Mansion is right. What Mrs. Finkelstein ordered isn’t so much a gingerbread house as it is a gingerbread estate, complete with multiple wings, a gazebo, and—I kid you not—a working drawbridge made of peppermint sticks.
“Coming right up,” Lottie says, disappearing into the back where we’ve been storing the architectural marvel in the walk-in fridge.
“I can’t believe how popular these houses have become,” Mrs. Finkelstein gushes. “My daughter in Seattle saw your Insta Pics account and insisted I get one for our Christmas party. She says you’re ‘totally crushing it’—whatever that means.”
“It means Lottie hasn’t slept in three weeks,” I say under my breath.
“It means we’re very grateful for the business,” Lily corrects, shooting me a look.
Lottie emerges from the back with a massive white box, which she sets on the counter with the care of someone handling a nuclear suitcase. “Here you are, Mrs. Finkelstein. One gingerbread mansion, ready for its close-up.”
She opens the box to reveal the sugary monstrosity, and even I have to admit it’s impressive. The detail work is insane—tiny fondant curtains in the windows, delicate icicles hanging from the roofline, and a front yard populated with gingerbread people who look suspiciously like the Finkelstein family, right down to a tiny Cupcake with orange icing fur.
“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Finkelstein claps at the massive masterpiece. “It’s perfect! You’ve outdone yourself, Lottie!”
“Thanks,” Lottie beams. “We’ve been shipping these babies all over the country since that video went viral. I had to hire two more bakers just to keep up with demand.”
“Speaking of keeping up—” Suze says, wiping flour from her forehead and leaving a ghostly streak in its wake. “I’m so excited that the Evergreen Manor agreed to host the big Christmas gathering this year in lieu of the tragedy that happened at the community center. That place is usually so exclusive they won’t let you in unless your family came over on theMayflower.”
“Or unless you slip the manager enough cash to buy her own boat,” Lily adds.
Lottie carefully closes the box with the gingerbread mansion while Mrs. Finkelstein holds Cupcake back from what would have been a very expensive snack. “Actually, they host the event nearly every year.”
“I love the Evergreen Manor,” I say. Even though I’m still a Honey Hollow rookie, despite having lived here long enough to develop a complicated relationship with the local law enforcement, baked goods, and murder, I have trotted out to that fancy establishment once or twice.
Lily nods to customers now rapt at attention. “The Evergreen Manor is only the fanciest venue in three counties,” she says. “It’s a gorgeous old estate on the outskirts of town. Huge gardens, ballroom, the works. It was a private residence until a few decades ago when some rich developer bought it.”
“That’s right,” Lottie says. “And the annual town Christmas gathering will be held there this year, and all of Honey Hollow is invited to indulge in dessert and refreshments along with a charity auction that always benefits needy families.”
“This year they’re calling it the Mistletoe & Merriment Gala,” Suze adds.
“Fancy,” I say, returning to my cookie decorating.
“Oh, it so is.” Lottie nods. “This year it’s taking place on Christmas EveEve. Formal attire is not required but highly suggested. It’s just a fun way for the residents of this cozy town to connect and celebrate and have a little holiday fun before everyone does their own thing for the big day,” she explains as she rings up Mrs. Finkelstein’s order.
“Plus, it’s a great excuse to dress up and drink free champagne,” Suze notes.
“Don’t forget all those opportunities to get under the mistletoe.” Lily winks.
Suze sighs. “I’ve got my eye on the new mailman. Have you seen his calves? The man must do calf raises in his sleep.”
“And I’ve got my eye on Alex,” Lily says with a wink her way.
No sooner does Mrs. Finkelstein leave with her architectural sugar bomb, carefully balanced in her arms like a newborn, than the bakery falls into a rhythm of rolling, cutting, baking, and decorating.
The holiday orders have been relentless, but there’s something satisfying about the production line we’ve established. We’re basically a well-oiled sweet treat machine around here.
“Speaking of events—” Suze says, sliding another tray of gingerbread into the oven. “Guess who got an invite to some fancy-schmancy shindig in Leeds tonight?”
“You, too?” Lily looks up from her frosting bowl. “And here I thought I was special.”
“I got one,” Lottie admits while arranging Christmas cake pops in a display shaped like a tree. “Everett and Noah got one, too. Although I have no idea who that little old spooky lady was who was passing them out like Halloween candy.”
“That spooky old lady would be my Nona Jo,” I confess. “And you hit the spooky nail on the head.”
Lottie gasps. “So what’s it all about? The envelope had that creepy gold writing on black paper that screams either ‘exclusive party’ or ‘human sacrifice.’”
“Honestly? Nona Jo might be into both,” I tell them, setting down my piping bag before my hand permanently fuses to it. “And I have no idea what’s about to transpire. My money is on the human sacrifice.”
