Christmas Confection Perfection – Advent Calendar Day #1
Day #1 – Red Wagon Destiny
Mary
The little red wagon rolled down the sidewalk, fulfilling its Christmas destiny. Loaded to the brim with holiday goodies, its wheels thu-thumped over pesky cracks—undeterred by uneven pavement and old superstitions about mothers’ backs. The scent of cookies, bread, and croissants lingered in the frosty morning air like a fragrant wake behind the wagon. Heads turned, mouths watered, but the wagon didn’t stop for the curious…destiny never does.
The little red wagon had carried plenty of ordinary loads in its life; carrying things like groceries, books, and laundry. But at Christmas, it seemed to take on a grander purpose, and Mary sometimes wondered if it pulled her along more than she pulled it.
Mary Stapleton was a good steward to the wagon and just as cheerful as the bright red paint. Her lean frame was bundled in a large coat and scarf, her long brown hair was in its usual messy bun, and her cheeks were softly smudged with flour from her early morning baking session.
Much like other mornings, Mary pulled the wagon along the sidewalk, navigating stoplights, people, and intrigued dogs. Her brown eyes sparkled as she waved to a few people she recognized, but she otherwise kept on with her journey.
Snowflakes started drifting down from the gloomy morning sky above, a sharp contrast to the flittering city lights of frosted red, green and white. The fresh flakes added to the slushy piles of snow that already lay in heaps along sidewalk edges and storefront doors, leftovers from the storm that had passed through the week prior.
Mary glanced back at the wagon and smiled. Holiday colors and the extra kick of cinnamon made her heart leap a little. Abigail would be singing a Christmas song right now if she was still here. The thought of her sister made Mary both happy and sad. For a moment, she wished she had someone to share the load with again. But she shook the sadness away and pressed on, Abigail would insist on being happy…it was Christmas time after all.
She slowed as the Rosewood Café came into view. It was a cozy little place that looked as if it belonged in a French village rather than the center of a bustling city.
“Hello, Mary!” Leeann called from behind the counter as Mary guided the wagon through the door, bells jingling above her head.
“Good morning!” Mary smiled. She’d been delivering baked goods here for the better part of three years; stopping in the mornings was as routine now as brushing her own teeth.
Fond as she was of Leeann, Mary made quick work unpacking the treats. Leeann gasped theatrically over each one of the delicious goodies. Soon Mary and the red wagon were back on the sidewalk, bound for their next stop
By the time the duo finished two more stops, Mary’s thoughts had drifted to the day ahead. It was barely seven, and she’d already been up for hours, chasing the day like it might outrun her, prepping and loading. The rest of her day would be fairly ordinary with shopping, baking, filming her baking vlog, and running to the Christmas tree lot. Ordinary… for now.
Mary’s next stop was a coffee shop adjacent to a used bookstore. The smell of coffee and books hit like a spell as soon as Mary walked through the door. Charlie, the shop owner, waved emphatically and walked over, his aged face a bit red from the warmers.
“Let’s see what you’ve brought today.” Charlie leaned eagerly over the wagon as Mary lifted out colorful boxes one by one.
“Almond croissants, cranberry scones, and chocolate swirl bread,” Mary recited.
Charlie closed his eyes as if dreaming. “Be still my heart. If I didn’t have paying customers, I’d lock the door and eat these all myself.”
Mary laughed, handing the last box over. “Don’t tempt me either. I’ve already had to fight myself not to sample.”
“You always bring so much willpower with you,” Charlie teased, then lowered his voice. “Don’t suppose you’ve baked those cardamom knots again?”
Mary lifted her brows. “Only on Thursdays.”
Charlie groaned. “I’ll survive until Thursday then. Well, I hope I will.”
The two parted with smiles and Mary and the red wagon were off again.
Back on the sidewalk, the wagon trailed faithfully behind, never questioning the path. Mary sometimes wished she had the same certainty about her own direction.
The city was more awake now that it was closer to eight AM. Buses rumbled, shopkeepers unlocked doors, and office workers hurried by with coffee cups clutched like lifelines. Mary maneuvered the wagon along, pausing to let a stroller cross. She made two more stops (another café and a boutique hotel), her hands busy with trays and boxes, her smile steady with her customers.
