For his last day of trading this year, Alex was mostly offering just collections of pre-orders. His body clock had resolutely woken him up at four in the morning, so he’d dragged himself out of bed and into the bakery, finding himself making mince pies, gingerbread biscuits, cinnamon buns, and some pretty little madeleines when he felt suddenly nostalgic for Paris.
Millie had wrapped up all of the morning’s products with brown paper and festive ribbon, so they could market them as upselling opportunities and last minute gift ideas. That had inspired Alex, who had set a couple of boxes aside to give to his family. The idea of shopping for presents had gone completely out of the window while he dealt with the rush… though he was pretty sure no one would complain about edible gifts. It was definitely better than turning up on Christmas morning empty handed.
All of that was done before the shop opened, and that was part of Alex’s plan. He’d spent so many hours hidden away in the kitchen over the past few weeks, he hadn’t had chance to chat with the locals, and he missed them.
He actually liked this part of the job: being out in the shop, talking to the older generation who loved that the village had a bakery again, sneaking little gingerbread biscuits to the kids whose faces lit up at the treat.
So at first, he didn’t notice when Brandon came into the shop.
He hung out at the back in a black hoodie and his arms folded across his chest and just a little bit of the sleet/snow that was falling stuck to his hair. And Alex knew he fancied the pants off him. Not just a harmless crush, but all the way down in his stomach, a clenching, yearning want.
“Hey,” Alex said when the Montagues left with two Christmas cakes, a yule log, stollen, and two dozen mince pies.
“Hi.” Brandon sounded tense. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course,” Alex said easily, even though that clenching was back in his stomach. “Come on through.”
Millie was doing something with her lips in Alex’s direction so he pointedly ignored her as they made their way back into the spotlessly clean bakery. Alex shut the door behind them.
“I have something for you,” Brandon said. From his expression, Alex thought it might be an unexploded bomb. Or sheep shit. Or a signed death warrant.
“Wow. You don’t have to. Seriously.”
Brandon scowled deeper. “Here,” he said, shoving a folded piece of paper at Alex’s chest.
“You didn’t even wrap it.”
“Alex.”
“Okay,” he laughed, and unfolded the paper. It had a phone number written on it, and what he guessed was an Instagram or Twitter handle, and a name. Jessica. His heart sank. “Are you trying to set me up with someone?”
“No, Alex,” Brandon said, exasperated. “She’s your new assistant. Or, she should be, if you’re not stupid.”
“What?” Alex shook his head in confusion. “I don’t get it.”
“You need an assistant,” Brandon said slowly. “Jess used to go to school with Saffron. She lives in Ashford now, but it’s easy enough for her to get here.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Look at her Instagram,” Brandon insisted. “She’s exactly what you need. She’s really good at social media, a good baker by all accounts, and she’s looking for a job. Something more stable than making cakes out of her mum’s kitchen.”
“I thought you were going to come work here,” Alex said, feeling stupid.
So stupid. Oh, God. He thought Brandon was going to quit his high-flying job in London and move back to Newton Green and make fucking cakes for a living. Of course he wasn’t going to do that. Alex could barely afford to pay him minimum wage.
Brandon’s lips twitched. Just a tiny bit. “I can come and help out, if you need me to.”
“I won’t need you if I hire Jessica.”
“You should,” Brandon insisted. “I think you’ll get on really well with her too. I spoke to Saff last night just to check I wasn’t remembering her wrong. Apparently she has pink hair now. And a nose ring.”
“Okay.” Alex didn’t know what else to say. “I’ll give her a call.”
He turned back to the counter, hoping Brandon would take the hint and leave. Alex didn’t like the hot ball of shame that had lodged itself high up in his chest. Not one bit.
“Alex,” Brandon murmured. Alex felt him step up close, then he gently grasped Alex’s wrist and turned him around again. “I can’t work for you.”
“You already said that,” Alex said acidly.
“I can’t work for you, because I really want to take you out on a date. And this would be really unprofessional.”
For a moment Alex was confused, then Brandon was kissing him, and things stopped being confusing and started being really, really great.
Alex thought Brandon might have intended it to be a short kiss, a little peck maybe, but Alex wasn’t having that. He wrapped his hands around Brandon’s very nice arms and after a second, Brandon put his hands on Alex’s waist, and that was good too.
His lips were warm and very soft, very gentle as he licked and sucked at Alex’s bottom lip, then flicked his tongue against the tip of Alex’s.
And Alex just stopped thinking.
Brandon tasted like coffee and smelled like gingerbread and his soft stubble scraped against Alex’s chin, possibly leaving a mark, but Alex didn’t care.
His knees might have melted a little bit as Brandon hauled him in closer and kissed him harder, and even as Alex mentally scolded himself for swooning, he kissed Brandon back with even more enthusiasm.
“I really didn’t think you were going to do that,” Alex said, not moving his lips from Brandon’s.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“This is a much better Christmas present than an assistant.”
Brandon tipped his head back and laughed. Alex’s knees went weak again at the bright sparkle in Brandon’s eyes. He could get used to this.
“What did you get me for Christmas?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Alex said. He brushed his fingers through Brandon’s hair, taking the opportunity while it was there. “I’m sure I can whisk you up something special.”
“Don’t you mean whip me up something special?”
Alex smirked and waited for Brandon to realise what he’d said. Predictably enough, after a moment, Brandon’s cheeks went pink.
“Stick around and you might find out.”
“Don’t worry,” Brandon said. “I know how to sneak in. Some idiot leaves the key out for anyone to find….”
“Hey!” Alex said, digging his fingers into Brandon’s ribs in a hard tickle. That made Brandon laugh again, and though Alex absolutely would not say it out loud, he didn’t mind the idea of Brandon sneaking into the bakery more often. Whenever he liked, in fact.
About the author:
Anna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the south west of England and now lives in Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before turning her hand as a professional writer.