Are you like my husband and pick ONE store to go to and if you can't find what you're *not* looking for, you call it quits? I married this guy. And he married someone who LOVES to shop, even if it's window shopping. Can you say opposites attract?

How do you feel about shopping? The holidays can make it seem even more stressful if it's not already something you enjoy. I'm not a fan of crowds, but I won't not go out because it's busy. Oh, and speaking of busy...

I just got a shipment of five boxes of books and will have them at the Holiday Craft Fair at Loranger Middle School in Old Orchard Beach on Saturday, December 3rd! There will be 80 vendors there, so lots of 'shop local' in one spot.

If you came by the fair at USM a couple of weeks ago, I sold out of almost all my books. While I won't be bringing all 27 titles to OOB, I'll have many. If you're planning on stopping by and have a title or two you're interested in, feel free to shoot me an email so I can put a copy aside. Because we all know books make the PERFECT gift!

Oh, and here's a holiday freebie for you from an author friend! Christmas With the Boy Next Door. It's sure to warm your heart!!

And as a gift for you, here's the first chapter of The Baker's Heart, my newest holiday romance. Enjoy! I hope to see many readers this weekend.

CHAPTER ONE

GRANT

I use my elbow to turn the handle on the back door of the Christmas Farm Inn and let myself into my sister’s kitchen. “Hey, Marley.” I drop a kiss on her cheek and set the box of baked goods on the butcher block island. “Smells good in here.”

“Don’t worry, Grant. I already set aside a container of manicotti for you.”

“There’s a reason you’re my favorite sister.” I unload the baked goods from the box, piling the ciabatta bread over by the antique bread box, setting the tray of eclairs and tiramisu in the refrigerator, and an assortment of muffins in the center of the counter.

“Please. Don’t make your only sister’s head swell.”

Marley sends me her bakery order a month in advance to coincide with the dinners and breakfasts she serves at the Inn. Breakfast on the daily and dinner on Thursday and Friday, by appointment only. Her guests often venture out for their meals, but some like to have the option to dine in. She also keeps an assortment of leftovers in the freezer for last minute meal requests.

We may share the same blood, but where Marley is organized to the nth degree, I prefer to be more free flowing. Baking is already measured with tablespoons and cups, grams and ounces. I appreciate the exact science to it and am organized when it comes to my stocks and portfolio, but when I can, I like spontaneity.

Sometimes in the form of which filling and frosting concoction to use on my latest cake, other times in the form of which desserts I deliver to the local restaurants. Some, like my sister’s Christmas Farm Inn, have their regular requests, but most of the restaurants and diners in town like being surprised by what I whip up.

“You’re sure you don’t need to adjust your weekend orders? Mom says you’re booked solid.”

“I gave you my September order on August fifteenth. Why would I need to adjust my order five days before Labor Day weekend? As your favorite sister, I’m offended you don’t know me that well.”

“Scheduling changes happen. Just giving you first dibs before I check in with my other restaurants.”

“I appreciate it.” She swats at me with a kitchen towel. “I’m good though. The pumpkin scones, mini apple pecan cheesecakes, and cranberry orange bread will be fine.”

I set the empty box by the backdoor, take a seat at the counter, and pick up the mug of cider Marley has waiting for me. She slides a bowl of chips and guacamole in front of me as well. Interesting. She doesn’t usually cater to me.

“What’s up, Mars?”

She wipes her hands on her apron and chews on her bottom lip. If there was ever a terrible poker player, it’s my sister. Not because she doesn’t know how to play, the woman is a card shark, but because her face reveals every emotion churning in her head.

“You know how Papa’s Pies officially closed for business?”

“Yeah. Old news.” I scoop up an obscene amount of guacamole with a chip and shove it in my mouth. The pizza joint had been a staple in the town, but with three pizza places in a town of less than ten thousand, one eventually lost business. Papa was a legend, but he never did much to update his menu. Hence the closing. He’d been well past the age of retirement with no family to hand the business too, so it worked out okay for the old man.

“Papa finally put the space up for rent.”

“That so?” I take a sip of cider, now room temperature, and shovel more guac in my mouth. I hadn’t realized I was so hungry. When I’m in baking mode, I often forget to eat.