Life was ordinary, predictable, and safe.
And yet, as she tugged the wagon past shop windows strung with lights, an ache stirred inside. Christmas without her sister always felt unfinished, as though someone had skipped the most important page of a favorite book.
She drew her scarf tighter against the chill, determined to shake the melancholy. There were customers to serve, videos to film, and bread to bake. No use dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Still, a whisper of restlessness followed her down the sidewalk, keeping pace with the little red wagon.
She pulled it along behind her, tugging it steadily toward its next stop, toward its destiny…or perhaps toward her own.
Ashton
A long line of code scrolled across the screen, waiting for his final keystroke. Ashton Montgomery leaned forward, grey eyes focused, scanning for errors. Everything checked out, no bugs, no mismatched brackets. It was perfect. He hit enter and the program ran clean. Another success.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Ashton closed the lid of his laptop and glanced at the clock…running late, of course. Standing from his “desk,” he went about the task of gathering up his computer bag, coat, and breakfast…only to remember he had no breakfast options in his apartment.
Still moving in, boxes cluttered every corner of the one-bedroom apartment, some were even fashioned into temporary tables and staging surfaces. The fridge, also moderately hidden behind a few boxes, was largely empty. Only a gallon of milk and some leftover takeout graced the cold shelves inside. Breakfast of new beginnings, he thought wryly. He would have to remember to stop by a store and shop…alone, for the first time in a long time he would have to start shopping alone again.
The big move to the city to start over again had been his aunt’s idea. A fresh start after a soured long-term relationship. A new environment to go along with all the new habits he would have to establish.
It’s all for the best. Or at least that was what he kept repeating to himself.
With a sigh, Ashton pulled his coat over his broad shoulders, straightened his tie, and made his way toward his door. Headed out for the interview that would give him the new job in the new city with the new habits.
He locked the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time, his breath clouding in the hall’s chill. His mind already focused solely on the interview and, more pressingly, on finding a quick bite to eat.
Outside, the city hummed with morning activity.
Across the street, a red wagon rattled down the sidewalk, pulled by a pretty brunette he didn’t see. Not yet.
Mary
Mary’s last delivery of the morning was at the Whispering Hearth, a haven for all things cozy and comforting. The warm café kept the lights low, no matter the time of day or year. Doilies softened every table, shelves on the walls hosted worn classics, and twinkle lights glowed alongside flickering candles in the corners. Writers and romantics filled the place day or night, all of them with mugs cupped in their hands. On snowy days like this, Mary often wished she could sink into one of the overstuffed chairs and just stay the day away staring out the window and dreaming.
Instead of losing herself in the cozy atmosphere of the café though, she tugged the red wagon to the counter and handed Mrs. O’Hara her usual box of sweetbread and muffins. The old woman’s smile crinkled at the edges. “And what can I get for you, dear? You look like you need something special this snowy morning.”
“You always know the day, don’t you? Let’s do hot chocolate, extra marshmallows, and Irish cream.” Mary decided quickly.
“Just like your sister liked it.” Mrs. O’Hara poured the drink, steam curling up. A pot of hot chocolate was always on hand, and marshmallows and a variety of creams were never too far from reach.
Mary smiled at the repeated reminder of her sister; she wouldn’t be able to shake the melancholy today it seemed.
This was the third Christmas without Abigail. Her older sister had always loved Christmas, the music, the lights, the way the world seemed to soften for a few weeks each year. Even when the hospital room had smelled more of antiseptic than sugar, Abby had insisted on decorating a gingerbread house, its frosting smudged by IV tape and determination. Mary had baked through that whole last winter, clinging to the warmth of the oven when everything else had gone cold. She still did, she supposed. Baking made the world feel steady.
“Here you go, dear.” Mrs. O’Hara said as she extended a cup over the mahogany counter, breaking Mary from her thoughts and memories.
“Thank you,” Mary snapped back to the present and accepted the steaming cup.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” The old woman waved.
Mary turned to grab a napkin, tugging the wagon behind her. She shook her shoulders as if she could shake off the pain that would forever linger. It never went away, but some days she was able to turn it into something productive…volunteering, a new recipe, a great video, sharing a memory.
