Chapter 2
EMMIE
“Mom, mom, mom! Today is the business fair! I’m all ready! Do you like my outfit?”
Thank goodness I’ve already had my first cup of coffee this morning. My sweet eight-year-old boy jumps out of bed, ready to conquer the day. I, on the other hand, need a bit more time to fully wake up.
“You look so handsome and professional! You’re going to be great today, bud. Hey, have you looked outside yet?”
Rowan rushes to the dining room window and lets out a squeal, his almost-too-tight Easter suit from last spring a stark contrast to the snow outside.
“Mom, the first snow all winter! This is really going to be a great day!”
He takes off, tearing around the house, jabbering to himself about all the things he will sell, what he wants to buy, and just general excitement.
“Five minutes, bud. Did you brush teeth and take your vitamins?”
“Oops. I forgot. I was too excited about my suit.”
I point down the hall and Rowan skips his way to finish his morning tasks, giving me a couple more moments of silence with my coffee.
As we get loaded into the car, I hand Rowan a five-dollar bill so he can buy a few things and promise him I’ll see him at 1 pm— right when the Spring Creek Business Fair opens.
“See you soon, Mom!” He scurries out of the car, shoving the five-dollar bill deep into his pocket.
And just like that, my little car is far too quiet. Thankfully, it’s a short day of work with just two clients this morning. I took the afternoon off so I can spend time taking in the business fair, chatting with friends, and having a more laid-back afternoon.
That’s one of the things I love about having my own business.
I can set my hours and, as long as my bills are paid, there’s no problems. My folks are great about helping me with Rowan if he gets sick or something—but mostly it’s just the two of us since his dad left a few years back. We manage just fine.
It’s 12:50. Time to officially close up shop and head toward the school.
I may do a little paperwork later today, or I may not.
Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. I’m all caught up with all my billing through November, so finishing December’s numbers in January will still give me plenty of time to have taxes ready.
Spring Creek Elementary always goes way out for the annual business fair. Everything is decorated. It starts on the walkway outside with candy canes placed along the sidewalk. The minute you walk inside the main doors, Christmas trees of all sizes are everywhere.
Each grade level has their own themed tree, plus a staff tree, and various trees from the different school organizations. Judging the trees is one of the hardest parts because I never know which one is the best. I decide I’ll wait until I’m walking out, or they do the last call to cast my vote.
As I make my way down the hallway, I see a variety of friendly faces looking through the many art pieces the elementary students have put up to decorate the hallway.
Many are Spring Creek locals, but I also love how often former students and graduates of all ages come back to support the kids.
It’s gotten to the place where many do a fair share of their Christmas shopping right here from the kids.
Knowing that, Rowan did something a bit unconventional for a little boy.
He said he noticed that it’s mostly women who buy products from me at the salon.
He said, “Boys think that smelly stuff is gross, Mom.” That gave me a good chuckle.
But he decided to cater more toward women’s products this year instead of kids or men. We will see how it works out for him.
But with my help, he made a variety of homemade bath salts and scrubs— complete with fancy labels he designed himself.
His goal is to sell out, and I think it just might happen.
We’ve put a lot of hours into his little entrepreneurship project in the last few weeks.
Plus, he had to write a paper and business plan at school, too.
I love how every year the school builds on it as the students’ ability levels grow with age.
As I walk into the gym, I see an older woman leaving Rowan’s table with a jar of his bath scrub in her hands. He is beaming, and the smile only gets bigger when he makes eye contact. He’s a bit too cool this year to wave at me, but that smile is all the reason I need to keep showing up every year.
“How’s it going, bud?”
“That was my first sale. She said she might come back for another scent, but she has to budget herself to not overspend.”
“Well, that’s very smart of her.”
“Did you see these, Mom?”
Rowan is looking at the table next to him.
As I glance over, I see two boys I don’t recognize.
They’re probably brothers, based on their similar faces but four-inch height difference.
They are selling hand-painted toy cars for three dollars each.
The sign on the front of their table says “Creed’s Junkyard: No Lemon Guarantee. ”
“Don’t they look cool, mom? I wouldn’t complain if one of them ended up under the Christmas tree. Remember, my favorite color is green.”
I smile at my son but turn my attention toward the two boys sitting behind the toy car table.
“Did you paint these yourselves?”
“Yes, we both worked very hard,” the older boys tells me. “My brother Jim here painted the bodies, and then I did the detail work.”
Little Jim stands there beaming, quietly backing up his brother’s words.
“Well, that’s awesome. And how did you get the name Creed’s Junkyard?”
“That’s our dad!”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s so awesome of you two to support your dad. Why don’t you each pick out your favorite green car. But don’t let the kid next to you see,” I whisper.
The boys look over at Rowan. “That’s my son, and you’re picking out one of his Christmas presents.”
The two boys light up as they turn their backs toward Rowan to pick his gifts. “Rowan’s in second grade, like me!”
“And what about you?” I ask the older brother.
“I’m Bart. I’m a fourth grader.”
Recognition hits. These boys started the school year here in August. Jim is the new second grader, and Rowan had told me he had an older brother at the big side of the elementary building. And I bet their dad is the new mechanic in town.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Bart. Jim.” I shake each boy's hand.
“That’ll be six dollars, ma’am.” Bart tries to use a deeper voice, but it cracks, and little Jim has to stifle his giggles.
“You two are awesome. Thank you! I’ll see you boys around.”
As I turn to walk away, I run smack dab into a tall, muscular man with a solid frame. His hands automatically reach out to steady me before I topple over.
“Whoa there.” His voice is a low rumble that makes my stomach do an unexpected flip.
I step back, suddenly aware of how close we are. The scent of motor oil and something distinctly masculine clings to him. His green eyes narrow slightly as he studies my face, probably wondering why I am staring back at him.
“Sorry, I was just buying from these two boys and didn’t look where I was going.”
“Dad, this lady just bought two of our cars!” Jim excitedly yells out.
I look back at Mr. Muscles. He crosses his arms over his chest, the movement causing the muscles beneath his worn t-shirt to flex. There’s a smudge of grease on his forearm, evidence of his day’s work at the garage.
“Creed, I’m Emmie.” I extend my hand so we can properly greet each other.
“And what makes you think I’m Creed?” He makes no effort to return my offer of a handshake.
“Well, the boys told me they named their sign after you.” I drop my hand.
Creed looks over at the boys’ sign and rolls his eyes. “I told them not to do that.”
“Well, they were pretty excited to tell me about you. And my son will be excited to have a couple custom painted toy cars under the tree.”
“And which one’s yours?”
I motion to the table behind us, and Creed again rolls his eyes. “Great. Bath salts.”
Rowan must have caught the last two words because he is suddenly paying attention and turning into a little salesman.
“I’m sure a special lady would love a bath scrub!” Rowan offers, excited about the possibility of another sale.
Creed ignores him. Thankfully, Rowan doesn’t have time to notice before another customer walks up to his table.
“You know, a little relaxation might be just what you need.” Gruff as he may seem, I don’t want my conversation with Creed to end just yet.
“Unless it comes with a mute button for my kids, I’m not interested.”
“I bet I could throw in a couple earplugs,” I smirk.
“Dad, we all know you need to relax more,” Bart whisper shouts from his table.
“Great, mutiny. Just what I need this Christmas.”
With that, Mr. Scrooge walks over to Rowan’s table, asks for the manliest scent he has, pays, gives me half a smirk, and walks away.