Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Betty
Narrator: While Max goes to work—after putting on some clothes—there’s something else brewing around town.
Something that could definitely threaten Max this holiday season.
Remember those invaders? Well, they weren’t a figment of Max’s imagination. No, they were very real. And we’re about to find out exactly who they are.
And what they want.
“Morning.” Uncle Dwight lifts his cup of coffee in greeting as I walk into the kitchen, fully dressed for the day.
After going for a run this morning where the cold mountain air nearly froze my lungs and the ice on the sidewalks almost caused me to break a leg, I decided I might need to get a membership at the local gym.
Well, if that’s what you want to call it.
It’s a room in the back of the Polar Freeze with three treadmills, one weight-lifting bench, and several dumbbells in a variety of sizes that don’t match up.
“Morning,” I say as I pull a coffee cup from the mug tree next to his coffee maker and pour myself some much-needed caffeine.
“How was your run?” Uncle Dwight is at the kitchen table with a take-out container of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him.
Apparently he takes a walk into town every morning and picks up breakfast. It’s his way of “exercising” despite it being a two-minute walk. But I can’t knock a person’s routine.
“It was good,” I say, leaning against the counter.
He’s only five years older than me. We’re a part of one of “those” families where the uncle is nearly the same age as the niece. And oddly, I grew up calling him Uncle Dwight because my family thought it was funny, and it just stuck. I’d feel weird calling him anything else at this point.
“I will say maybe not the smartest decision. Nearly died running around the corner right in front of Baubles and Wrappings. I slid across some ice and knocked over a metal statue of Santa Claus. It fell over with a clunk.”
“I know exactly what statue you’re talking about. They always have it there.”
“Why? Seems like a hazard if you ask me.”
“The Dankworths, who own Baubles and Wrappings, are fined every year for having it out on the corner because it’s been such a hazard. Bob Krampus has asked them several times to get rid of it and they won’t. So now they just get fined.”
“And Bob Krampus is . . .”
“Sometimes I forget you’re not completely familiar with the town. He’s Santa and the unofficial mayor of Kringle.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. “Still learning all this. So the Dankworths are okay with paying the fine?”
“Yup. Bob Krampus takes the money from the fine and invests in salt for the corner, which his son, Bob Krampus Junior, puts out every morning.”
“Well, he missed it this morning,” I say.
“You were out running before everything was opened.”
“True.” I think about it for a second. “But the statue was out. Do they not take it in every night? And if it’s such a hazard, why don’t people just steal it?”
“Great question. They have cameras on it at all times. No one dares to touch it. The Dankworths are one of the wealthier families in town, and you don’t want to mess with them.”
“Sounds like a real Godfather situation.”
“You could say that.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “So what do you think about the proposal I gave you yesterday?”
I take a seat at the kitchen table and cross one leg over the other. “When you say it like that, it sounds like you’re referring to a marriage proposal.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean, Betty.”
“I know. I’m just procrastinating on answering you.”
He sets his cup of coffee down and wipes his fingers on his napkin before sitting back in his chair. “I’ll be frank with you, Betty, because it seems like no one else in your life is laying down the truth.”
He’s right about that.
“You’re currently unemployed. You’re single.
And you’re living with your parents in their basement, crocheting because you have nothing else to do with your life besides visit the senior living center on Thursday nights, where you puzzle with people whose names are Murgatroyd, Harold, and Henrietta. ”
“Murgatroyd, Harold, and Harriet,” I correct him.
“My mistake.”
“It’s forgiven.”
“Seriously, Betty. What are you doing with your life that could possibly prevent you from accepting my proposal?”
Nothing.
There is absolutely nothing holding me back other than fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of moving. But most importantly, fear of failing.
After closing down my year-round Christmas shop—my baby—in Fort Collins after a year of being opened, I just don’t think I can stomach another project with the possibility of failing once again.
Not to mention I wasn’t mentally prepared for such a proposal.
When my family came to Kringletown for Thanksgiving, I assumed it would be a nice family get-together where we played some games, ate some pie, and fell asleep watching football, but then Uncle Dwight asked if I wanted to go for a walk, and since I had four slices of pie, I thought it would be a good decision to walk some of it off.
