Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
George decided to use the lull in business before the last hour of evening pickups on Thursday to hang the Christmas wreaths up in his office. They were made on-site, and were great add-ons for anyone purchasing a tree.
The scent of fresh pine filled the small office, adding to the woodsy aroma that always clung to his clothes this time of year.
George took a deep breath of it as he hammered another nail into the wooden display board he’d hung up for the wreaths next to the register, giving customers a chance to pick their add-on as they paid for their tree.
There was something about that particular smell that felt more like Christmas to him than anything else—more so than cinnamon or baking ham or hot cocoa. Even more so than holiday decorations or music. The smell of a freshly cut Christmas tree just couldn’t be beat.
He supposed he was a bit biased though. He had owned Fir Tree Grove’s only Christmas tree farm for all of his adult life.
As he hung up another wreath, he glanced over at where Rascal was supposed to be curled up in her cat bed.
She’d been surprisingly well-behaved today.
She’d only knocked over his coffee mug once, and thankfully it’d been nearly empty at the time.
All in all, compared to most days, that was a win as far as he was concerned.
He’d told Mabel that he would bring Rascal to her at the end of the day instead of her coming to pick the kitten up as she usually did, and he was pleased that he’d be able to tell her that the kitten hadn’t destroyed anything that day.
Only a couple more hours, and then he’d be freed of cat-sitting duty until the next day.
He picked up two more large wreaths to hang at the top of the display—and Rascal chose exactly that moment to make a liar out of him.
With a tiny, determined mraow, Rascal leapt up onto his pant leg, beginning to scale him like a tree.
Although, George noticed, she managed to not dig her claws into his skin this time, settling for hanging on by her nails to the fabric of his jeans.
“Hey, there,” George grumbled, reaching down to detach the little ball of fluff. “I was just thinking you’d been good. That’s enough of that.”
He’d no sooner detached Rascal and gone back to hanging wreaths when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the kitten had leapt up onto the counter.
He had his hands full, balancing on the stepladder, and there was nothing he could do about it as the kitten made a mighty leap to land directly on his shoulder.
Once again, she managed to not dig in with her claws. “Well, at least you’re learning,” George muttered. “You’re worse than a burr, you know that?”
Rascal let out a satisfied purr, and curled up on his shoulder. George paused, waiting for her to dislodge herself as he went to hang another wreath, but the kitten remained balanced where she was, a small, furry weight that vibrated every few seconds with happy purrs.
“Stubborn little thing,” George muttered, his voice gruff but lacking any real irritation.
He started to try to dislodge her, but stopped after a second.
She’d found her perch, and she wasn’t digging into his skin, so he supposed there really was no harm done.
Besides, he thought as he went back to hanging up the wreaths, having her there really wasn’t unpleasant.
He’d never admit that aloud to anyone, but it was kind of nice, having the little creature happily snuggled up to him.
With a resigned sigh, he carefully lifted another wreath from the stack, noting that he only had a few left. That was good, because pretty soon the evening customers would start showing up for pickups—
As if summoned by that thought, the bell above the shop door jingled. “Be with you in a minute,” George called without looking around, focused on positioning the wreath without dislodging Rascal.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You look quite cozy, actually.” Mabel’s voice came from behind him, startling him, and he felt Rascal move, stretching out and this time getting her claws a bit too close to his shoulder beneath the flannel shirt.
“Now, look, you startled her,” he muttered, finishing with the wreath as he turned around.
Mabel was standing in the middle of the office, arms crossed and eyes sparkling with mischief, and George let out a grunt.
She looked like a bright spot in the middle of his office, wearing a Christmas-red puffer coat and a silver scarf wrapped around her neck.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her curly silver hair was slightly tousled from the wind that had started to pick up outside.
Mabel chuckled. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s getting attached. I never thought I’d see the day that I’d walk in and find the two of you snuggling—”
“I am most certainly not getting attached,” George interrupted her. “The little thing is just too stubborn to ignore, and I have work to do. Figured it was more trouble than she was worth to try and get her off me.”
Mabel’s lips twitched in a smirk. “Of course,” she said amusedly. “That’s definitely what it is.”
George scowled. “I thought I was dropping off the little rascal today.”
“Vanessa and I finished closing duties pretty quickly, so I thought I’d save you the trip and stop by.
” Mabel looked at the kitten affectionately.
“And I was worried that Rascal might be missing me, and want to be picked up early. But I can see that’s not the case at all,” she added, the smirk returning.
“Looks like you’ve found yourself a scarf of your own. ”
“I’ve done no such thing,” George groused. “Here.” He reached up to carefully detach Rascal, who mewled in protest at being pulled off of her comfortable perch. “Take your troublemaker back.” He held the kitten out to her, who was now building to a yowl and squirming in his hands.
“My troublemaker?” Mabel laughed, accepting the writhing little bundle. “I think she’s become our troublemaker at this point. Don’t you think so?” she cooed as she cuddled Rascal into her arms. George was uncertain whether she was talking to the cat or to him.
Something about the way she said our made his chest feel oddly warm. He cleared his throat, grabbing a broom to sweep up the pine needles that had fallen from the wreaths. “I could have brought her over,” he said gruffly. “You didn’t need to come out here.”
