Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I dove into the comments sections of our socials, neck tight with worry that someone had posted a comment about Mary’s death.
What would I do? Ignore it? Delete it? Brush it off as a tragic accident even though I wasn’t sure that was true?
But my anxiety was for nothing. No one mentioned Mary.
There were only the usual compliments and questions.
Many followers asked about the time of the tree-lighting ceremony. I decided to create a separate post with the weekend’s agenda rather than answer people separately. I quickly designed an image in a social media graphics app and posted the notice.
That would do for the morning communication, but I wanted a beautiful town visual for a PM addition. I had planned on using one of the pics I took last night on the creek path. But now it seemed in poor taste. I’d have to come up with something else.
A knock on the door grabbed my attention, and I looked up to find Ellison Shaw, bookstore owner and resident hottie in my doorway. My eyes took in his white cable-knit sweater and well-fitting jeans.
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said.
You are. But please bother me. Bother me all day.
“Um, not at all!” I said, forcing the lust out of my voice. “Can I help you with something?”
He probably thought he could use those sky-blue eyes to sweet-talk me into spotlighting his business on the town’s socials. The truth was, he could.
He leaned casually against the door frame. “Actually, I was hoping to help you.”
Consider my interest piqued.
“How so?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
“Well, you’re new to town, but your job requires you to be a Christmasville expert. So I thought I could give you a little tour. Show you the tourist highlights, the best places to take pictures, that sort of thing.”
That was a kind offer, and part of me was hoping he had romantic ulterior motives. Plus, I had just been thinking I needed new content for an afternoon post. It was a perfect way to spend some time.
“I’d love to,” I said quickly, already rising from my seat. Then I remembered I had a job and a boss. “Oh, I’ll just have to check with Carol.”
“Carol approves!” a voice called out.
Ellison moved aside as Carol swooped into the office.
“I was just walking by and overheard,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “What a wonderful idea.”
“All right then,” I said, grabbing my purse. “It’s unanimous.”
He pointed at my heeled boots. “Do you have a pair of snow boots hanging around? You can’t venture off the sidewalk in those.”
I looked down, frowning. I hadn’t expected an adventure today.
My useful winter boots were back at the hotel.
Between my current challenge and having to grab Aaron’s arm last night on the slippery path, maybe I should retire my heeled boots completely.
“Unfortunately, my snow boots are back at the inn.”
Carol raised her finger high in the air. “What size are you?”
“Seven.”
“I’m an eight, but you’ll be fine. I have an extra pair that I always keep in my office. Let me grab them.”
A moment later, Carol returned with a pair of boots in her hand. They were bright red with a white fur trim. Not exactly my style, but it was better than wiping out in the snow in front of Ellison. I pulled my heeled boots off and slipped them on.
“Like a glove,” I said. “Thanks, Carol!”
I couldn’t believe I was spending the afternoon with a handsome townie while on the clock.
This job kept getting better and better!
Though as I looked over my shoulder on our way out and saw Carol happily waving us off, a kernel of an idea formed.
By the time we’d reached the sidewalk, that little kernel had popped in my brain.
I wouldn’t be able to continue unless I knew for sure.
“Wait,” I said, putting my hand on Ellison’s arm.
He turned to me, those eyes sparkling in the sun. “What’s wrong?”
“If I ask you a question, will you promise to tell the truth?”
He straightened his shoulders. “Of course.”
“Was this your idea or did Carol put you up to it?” I braced myself for his answer.
He gazed into my eyes for a moment. “The truth, huh?”
I nodded. “The truth.”
“Carol called and asked me if I’d be interested in showing you some spots around town that would be good for your social media campaigns.”
My heart sank into my tacky red boots.
“But,” he continued, “I was delighted when she asked because I’ve been working my brain over trying to come up with an excuse to see you since we met at the bakery.”
My breath caught in my throat as my heart worked its way back up to its anatomically correct place.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s fine.” More than fine, actually. I appreciated the total honesty. But I was a bit thrown by the fact that Carol had gone out of her way to ask Ellison to do this. Without asking me first. Without even suggesting that I needed a town tour.
Was Carol trying to distract me? And, if so, from what?
“Shall we?” he asked, arm outstretched.
I pushed Carol from my thoughts and looped my arm through his. “Sure! Where to first?”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “How about the park? It’s got scenic views, and if we’re lucky, a cocoa cart.”
