When Kate tripped down the stairs at 4:15 the next morning, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper.
“Morning,” he said, raising his mug. “Fresh pot.”
“I could use some of that.”
“Heard about your offer,” Sam said as he turned a page and folded the paper. “One of the resorts?”
“Yeah, they finally tried some of my stuff,” Kate said, filling a cup. “They want to put me on the special events team.”
“Imagine that’s good money,” he said.
“Not bad. And they’re promising raises and bonuses, if they like my work. Lot of hours, though. So you guys won’t see me around town as much.”
Sam nodded.
“I made something I wanted to show you,” Kate said. “A gift. To say ‘thank you.’”
She walked over to the counter, carefully lifted the cardboard box, revealing the gingerbread house.
Sam stared at it, transfixed. He walked toward it. A foot from the counter, he bent over—tilting his head as if he was searching for something. Slowly, he reached out an index finger and gently touched a window. The window with the red ginger flower.
His face lit up in a smile. “Wonderful.”
“Cookies make people happy,” Kate said. “They make me happy when I bake them. And when I see other people enjoy them. People need that. People in Coral Cay need that.”
“Saw Maxi’s chart,” Sam admitted.
“This isn’t about the chart. Or profits and losses. People want to celebrate the good moments. Sometimes that’s sharing chocolate cookies on the beach with your little ones. Sometimes it’s singing around a birthday cake. Or a birthday cookie. Which, believe it or not, are bizarrely popular.”
Sam smiled and held up his hands. “Sold.”
“Really?”
“Time to think recently,” he said, studying the house. “Realized some things. Love this place. Love baking. But can’t spend all my days here.”
He stopped and looked down at the floor.
“Need a business partner,” he started. “Junior partner. New ideas. But no crazy notions. Someone with a good head. Can’t offer much. You’ve seen the books.”
“So basically, you’re asking me to give up a generous salary and benefits in exchange for fifty percent of a failing business?” Kate summarized.
“Forty percent.”
“Forty-nine percent,” she countered. “Plus, I get the room upstairs and you help me hide Oliver when the health inspector comes.”
“Deal,” he said.
The baker looked longingly at the house. “Put this in the shop? For advertising?”
“We could,” Kate said tentatively. “Or we could eat it.”
Sam shook his head. “Lot of work there. That gingerbread?”
“Your favorite.”
“Just a small taste,” he said. “Mailbox looks good.”
“Break off a big piece,” Kate said happily. “They’re cookies. We can bake lots more.”