“Why don’t you open a bakery, Grant? You’ve been talking about it for a year and do enough business as it is. You could hire staff so you wouldn’t have to work so much.”

I wipe my mouth on the napkin she’d laid out for me. “I’ve thought about it, but I really like working from home. Making my own hours. If I can’t sleep, I’m in the kitchen making cherry pies at one in the morning in my underwear.”

“Gross. Don’t ever announce that to people.” She chucks a chip at my head. “You’re also killing yourself with those hours. You never get a break. You used to be Mr. Social Butterfly.”

“Please don’t refer to me as a butterfly. I’ll never get a date again in this town.”

“Like you have time to go on any. You’re always working.”

I point at her and then swirl my finger around. “Pot. Kettle. Black.”

“Not true. I close on Mondays and Tuesdays except during school vacation weeks.”

“And on Labor Day weekend and every other three-day weekend. When you are closed to overnight guests, you spend your day cleaning, doing laundry, and baking. Your work is never done. And,” I stand, bringing my now empty mug to the sink, “I don’t see you enjoying Balsam Grove’s nightlife. When was the last time you went out on a date?”

“That’s different.” Her eyes turn soft. “I’m not a romantic at heart. You haven’t been on a date since…”

I hold up my hand. “Enough with the pity party. I’m over Jade. It’s been more than a year. She’s happy doing her thing in Europe, and I’m happy for her.”

Jilted by who I thought was the love of my life, only to be told I’m not what she had been looking for, left me feeling like a souffle when the oven door has been opened too soon.

Deflated. Empty. Ugly. Useless. I was the lead baker at Le Pouf’s in Portland when we were dating, and when she left to find herself in Europe right after I proposed, I quit the French bakery in the city. It was Jade’s rejection that turned me into a baking fiend. The commute was brutal and exhausting, and I welcomed not having to be in the car so much.

The hour drive at two in the morning was miserable, especially in the winter. In the past two years, I’d taken over most of the bakery needs of the restaurants and diners in Balsam Grove and surrounding towns.

“You used to talk about opening your own bakery. Why not apply for a permit? Bearbrook Lending and Insurance has the rental agreement.”

“Let me guess. You already put a bug in their ear?”

“I may have inquired. Bob and Linda have been friends with Mom and Dad since before we were born. They’d love to rent the space to you. It’s prime real estate right in the center of Evergreen Street.”

I flip the clean mug upside down in the drying rack and turn, leaning my hip against the white Farmer sink. “I’m surprised Papa’s couldn’t sustain business there, but I guess with the pub two doors down and the sub shop at the corner, there are other food choices. And it doesn’t matter that Gino’s is on the other side of town. His pizza can’t be topped.”

“No pun intended.”

“I don’t know, Mars. It’s a lot of work.”

“Says the man who never stops working.” Marley dries her hands on her towel and stands in front of me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “No one can compete with your baked goods. Even Mug Shop orders from you.”

“Which is across the road from Papa’s. Conflict of interest?”

“I’m sure you and Amelia can work it out.” Marley wiggles her eyebrows. “She sells coffee with a side of your baked goods.”

“I have no interest in Amelia.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t interested in you.”

“We went out on one date. We’re not compatible. We have a nice business relationship and are friends. Don’t go messing that up.”

“Sure.” Marley squeezes my shoulders again. “You still have that business plan you and Blaine worked on a few years ago?”

“I’ve got it on file.”

Blaine serves the coldest beer in town at his pub, The Frosty Glass. We’ve been best friends since birth, even attended the University of Maine together. While Blaine majored in Business with a minor in marketing, I went for the finance side of things.

We rented an expensive apartment the size of a postage stamp in Hartford, Connecticut, fresh out of college and landed jobs working in the business district. We both hated every second of it. While we both still spend a lot of time watching the stock market and keeping our portfolios in the black, we’re small-town boys not cut out for city life.

The only saving grace in Connecticut were the baking courses I took for fun. I needed a distraction from crunching numbers, business suits, and the fast life. Baking brought some sense of comfort to me. I never earned a culinary degree, but I’d learned from one of the top bakers in the city, who gave me a glowing reference when I moved home.

After two years of misery, we hightailed it back to Balsam Grove as soon as our lease was up.

