A Naughty Christmas Affair: Fake Dating My Ex Boyfriend's Brothers

Autumn

The end of the business day always follows the same sort of rhythm. Counting and cashing out the register. Packing up any leftovers from the day’s baked goods to sort in the morning. Whatever is still good put on a discount and anything else donated to people who will appreciate the treats, even if they are a day or so old. Sweeping the floors, wiping down the surfaces, making sure everything is locked up.

It’s usually soothing, a kind of meditative thing, even if it is work. There’s something about a routine and doing it in the quiet of my bakery that always makes me feel at peace, no matter how hectic the day has been.

Of course, that usually requires there to be some peace to be found, and talking with my mother has a way of sucking the peace right out of any situation.

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder, sorting scones into two separate bags while I listen to her go on.

“It’s one dinner, Autumn,” she says, and the disappointment and exasperation are already heavy in her voice. “It would mean a lot to your sister for you to be here.”

I suppress a snort at that—barely. Rhiannon won’t care if I’m not there. It’ll just mean more snide comments behind my back instead of to my face.

“Mom, I don’t know,” I hedge. “It’s the holidays, and you know that’s a busy time for me. I have to be up early in the morning to get a head start on baking. I’ve been nearly selling out every day this week, so I want to make some extras⁠—”

Mom cuts me off with a scoffing noise. “Your desserts can wait for one night, Autumn. Just sell whatever you have left over from today and come be with your family. Or is this little business of yours more important than family at the holidays?”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. It’s funny when family is always weaponized when it comes to getting me to do something I don’t really want to do, but never when it comes to supporting me.

My mom and sister have barely ever set foot into my bakery, and I know they both think it’s just a silly little business that I’m running. They don’t understand the work it takes or the late nights and early mornings.

Every time Mom calls it my ‘little business’ it makes me cringe, but no matter how often I try to tell her how much it means to me, she just doesn’t seem to get it. Probably because she doesn’t care and never will.

Why would she, when she can focus on the wedding of the daughter she actually likes?

“It’s still my job, Mom. Whether it’s as important as family or not, I have bills to pay, and I can’t just slack off. This is an important time for me.”

Not that that matters to her.

“It’s also an