Evie Hart was not a morning person, but Christmas mornings at Sugarplum Bakery came with the kind of chaos that woke her up faster than any cup of coffee.
It was the second week of December, and the place already smelled like cinnamon, nutmeg, and last-minute regrets. Customers bustled in and out with scarves too long for their bodies and attitudes too short for holiday cheer. Evie, apron dusted in flour, was in the back, carefully unpacking a box her boss had dropped off with strict instructions:
"Be careful with these, Evie. They're heirlooms. Priceless."
Evie squinted at the fragile ornaments tucked in tissue paper. Glass balls painted with holly, delicate snowflakes, tiny reindeer. They looked like they belonged in a museum, not on the bakery's lopsided spruce tree. She picked one up gingerly, holding it like it was a bomb.
"Okay, no sudden moves," she whispered to herself, stepping onto the stool to hang it.
The stool wobbled.
She wobbled.
The ornament wobbled.
And then… smash.
A million glittering shards scattered across the bakery floor, catching the morning light like tragic confetti.
"Evie!" Her best friend, Sophie, popped her head in from the counter, eyes wide. "Please tell me that wasn't one of…"
"It wasn't." Evie cut her off, sweeping the glass into her apron pocket. "It was… a cheap decoy. A knockoff. Totally replaceable."
Sophie raised an eyebrow. "You're lying."
"Only a little!" Evie squeaked.
Before Sophie could retort, the bell above the bakery door jingled, announcing the arrival of a new customer. Evie rushed to the broom closet, hoping to hide the evidence before her boss noticed.
That's when she saw him.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair dusted with snowflakes that melted down into his collar. He shook off the chill of winter and stepped inside like he owned the place. His eyes sharp, assessing, swept over the room and landed squarely on her.
Of course. Because she was still holding half a broken ornament in her flour-dusted hands like a guilty toddler.
Sophie, ever the traitor, grinned at him. "Welcome to Sugarplum Bakery! Ignore her, she's… decorating."
Evie's cheeks burned. She stuffed the broken glass behind her back and tried to play it cool. "Hi. Can I help you with something?"
The man's gaze flicked to the shards of glitter still sparkling in her hair. He arched an eyebrow. "Do you always introduce yourself by destroying Christmas?"
Evie blinked. "…Yes. It's a tradition."
Sophie snorted loudly from the counter.
The man cracked the faintest smile, but it was the kind of smile that said he wasn't sure if he should be amused or concerned. "I'm Luke. Luke Carver. I heard you make the best gingerbread in town."
Evie nodded quickly, too quickly. "We do. It's practically indestructible. Unlike ornaments."
"Good to know," he said, pulling off his gloves. "I'll take a dozen."
As Sophie packed his order, Evie found herself sneaking glances at him. There was something annoyingly confident about the way he leaned against the counter, like he belonged in every room he entered. She was just about to think of something witty to say when…
CRASH.
The stool tipped again. Another ornament. Another glittery explosion.
Luke turned his head slowly, deliberately, and met her eyes.
Evie froze, still clutching the broom. "Okay," she said, voice cracking. "Maybe I am single-handedly waging war on Christmas."
And just like that, Luke laughed, low and warm, the kind of laugh that made Evie feel like she'd either won something or walked straight into trouble.