“I had the time.” Mabel scratched the kitten behind her ears. “And now you don’t have to come back into town.” She looked around the shop, taking in the decorations. “You’ve done a good job with the decor this year. And the wreath wall is a nice touch.”
“Well, I thought they’d make good add-ons.” George dumped the loose needles into a bin. “I always get customers wanting wreaths, and then we need to make them. So I figured some ready-made ones wouldn’t hurt.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mabel said, and George wondered why he liked the obvious approval in her voice so much.
It wasn’t as if he needed approval from anyone, but something about Mabel liking his business choices made him feel that warmth in his chest again.
He respected her as a businesswoman, after all, so maybe that was it.
She’d done a good job running The Toy Chest over the years, and he saw her as a peer.
“Well, we’ll see how it goes. Should have the evening customers coming in for pickups pretty soon, so maybe they’ll be enthused about the wreaths.” George glanced over toward the parking lot, only to see that Mabel had wandered over to the window that overlooked the side lot.
“Well look at that!” Mabel exclaimed, and George frowned.
“What?” he groused, and Mabel threw him an annoyed look.
“Your gazebo,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “I didn’t even realize you were adding that in… and look! It’s nearly finished. Did you build it all yourself? It looks great—”
“It’s nothing,” George cut her off. “And it’s got a ways to go before it’ll be done. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Mabel rolled her eyes. “I want a closer look,” she said, holding onto Rascal with one hand as she headed toward the side door. George followed her, letting out a huff of frustration as he grabbed his gloves and coat and followed her out into the cold.
Rascal let out a mraow of protest, and Mabel cuddled the kitten under her puffer as she walked toward the gazebo. George glanced toward the front lot, seeing that it was still empty, at least. He still had work to do, and Mabel—being Mabel—wanted to take a tour of the place.
Besides, it was getting dark. As capable as Mabel was, he wasn’t about to let her get injured on his farm again, like she had last Christmas. Which was, he told himself, the main reason he was following her out, because he didn’t want to be liable for another accident.
And, maybe a little bit because he was worried about her. He grabbed a flashlight off of a stack of boxes, switching it on as Mabel circled the gazebo.
“Did you build all of this yourself?” She looked up at it, running a hand along the railing. “I always knew you were handy, but this is impressive. You’ve done really good work here, George.”
He narrowed his eyes, waiting for some teasing comment or ribbing from her, or some sarcasm, but there was none.
Just a genuine compliment. Which wasn’t unheard of, coming from Mabel, but he was far more used to her pranking him and picking on him.
It was a part of their friendship, but he’d long since realized it was more her love language than his.
He didn’t like pranking Mabel nearly as much as she liked doing it to him.
The evening was crisp and cold, with a slight wind picking up and sending puffs of their breath out into the cold. The farm was quiet and peaceful, with no one having arrived yet, and from the clouds in the night sky George thought they might be looking at some snow later on that night.
“It’s good enough,” he said gruffly, although he couldn’t help feeling a jolt of pride at how sincerely impressed Mabel seemed to be with his construction. “It’ll do once I’ve got it finished up entirely.”
“Look at that light!” Mabel was walking up the stairs now, and George let out a huff, hurrying over to her side with the flashlight so that she didn’t trip on any of the boards sitting out waiting to be nailed in. “Is that from the antique shop in town? I think I’ve seen that one before.”
“It is.” George looked up at the rustic iron chandelier that was hanging from the top of the gazebo, flanked by old-fashioned lamps at the top of each of the four corners. “Did a little vintage shopping to see what might look good.”
“It’s going to look incredible with Christmas lights,” Mabel enthused, making a circle around the gazebo. “If you loop them all along the upper railing—it’s going to be so festive. Customers are going to love it.”
“Well, I’m not planning on going overboard,” George said, crossing his arms as he held the flashlight beam in her path.
“Just wanted a spot for guests to sit and wait, serve them some apple cider and cocoa and let them get a little extra cheer in without overcrowding the office. I’ll install some heaters out here and it’ll be just about good to go. ”
Mabel turned to look at him, a small smile on her lips and a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
“Well, that’s very thoughtful, George.” She sounded sincere, but her smile turned mischievous a moment later.
“You know,” she added thoughtfully, that twinkle that he recognized returning to her eyes, “if I hadn’t seen this and caught you with a kitten nestled against your neck, I might have kept on believing that you don’t have a soft side. ”
George grunted. “Don’t think about it too much,” he muttered, but he felt the corners of his mouth tugging up despite himself, and he gave Mabel a gruff smile. “Glad you like it.”
“I love it,” she said honestly. “I might have to come by again when it’s finished, just to get some cider and sit out here. The view is lovely.”
“Well, don’t get any ideas about pulling any pranks on me involving this,” he warned. “I can promise you I wouldn’t find it funny at all.”
“I would never,” Mabel said, and he thought she sounded like she meant it.
“I hope not.” He glanced toward the parking lot, where a truck was pulling up to the front of the office. “Well, I’ve got customers. See you tomorrow when you drop off your little troublemaker.”
“Our troublemaker,” Mabel said, grinning at him as she waved goodbye, trudging out to where her silver sedan was parked.
For once, he didn’t argue with her.