A Hippogriff for Christmas - Zoe Chant Page 0,4

looking in. She’d felt guilty and ungrateful, but she couldn’t help her feelings. She’d only been a kid, after all. Even as she’d feigned total delight at her presents, a small part of her had always been thinking, Why aren’t my parents like this? Why do I have to have other people’s parents? Why didn’t mine want me?

She shook her head. She didn’t need those kinds of bad memories crowding her mind. Annie might have hated Christmas, but she still needed to do her job.

“Ahh, Annie. How’re things going out here?”

She turned at the sound of her boss’s voice behind her, unable to keep the smile off her face. George Dearborn had inherited this bakery from his father – who had inherited it from his father before him. It truly was a family-run bakery, with old photos from its founding lining the walls, alongside the shelves of freshly baked bread, apple fritters, cupcakes and sweet rolls, and the chilled cabinets of cakes and cream pies.

Mr. Dearborn made everything by hand, with recipes developed by him, his father and his grandfather, most of which were closely guarded family secrets, and which had turned Dearborn’s Family Bakery into an institution here in the town of Bell’s Hollow. People came from three towns away to buy their cakes and cookies here, especially at Christmas, and Annie had been rushed off her feet taking phone orders and helping customers.

But she would’ve been lying if she said some part of her didn’t enjoy it – and anyway, the busier she was, the less time she had to think about her own non-existent Christmas plans.

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Dearborn,” she said with a smile. “You caught me in a moment’s peace, so I was just fixing up some of the decorations.”

“How many times, Annie – you know you can call me George. Mr. Dearborn was my father.”

Annie ducked her head, smiling. “I know. But I just feel better this way.”

It was partially true – despite all the affection she had for George Dearborn, Annie was wary of getting too attached to him. Every time she’d ever gotten attached to someone, they’d always ended up leaving her life sooner or later. It was easier this way, if she tried to keep at least a little distance.

Annie knew she owed Mr. Dearborn a lot – he’d given her a job, after all, when she’d walked in here with her zero job history and the ink still drying on her GED, just because, as he’d explained, you have a determined look in your eye, and I like that.

“Gotten many phone orders?” Mr. Dearborn asked, as he stretched out his back, looking weary – though there was still the characteristic twinkle in his eye.

“Seven,” Annie said, picking them up from where she’d written them down on the order pad by the phone. “A cherry pie, two dozen apple fritters, two apple pies, a dozen gingerbread cookies, a honey pecan pie, a box of sugar cookies and a sheet of Christmas fudge with an extra slug of whiskey,” she said, reading them off. She shuffled them, organizing them by date before handing them over.

“Hmmm,” Mr. Dearborn said, looking through them. “Looks like I’ll be doing some overtime over the next few days.”

“Don’t work too hard,” Annie blurted out, before she could stop herself. “I mean, I just –”

“No need to apologize, Annie,” Mr. Dearborn said with a light laugh. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll definitely be taking some time off once we’re no longer taking Christmas orders.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Annie said, nodding. “I can handle things from here.”

“You? Oh, no, Annie. This is your last day at work. Once Christina comes in for her shift at twelve, you’re done.”

A chill ran down Annie’s spine, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. My last… am I being fired?

Mr. Dearborn must have seen the stricken expression on her face, because he raised his hands quickly, looking embarrassed.

“Oh no! That came out all wrong – I just meant this is the first day of your Christmas holiday.”

“My – my Christmas holiday?” Annie asked, her brain still too frozen with horror to really take in what Mr. Dearborn was saying.

“I know you didn’t ask for any time off this Christmas – but you didn’t ask for any last year, or the year before that, either. Don’t you think it’s about time you gave yourself a little break over the holiday season?”

Annie blinked, her mind finally kicking into gear again.