“Scenic and sweet? I like your style.”
We fell into step easily, strolling at a leisurely pace.
Shop windows were decked out, each a snow globe of hand-knit scarves, glass-blown ornaments, or trays of frosted cookies.
Tourists milled about with their shopping bags, dipping in and out of stores.
Any townies that passed made a point to wave and say hello to Ellison.
My handsome companion was apparently very popular.
“Aren’t you Mr. Man About Town?” I teased, giving him a sidelong glance. “You could be mayor.”
“And run against Carol?” he scoffed. “Only if I wanted a knife in my back.”
An image of Mary face down in the creek flashed in my mind. Then the old man in the shower. I shook it off.
“So how do you like it here so far?” Ellison asked.
“I love it,” I said honestly. “It’s such a happy place.” Outside of people dropping dead, but this moment was too nice to ruin it with conversation about lifeless bodies.
A bell jingled as the door to the Sweet Shoppe opened and a giggling child dashed out. I had to stop short so as not to run into him.
He turned to us, his huge smile missing the two front teeth. He raised a lollipop high into the air. “Look what I have!”
I squinted to see the detail. “Is that a white chocolate Santa lollipop? Wow! Awesome!”
“Yeah!” He squealed with delight, then looked back at us. “I’m going to eat his head off first.”
“Oh,” I said, blinking. “Festive. And slightly terrifying.”
Ellison covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
An exhausted-looking mom rushed out from the shop and grabbed the child by the hand. “I told you to wait for me until I paid,” she said through gritted teeth.
Once they were out of earshot, we allowed ourselves a good chuckle.
“You must see a lot of that here,” I said.
“Kids are a never-ending source of entertainment,” he agreed with a nod. “I’ve seen tantrums that would scare the devil. And I’ve seen sweet moments too. I can’t wait to have my own kids someday.”
I didn’t quite know what to say to that, mainly because my ovaries were busy exploding and the whole conversation had taken over my brain.
He looked down at me with a smirk. “You’re pretty small without those heels. How tall are you?”
“Five two,” I lied. I was actually five one and a tenth. But men rounded upward all the time, so why couldn’t I?
“Can I call you Shorty?” he asked with a grin.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Short Stuff?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Shortstop?”
“Never in a million years.”
“Shortcake?”
I pinched a face and shook my head no.
He threw his head back, laughing. “Okay, no nicknames.”
“No short-themed nicknames,” I clarified. Light snowflakes began to spiral down from the blue sky. “I didn’t know it was supposed to snow today.”
“It’s not,” Ellison said. “These are just passing flurries. Though we are getting a few inches tonight.”
Don’t make the joke. Don’t make the joke. I bit my lip to stop myself, and when I looked over at Ellison, he was doing the same. Okay, similarly immature sense of humor—check.
“So,” I said quickly, redirecting. “Ellison. Is that short for something Christmas-y?”
He gave me a look. “No. At my birth, my parents didn’t foresee me moving to a Christmas-themed village in Maine three decades later.”
“Wait, you’re not a lifer?” I said, surprised.
His eyebrows rose. “A what?”
“A lifer. It’s what I mentally call people who’ve been born and raised here.”
He laughed again. It was big and throaty. Surprisingly sexy. “Christmasville is not a prison, Kelsey.”
“Not that kind of lifer,” I said with a quick roll of my eyes. “Anyway, moving on. So, when did you move here?”
His smile faltered, and he slipped his hands into his pockets. “About two years ago.”
“Where did you live before?” I asked.
He stopped and pointed ahead of us. “We’re here. Welcome to Christmasville Park.”
Main Street’s shops and restaurants ended, and while the road continued, on either side of it was the park.
The west side had a bandstand, a gazebo, and easily two dozen people dotted across the white expanse.
On the east side was a giant sleigh with a line of tourists taking family photos, the hedge maze, and in the distance, skaters circling the frozen pond.
But as I took that all in, I wondered. It had seemed like Ellison didn’t want to answer the question I’d asked. Why wouldn’t he want to talk about where he was from?
“C’mon, this way,” he said, waving me on.
But I’d stopped in my tracks, Ellison’s evasion when I mentioned his past already forgotten as a fresh idea pulsed in my brain.
The last building before the park began was a red brick store that sold Christmasville trinkets.
The front had the usual merry window display.
But the entire side of the building—which faced the park—was blank.
“That’s an opportunity,” I said, pointing.