Oh, Gingersnap!

By Sonja N. Griffing

Event planner, Grace Stewart, learned the hard way that the only thing more painful than broken bones was a broken heart. When her fiancé dumped her after learning she had Osteogenesis Imperfecta ('brittle bone disease'), Grace swore off all men. That is, until she and super sexy pediatric orthopedic surgeon, Raphael Herrera, are partnered up to host the hospital's annual Pediatric Holiday Cookie Bazaar. Their chemistry is cooking more than Rafe's world-famous gingersnaps, and Grace starts to wonder if their partnership might just be the perfect recipe for a happily ever after.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509240647

Sonja N. Griffing

Sonja N. Griffing started writing and staging theatrical productions at 4 years old. Her grandmother assures her they were of the highest Quality. After attaining a BA in English with an Emphasis in Creative Writing at the University of Washington, Sonja went on to get her Masters in Teaching from the same school and spent the next 8 years in Kindergarten. Now a mother of three, Sonja spends her time studying the craft of writing, joking with her husband and kids, painting with Bob Ross, and making people live, and lose, and love inbetween the margins of a page.

Book preview

Here. Rafe tossed her a blanket. This might make you more comfortable.

Thanks. Grace tucked herself inside. His unexpected consideration warmed her as much as the blanket. She studied him, for the first time noticing the figure-hugging black sweater under his lab coat. Worn jeans rested low on his hips, and he smelled like coffee and pine tar. Her mouth went dry.

Needing distance, she sank into the chair. How far are you into the cookie party planning process?

The cookies have been assigned, including specific dietary need options. We have last year’s decorations, and the room’s reserved. He spread his hands and shrugged. What have I missed, Ms. Stewart?

Don’t call me that. I sound like someone’s maiden aunt. Which never bothered her at work. From that pair of lips, though, it wasn’t right.

Aren’t you someone’s aunt? He pointed to the scribbled artwork peeking out of her sling.

She tucked it under her blanket. Call me Grace. And no offense to your planning acumen, but I’m sure I’ll find something you’re missing.

His warm gaze met hers. I’m Rafe.

Rafe. It suited him. And it changed everything. The hospital fell away. The wheelchair. Their respective roles as doctor and patient. She was a scantily clad woman in proximity to a gorgeous man who couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. If she wasn’t sitting, her knees would’ve buckled because, for the first time in forever, she wanted something more than her career.

And that was far scarier than broken bones.

Oh, Gingersnap!

by

Sonja N. Griffing

Christmas Cookies

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Oh, Gingersnap!

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Sonja N. Griffing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2021

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4064-7

Christmas Cookies

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To the OI Community

for their openness and bravery.

To Dan who gets me to the start

and to Wordcrafty and Dark & Storied Night

for seeing me through to the end.

And always to Grandma—my forever biggest fan.

Chapter One

Hospitals always smelled the same. Grace exhaled, expelling the acrid sanitizer and bleach smell from her lungs. With it clung the memories of endless hours staring at dimpled ceiling panels and counting holes. Empty of air, the hollowness in her chest filled with the deep-seated sense of loneliness that accompanied her with each new bone break and hospital visit.

She inhaled sharply and adjusted the neckline of her post-surgical gown. Enough of that.

Using the bed remote, she rose to a sitting position and scanned her room. Behind the blessedly empty folding chairs her family had scattered like popcorn hung her patient whiteboard. Grace Stewart, distal radius fracture. Then, sandwiched between asterisks, OSTEOGENESIS IMPERFECTA Type 1. The brittle bone disease label she’d carried her entire life. From the way her muscles ached, she’d slept off most of her medications. If she pretended not to feel pain, Dr. Barnes might release her, giving her time to focus on her next work event.

Sneakers squeaked in the hallway, drawing her attention to the door. A male nurse steered a computer cart past, and Grace’s older sister trailed after, eyes glued firmly on his backside. Grace coughed, and Harmony turned, flashing a Cheshire Cat grin. She staggered into the room, holding a shopping bag in one hand and fanning tendrils of red-gold curls from her freckled cheeks with the other.

"Oh my, Gracie! I know it’s December, but I’m feeling a bit overheated. Between that nurse and the doctors here, it’s like we’re on the set of some medical drama called Hotties General." She plopped down on a nearby folding chair.

Grace flinched as phantom pains shot to her previous breaks. A twinge of jealousy flared at Harmony’s carelessness. Even though Harmony also had type 1 OI, she hadn’t been diagnosed until recently, when her own daughter started breaking bones. Grace couldn’t imagine forgetting the way her sister often did.

Hot doctors are a Seattle thing. Grace forced a casual shrug. Because of popular television, we can only hire attractive medical professionals. She peered past Harmony. Are you…um, alone?

Harmony took a seated bow, her long curls almost sweeping the floor. You’re welcome. While you slept, I hustled Mom and our overbearing brothers to their cars with the usual post-surgery platitudes. Moira’s dad picked her up, so I came back for some sister time.

The tension in Grace’s spine eased. She loved her family, but they could be…smothering. And awkward. Before surgery, they’d expressed sympathy, giving advice on self-care. But when the medical talk ended, the conversation died.

Admit it. You came to stare at that nurse’s butt. Which is presumably what you were doing when your daughter released her inner artist on my wrist brace. She raised her arm, showing off a cluster of brand-new asymmetrical triangles. Guess you can’t trust a second grader with permanent markers when you’re passed out on pain meds anymore.

I blame her father. Harmony studied Moira’s ‘happy little trees.’ My ex promised her a bike for Christmas, and I got to be the bad guy who said, ‘not yet.’

Grace’s stomach churned. Seeing her niece affected by Osteogenesis Imperfecta was one of the reasons she’d resolved never to have kids. She just didn’t have it in her to be as diligent with other people if she passed on the gene or to make the important decisions her sister made for Moira every day.

I’m sorry. Grace crisscrossed her legs and pasted on her most innocent smile. Let’s talk hot doctors, instead. It’s Dr. Barnes, isn’t it? How sad. You’re barely thirty, and you’ve already given up on our generation.

Eww. Harmony looked horrified. He’s like our uncle. She quirked a brow. "And you have no idea what our generation offers. Do you even notice the opposite gender anymore, or are you still married to your job?"

A vision of toned, sand-colored legs, broad shoulders, and rippling abs swam to Grace’s mind. Followed by the squared chin and warm smile of a dark-haired man in a pool-drenched, brief-style swimsuit. The gym Neptune she’d been thirsting for the past few months. She shook her head to dispel the image, afraid she’d start to drool.

Harmony’s lips twitched. Don’t answer that. Your red face gives you away.

I’ll tell you about my gym god if you tell me why you’re all hot for Uncle Doctor.

Gym god, huh? Harmony pulled a hairbrush, perfume, a half-dozen lip glosses, and a tissue-wrapped bundle from her shopping bag, arranging them on the tray table. You’re gonna regret teasing me about Dr. Bones when the drugs wear off. Might as well look fabulous while you wallow in shame.

Shame? You’re the one who calls my world-class surgeon, Dr. Bones.

He was Dr. Bones to us before you needed training bras.

Grace glanced down. At twenty-eight years old, she was scarcely out of training bras.

Harmony combed the tangles from Grace’s hair and fluffed the ends. Thank goodness for dry shampoo. With a satisfied grunt, she spritzed the air with rose-scented perfume. You know Dr. Bones has been in lust with mom since forever?

Lust with Mom? Now who’s being gross?

Grow up. Harmony unwrapped the tissue, revealing a pile of emerald green silk. "I brought