I had no idea he’d take me to a piece of land that he purchased ten years ago, when he was a fresh twenty-year-old, looking to invest the money his mom’s father left him.
And it is quite the piece of land.
Tall, full pines, a picturesque view of the mountains where the trees part, and a ton of acreage where you can do pretty much anything.
But Uncle Dwight has a plan. He wants to build a Christmas farm.
As he pitched it, a place where people can come and celebrate the season.
Where they can enjoy hot chocolate they purchased at the hot chocolate bar and sit around the fireplace while live music plays in the background.
A place where visitors can see the inner workings of Santa’s workshop, a glimpse into the North Pole, with shops and rides.
It . . . it actually sounds like a great idea.
And the crazy thing, he wants me to head it up.
He nudges me with his foot under the table. “Come on. Say yes.”
I shake my head. “I . . . I don’t know. This is all such a surprise. I have a life in Fort Collins. I—”
“Tell me about your life again.” He lifts a questioning brow.
“My family is in Fort Collins.”
“Which is drivable,” he counters. “It’s not like you’re moving to Alaska.”
“Yes, but . . . Buzz is in Fort Collins.”
“And who is Buzz?” Uncle Dwight asks.
“My tarantula,” I answer. “And he cannot live without me. I bet he’s barely surviving now, being all alone.”
“Is Buzz in a cage cemented to the ground?”
“No,” I answer.
“Then Buzz can move with you.”
Yes, I saw that coming, but I thought I’d give it a shot.
“What, uh . . . what about my clothes? I have clothes in Fort Collins.” It’s a very weak argument. Even I know that. But I’m grasping at straws over here.
Uncle Dwight levels his gaze at me. “Betty, you need this. I know what losing the store did to you. I’ve seen how it’s decimated your spirit.
And yes, we have all given you time to run through the emotions of losing something so special to you, but now it’s time to pick yourself up and do something new.
Try your hand at creating and building again. ”
God, why am I feeling emotional?
I don’t want to feel emotions, not in front of Uncle Dwight.
I look away and take a deep breath before saying, “I don’t . . . I don’t think I’m the right person for the job. I couldn’t keep my little shop open, so how on earth do you think I can make your plans become a reality? This is so much bigger, so much more work, so many more moving parts.”
“That’s not something you need to worry about.
I have the resources you need, and you’re building a business in a year-round Christmas town, where people come to experience the holiday season.
There have only been two businesses that have shut down in this town.
” He holds up his fingers. “The first one was an accounting business, and that storefront closed because they pulled their business in-house. The second one was a chain restaurant attempting to needle their way into our charming town. As a whole, no one went there on pure principle, so it went out of business. Every other proprietor that has opened a business in Kringle has succeeded. Trust me, the chances of success here are high.”
I mull that over for a moment, because he is right. Every time I’ve come to visit, it’s always the same restaurants, the same businesses year after year.
“And I could really use your help. You’re so savvy with creating a charming aesthetic, with social media, with building a business in the digital age.”
“Yeah, and then plowing it right into the ground,” I huff.
“Hey,” he snaps. When our eyes meet, he says, “The reason your business failed is not because of you but because of the location. If you started that shop here in town, you would be thriving. It wasn’t the idea. If it was the idea, you wouldn’t have over fifty thousand followers on Instagram.”
I refuse to acknowledge that point because I’m still living in my feels of being a failure.
Though I do still have all those followers, and I continue to feed them with content even though I don’t have a store anymore.
Would those followers increase if I opened my operation here in Kringle?
Would they bring business? Would they still believe in my dreams and me?
“I don’t know—”
“Tell me one reason why you can’t do it. One solid reason.”
I twist my lips to the side, thinking it over. I know whatever I say, he won’t consider it a valid reason, so I decide to go with what I’m really feeling. “I’m scared.”
He nods. “Now that’s a valid reason but one we can overcome.
This time, you won’t have to do it alone, as I will be your sounding board as well as head up operations when it comes time to build.
You will be the think tank, and I have the capital for you to do just that.
The idea is there. We just need to execute, and I can’t think of anyone better suited for the job than you. ”
I tug on the corner of my lip.
“Come on. Just say yes. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Blowing out a heavy breath, I close my eyes and say, “Fine, I’m in.”