Snow, Cocoa, and a Grumpy Carpenter
A little winter treat from Snowball Falls! I missed Holly and Caleb from Snowed in with the Grump, so I wrote this bonus scene for them.
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Holly Morgan had both arms elbow-deep in a plastic tub of royal icing when the door to The Nutcracker Nook banged open and let in a blast of snow, cold, and Caleb Dawson’s bad mood.
She kept her eyes on her work at first, counting sprinkles. She’d learned the hard way that if you stopped counting, you ended up with a tray that looked festive on one side and vaguely resentful on the other.
“Tell me that’s not peppermint,” Caleb said.
“It’s crushed candy cane,” Holly said. “Peppermint is the flavor. This is the texture.”
“That’s worse.”
She glanced over her shoulder. He stood just inside the door, boots wet, flannel dusted white, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as if they were in danger of escaping. His beard held flecks of snow, and his eyebrows were practically shivering.
Maddie Clarke slid him a mug of cocoa without asking. “You look like you fought the wind and lost.”
“The wind started it,” Caleb said.
Holly went back to her icing. “You’re early.”
“You texted me ten question marks.”
“That was an accident.”
“You sent it three times.”
She winced. “Okay, I’ll admit that was panic.”
Maddie leaned on the counter. “We’re running behind. Holly decided the gingerbread men needed scarves.”
“They’re cold,” Holly said, piping a careful line of blue icing around a cookie’s neck. “It’s winter.”
“They’re cookies,” Caleb said.
“They’re cookies with feelings.”
He took a long drink of cocoa. “This town is unwell.”
Holly smiled to herself. She slid the finished tray aside and pulled another toward her. “You can help.”
“No.”
“You already promised.”
“I promised to drop off the wood frames for the school art show.”
“And then you promised to stay and help,” Maddie said cheerfully.
Caleb shot her a look. “I did not.”
“You nodded,” Maddie said. “That counts here.”
Holly turned, icing bag in hand. “You can do the buttons. It’s very simple. Dots. You’re good at dots.”
He stared at the cookies. Identical, smiling, and waiting.
“This is a trap,” he said.
She held out the icing bag. Their fingers brushed. Just a second—enough for her to notice how warm he was compared to the room, how he hesitated as if the contact surprised him.
“You’ll be great,” she said.
He took the bag as if it might explode, sat down, leaned over the tray, and squeezed.
The icing blobbed. Spread. Slid.
Caleb swore under his breath.
Holly laughed. It slipped out before she could stop it, bright and completely unhelpful.
Maddie made a pleased noise and wandered off to the ovens.
“You’re laughing,” Caleb said.
“I’m encouraging you.”
“That cookie looks like it’s melting.”
“It’s expressive.”
He tried again, slower this time. Three neat dots down the gingerbread man’s chest. He looked faintly impressed with himself.
“There,” he said. “Competent.”
“Very,” Holly said. “Now give him a smile.”
“I am not doing mouths.”
“Why not?”
“They’re judgmental.”
She leaned closer, pointing. Her sleeve brushed his arm. “Just a little curve.”
He sighed and did the curve. It came out crooked. They both stared at it.
“That cookie knows something,” Caleb said.
“It knows love,” Holly said.
He snorted. “No.”
The bell over the door jingled again. Mrs. Waverly swept in, wrapped in a sweater so aggressively festive it made the gingerbread feel bad.
“Well,” she said, eyes flicking from the cookies to Caleb. “If this isn’t educational.”
Caleb froze.
Holly didn’t. “Hi, Mrs. Waverly.”
“Good hands for a carpenter,” Mrs. Waverly said, peering at the tray. “Terrible posture. You’ll regret that.”
“I already do,” Caleb said.
She sniffed. “Are these for the fundraiser?”
“Yes,” Holly said. “For the kindergarten.”
Mrs. Waverly’s expression softened, just a touch. “Good. Children should learn early that baked goods fix things.” She leaned closer to Holly. “You feeding him properly?”
Holly blinked. “What?”
Mrs. Waverly tapped the cocoa mug. “He looks less feral than usual.”
Caleb choked. “I’m fine,” he said.
Mrs. Waverly patted his arm anyway. “Mm.” She left with a box of shortbread and a satisfied nod.
There was a beat of silence.
“I hate that she knows things,” Caleb said.
“She knows everything,” Holly said. “It’s best to avoid a fight.”
They worked for a while after that. The tray filled up. Caleb got better. His dots stayed dots. His smiles stopped looking haunted.
Holly watched him when he looked away—the careful way he lined things up, the way his mouth relaxed when something went right. He leaned in, intent, as if the rest of the world could wait.
“You missed one,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
He pointed at her cookie. “Button spacing. It’s off.”
She looked. He was right, so she fixed it. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Details matter.”
As they finished the last tray together, Maddie returned with boxes. The oven hummed, and outside, the snow kept falling thick and fast.
Holly wiped her hands on a towel. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Caleb looked at the cookies, at the counter dusted with sugar, and then at her—cheeks pink, braid slipping loose.
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
Their eyes caught and held. Just long enough.
The bell jingled again, and the moment broke. But when he reached for his coat, his hand brushed hers. This time, both stayed still for a moment.
“Same time next year,” he said.
She smiled. “You’re assuming I’ll let you escape.”
He smiled back, small and real. “I’m counting on it.”
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Want more Holly and Caleb?
If you’re new to Snowball Falls, you can meet them properly in Snowed in with the Grump, a sweet, closed-door small-town Christmas romance.
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