilled. A woman sat on the bed, facing away from her and wearing a fire engine red bra.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing in my lingerie?” she called.

  She took another step into the room and discovered her boyfriend lying flat on the bed while being straddled by the lingerie thief.

  And then the penny dropped.

  “Oh my God,” she said on a tight exhale as the second sucker punch of the day landed straight into her gut.

  “Bridget!” Garrett called. His disheveled brown hair, guilty eyes, and the giant hickey on his neck confirmed what she already knew.

  She scrambled out of the room, listening to her cheating boyfriend and his lingerie-stealing floozy break out into panicked whisper
s.

  Tears, hot and angry, welled in her eyes. She ran out of the townhouse, leaving the door wide open.

  “Bridget! Stop, please!”

  She released a ragged breath, then turned to find her boyfriend, no, her ex-boyfriend, standing on the sidewalk with a sheet wrapped around his waist.

  Quite a cheater-esque choice. But when you’ve been caught mid-thrust, one’s options must be limited.

  “Bridget, I’m sorry. I…” the man trailed off.

  “I somehow fell into bed with another woman, who happens to be wearing the lingerie I bought for my girlfriend? Is that what you were trying to say?” she offered, crossing her arms.

  He glanced away. “It’s not your lingerie.”

  “I saw it in your closet weeks ago, Garrett. I know it’s supposed to be my Christmas gift.”

  “I didn’t buy it for you, Bridget,” he answered, still not meeting her eye.

  And the punches kept coming.

  “I see,” she answered as a dull numbness took over.

  She stared at the person she’d been dating for the better part of two years. This should have stung. This betrayal should have cut right through her heart. But all she could think about was how Garrett’s absence at the wedding would screw up her seating arrangement.

  “I need to text Lori,” she said, reaching for her phone.

  He let out an incredulous bark of a laugh. “You catch your boyfriend in bed with another woman, and all you can say is that you need to call your sister? I guess it’s fitting. That is what it’s like dating you.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “What does that mean?”

  He shook his head. “It’s always your sister. Harvard law. Hired on at a prestigious firm. Dating the man of her dreams. I feel like I know more about her than I do about you. That’s probably why…”

  “Why what? You might as well say it. That little afternoon delight session I walked in on sealed the deal that it’s over between us,” she replied, forcing her tone to remain even.

  Garrett ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Maybe that’s why you never go after what you want. Maybe that’s why you’re still a bakery assistant. You’re so busy thinking about Lori and butting into her life that you don’t have a life of your own.”