Blaine had always said he’d never take over the family pub, but like me, it was a case of the grass is greener on the other side. We quickly learned the grass is gorgeous here in Balsam Grove.

“Excellent. Send it over to Bearbrook Lending. You could have the space by next Thursday.”

“I’m booked solid for the next few weeks. Besides, it will take months to get a loan set up, supplies and equipment ordered and delivered, and front end workers hired.”

“You’re right. But you could open before the holidays. Think of the business you’d get.”

The more excited Marley got, the more the possibility built inside me. There actually wasn’t much ordering needed. I purchased commercial-grade mixers and tools over the past few years, and even installed commercial-grade ovens in my kitchen. The pizza ovens would need to be removed, maybe resold, to make room for new ovens. It could happen.

“I’ll stop by on my way home.”

Marley jumps on her toes and claps her hands. “This is so exciting!” She engulfs me in a hug then pulls back and gives me a shove. “Now get going. I have work to do.”

I chuckle as I give my sister a kiss on the cheek and sweep up the empty box. “I’ll see you later, Mars.”

The Inn is tucked away down a well-maintained dirt road about five miles from the center of town. Our grandparents owned it, and our mother grew up here. Marley and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with our grandparents. Even though our own parents were around quite a bit, they made sure our grandparents got quality time with us.

Since our grandparents retired two years ago and sold the Inn to Mars for a measly one hundred bucks, they’ve been living it up as snowbirds. For most of the year, they live in a retirement community in Florida, and they come up and live in an RV in our parents’ driveway during the summer. Now our parents are looking into doing the same.

I drive my SUV into town and luck out finding a spot in front of Bearbrook Lending.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Bob gives me a firm handshake and a pat on the arm. “Linda and I were just talking about you.”

“Oh yeah?” This could be good. Maybe they already planned on renting me the space. “Must be why my ears have been burning. I brought you a little something.”

I keep a little something in the cooler in my SUV for times like these. A surprise baked good always brings a smile to peoples’ faces.

Bob peeks inside the bag. “Pumpkin scones?” I nod. “Linda will be over the moon. She loves your scones. She’s in the conference room right now meeting with a potential client. I take it you came by for more than a special delivery.”

“You know me too well. I’m interested in renting Papa’s place. I’d like to open my own bakery. You won’t have to go as far to get more of those.” I wink and tip my chin to the bag Bob holds close to his chest.

“Popular spot, and it isn’t even officially on the market yet.”

My smile falls. “Someone else interested?”

Bob glances toward the back room. “Linda’s meeting with her right now. Smart lady. Has a thorough plan and pictures of what she’d do to the place.”

“How does she have pictures? You said it wasn’t even on the market yet.”

“She presented a fancy digital portfolio. Impressive. And menu items with all the ingredients listed. High end. Top notch, this woman.”

“She from around here?” I tuck my hands in the front of my jeans and rock back on my heels, not wanting Bob to pick up on the tension in my neck.

“Nope. Never heard of her, but she has quite the following.”

“Well, I’m putting in my offer now as well. As a local and family friend, I’d think–”

“My goodness. I’ve never tasted a donut so decadent. Bob, come try these,” Linda calls from the doorway to the conference room.

Bob gives a sheepish smile. “Linda.” He clears his throat. “Grant’s here and interested in opening a bakery in the space.”

“Oh. Oh dear.” She looks over her shoulder at whoever is in the room behind her, then back at me. “Hi Grant, it’s so nice to see you.”

“He brought us pumpkin scones.” Bob holds up the bag.

“I do love your pumpkin scones.”

“Bob, Linda.” I give them the smile that has the entire town loving me.

I never caused problems when I was a teenager. I was a National Honor Society student, varsity baseball player, and was even scouted to play ball for a few D2 schools but I wanted to focus more on my major. I’m a nice guy by nature, but I also know how to lay it on thick.

“I have a thorough proposal of my own. My desserts and breads are in every restaurant and even local convenience stores. Having a storefront will bring even more foot traffic to Evergreen Street. Can we sit down and go over my plan?”

“Mrs. Myers,” a feminine voice says from behind me. “I have an appointment to attend to, but I can be back in the morning to sign the papers.”

Linda blushes and glances at her feet before looking at her husband.

