A Hippogriff for Christmas - Zoe Chant Page 0,5

She knew she shouldn’t have assumed something awful was about to happen – even if Mr. Dearborn had been firing her, he never would have done it like that – but it seemed that she’d simply become conditioned to expect the worst.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she finally managed to stutter out. “I don’t need any time off – and if you like, I can even work Christmas Day. I know you’ve been saying there’s some inventory that needs doing.”

“Work on Christmas Day?” Mr. Dearborn sounded horrified. “What do you take me for, some kind of evil boss? No – I’ve let you talk me into letting you work every day except Christmas these last few years. But this year, you’re going to have a proper holiday.”

Annie bit her lip, protestations rising up inside her. What was she going to do with all that time? Sit around her empty apartment feeling sorry for herself? Just the idea of it made her feel sick with loneliness.

“Mr. Dearborn –”

But Mr. Dearborn just shook his head. “Annie. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you do for me. But I don’t want to be that kind of boss. This bakery has always been run by my family, and we’ve always tried to do right by our staff and our customers.”

As if to prove his point, the door to the store jingled, letting a cold gust of air into the shop – but it was a welcome one, as Annie looked up to see old Mrs. Schen standing in the doorway, a scarf wrapped over her head, her heavy winter coat dappled with snow. Mrs. Schen lived in Cedar Ridge, and it would have been much easier for her to go to the Bakery Megafactory chain store if she had a need for baked goods. And yet, here she was, and in the middle of heavy snow at that.

“It certainly is a cold one out there!” Mrs. Schen said as she pulled her scarf back from her head. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I should be driving out there right now, with snow that thick.”

“Now, now, you need to take care of yourself,” Mr. Dearborn said. “You know I offer delivery – though only to my favorite customers, of course.”

“Oh, get on with you,” Mrs. Schen laughed. “You’re too young to flirt with me, George Dearborn – I remember when you were in short pants.”

Annie laughed, but it was probably true. Mr. Dearborn might have been in his sixties, but Mrs. Schen was most certainly in her eighties, even if she was active enough for someone much younger.

“Anyway, what are you saying, that I’m past it? That I can’t drive myself around anymore? I could show you whippersnappers a thing or two, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Schen continued, shaking her head.

“I don’t doubt it,” Mr. Dearborn said mildly. “Now, what can I get for you?”

Annie couldn’t help but smile as Mr. Dearborn fixed Mrs. Schen’s order of a dozen sugar cookies and a cream pie for her. They chatted easily to each other, catching each other up on the local gossip and generally shooting the breeze.

As happy as it made her, she still felt just the tiniest little bit of melancholy in her heart.

Will I ever belong somewhere as much as Mr. Dearborn belongs here? As much as anyone who was born here and has lived here all their lives does?

But that was small-town life, she supposed. Even the schoolteacher and his wife who’d moved here eleven years ago were still called ‘those newly moved-in people’ by some of Bell’s Hollow’s long-time residents. Annie, who’d only been here two, was probably considered some shady fly-by-nighter who’d maybe earn the town’s trust in another twenty years or so!

She turned as Mrs. Schen finally finished up her purchases. Maybe all wasn’t lost yet. If she could just convince Mr. Dearborn she’d be way happier doing inventory around the shop than sitting around at home –

“Oh, by the way, Annie,” Mr. Dearborn said, before she could open her mouth. “Scott said he might drop ’round later. He wanted to pick some things up. Just so you know.”

Oh.

Annie tried not to let her misgiving at the mention of Scott’s name show on her face.

Mr. Dearborn’s son Scott was living proof that kids didn’t necessarily have much in common with their parents. Annie hadn’t met Scott properly more than half a dozen times, but none of them had left a good impression on her.

Where Mr. Dearborn was