Today she would try helping a fellow business owner with a promotional video.
As she moved away from the counter, Mary pulled her cellphone out of her coat pocket and quickly tapped into an app. A couple seconds later, a live stream was about to launch. Mary’s followers loved when she reported on where to find goodies in the city, and she loved to promote other businesses.
Just as the stream started, from the corner of her eye, Mary noticed a man in a black suit standing at the counter, his drink resting on the marble while he texted something into his own phone.
In the heartbeat it took her to reach for the napkin, Mary looked directly at the man and decided two things. One, he was new to this café as it was usually haunted by regulars (she would have remembered him). And two, he was amazingly handsome. Not a devastating kind of handsome, but an incredibly, tongue-tied, why is he talking to me much less breathing the same air as me, kind of handsome. The kind of handsome that Mary wouldn’t want to risk a chance encounter or conversation with. No, no, too handsome to have words with.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mary made the safe decision to shake him from her mind. She looked into her phone and the steam went live, “Hi everyone, I am at the Whispering Hearth and wanted to report that the peppermint bark they are famous for is currently in stock. They have a selection of it near the register…if you have a chance to stop in this morning…”
As Mary spoke the words, the handsome man made a sudden move to leave with a great deal of urgency.
Fortunately, he didn’t collide with Mary in his haste.
Unfortunately, instead, his shin rammed right into the side of the little red wagon.
In a rush of movement, flailing arms, and spilling waves of hot beverage, the man toppled forward and crashed to the floor.
Mary yelped as she turned. In a desperate attempt to grab and steady him, her phone fell out of her hands and smacked the ground.
“I am so sorry!” Mary panicked as she tried to help him up.
“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. O’Hara rushed from behind the counter to look after her customer.
The poor guy seemed baffled by what just happened and looked over his shoulder at the wagon that stood innocently in the middle of the walkway. “I’m okay.” He said to both women. “I should watch where I am going.”
“Mary…” Mrs. O’Hara said sternly eyeing the wagon.
Mary winced, heat rising on her cheeks. “I really didn’t mean to create a hazard.”
The man stood and looked down at his suit, which was covered in his spilled beverage.
“Are you hurt?” Mary asked.
The man moved his arm. “Oh no, it’s broken.”
“Is it your wrist?” Mary panicked.
He reached and picked up her phone, before holding it out for her. “Your phone.” The screen was a spiderweb of cracks.
Mary’s stomach dropped as she accepted the device from him. “Oh…” Her voice wavered, then she forced a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s old anyway. Are you okay?”
“I’ll get you a new drink.” Mrs. O’Hara hurried away, flustered and unsure what else to do to help.
“I guess I tripped on…a wagon?” The man said as he worked to collect himself. He grabbed a handful of napkins and dabbed at a stain on his suit. “That wagon yours?”
“It’s mine.” Mary admitted with some hesitation.
The man gave a small smile, his eyes lighting up. “Aren’t you a little old for that?” He asked with humor.
Mary wanted to die from embarrassment. “It’s my…delivery…truck.”
His mouth quirked and his eyes (a stormy grey-green, she realized) sized up the cart. “Great gas mileage, I bet.”
“Something like that.” She wished the floor would swallow her whole.
Mrs. O’Hara reappeared with a steaming replacement drink. “You’re not going to sue us, are you?”
The man laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, ma’am. I’ll just remember next time that you allow low-profile delivery trucks in here.”
“Mary, I’ll have to ask you to leave it outside from now on,” Mrs. O’Hara said firmly, though kindly.
Mary nodded. “Of course.”
The man smiled once more, polite and disarming, before gathering his drink and heading for the door.
“Again, so sorry.” Mary called out and he shook his head, indicating that she should just forget about it. They exchanged quick, embarrassed waves, and then he was gone.
Mary said another apology to Mrs. O’Hara who scurried off to help customers who were not waiting in line.
Mary waited a moment for the handsome man to be far enough away, then headed back outside herself.
She tugged the wagon into the cold air, cheeks still burning with embarrassment. She glanced down at her shattered phone screen that suddenly lit up again.
Her blood froze.
The red “live” icon blinked in the corner of her screen.
A groan escaped her lips…she had just live streamed the entire disaster.