“Miss Barrett, we have another offer on the space. We’ll need to sit down with the two of you to go over our options.”

Heels click on the tile floor behind me. I can smell her before I see her. Brown sugar and vanilla. A flash of long chestnut colored hair swishes past, and the woman stands between me and Linda.

“I’ll pay ten percent more than you’re requesting, and I’m ready to put first and last month’s rent down, as well as sign a twelve-month lease.”

The woman is determined, and I admire her tenacity, if only it wasn’t at my expense. In her black pants suit and high heels, she doesn’t seem the type to run a bakery. There’s no way she can stand all day in those spiky shoes. I assume she must be a representative to whomever wants to open the business.

Jade used to wear those kinds of shoes while at her administrative assistant job and would complain about her arches. That’s the limit of my experience with fancy clothes. No one in our town dresses up much except for special events.

“Leasing space to a local is a much better investment than in an outsider. They’re not committed to this town or community and won’t have the local draw.”

“Excuse me.” The woman’s voice is demanding, and when she turns, I wish I had a wall or a chair to hold on to for support.

The woman, for all her snootiness, is gorgeous. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, yet it has a sophisticated style to it. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate with swirls of butterscotch, are framed by the longest, thickets, darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. The makeup she wears is tasteful and accentuates all the angles of her face, not that she needs any help in that department.

“Who are you?” she asks, and her shapely eyebrows arch.

“Everyone knows who I am. The question is, who are you?”

“Evelyn Barrett. Soon to be local business owner.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

Déjà vu of my time with Jade creeps up my spine.

I plaster on my boyish charming smile that accentuates the dimple in my right cheek. “You opening a makeup or beauty shop of some sort? ‘Cause the people of Balsam Grove are simple folk. Your business will tank before you even get a chance to get it off the ground.”

Linda gasps behind Evelyn. It’s not like me to be rude and disrespectful, and I’m ashamed of myself the instant the words come out of my mouth. In her towering heels, Evelyn is nearly eye-level with me, and I’m a solid six-two. She glares at me, and I feel like a little child being reprimanded.

“Now Grant, Miss Barrett, I’m sure we can figure out a way to make this work,” Bob says.

Ignoring him, Miss Barrett keeps her cool, not a wrinkle to be found on her forehead. Must be from all the Botox. Again, not that I know anything about that kind of stuff, except what Jade had been into the final months of our relationship.

“For your information, I own the Friendly Donut. My goods sell quite well, thank you very much.”

“Just donuts?” I laugh. “Oh, we’ve got a Dunkin on every corner.”

“Obviously you’ve never had a real donut before.”

I want to defend the popular chain, but I have to agree with her there. It’s like comparing my baked goods to Hostess cupcakes. No can do. Still. I want that space now more than ever.

Ignoring her, I turn to the two stunned people who hold my fate. “It sounds like an easy decision, Bob. Variety is the spice of life. Sweet Rewards has it all, not just breakfast items. The people love my confections. And I’m local,” I reiterate. “I’ll be by in the morning to sign the papers.”

This isn’t like me, to be so rude and cynical. I blame it on my ex. Before her, life was sunshine and roses. Or I could blame the bombshell who is stirring me up inside.

“Oh,” Linda speaks up for the first time. “I have a fabulous idea. Why don’t we do a bake off like on one of those cooking shows and let the town decide?”

“Great idea, sweetheart. We can hold it at the End of Summer Festival next weekend.”

I smirk. “I think that sounds like a fabulous idea, Linda. You’ve always been a smart lady.” I give her a wink, to which she blushes, as I knew she would.

“Oh, Grant.”

I move around Evelyn to snake my arm around Linda’s shoulders. “Feel free to send me your requests. Or don’t even bother. I know what you like. You too, big guy,” I say to Bob. Okay, I have to admit. I’m laying it on a little too thick. Even I think I sound cheesy.

“Well, that’s one thing we can agree on. I’m game. What time? How many people do you expect?” Evelyn slips an iPad out of her designer bag and taps on it with a fancy stylus pen.

Wait. She agreed? My baking is a legend around town. She doesn’t stand a chance.

Unless she has an ace up her sleeve.

Finish reading The Baker's Heart here!