Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
George glanced at his watch for the second time in ten minutes, then looked out the window, scanning the empty driveway that led to the Christmas tree farm’s office.
The Saturday afternoon rush was over, and according to his calendar, he didn’t have any evening tree pickups scheduled, which meant his day would end early.
That was a rarity, during the holidays, but he wasn’t going to argue with it.
Rascal was crouched beneath that window, batting lazily at a small pine cone that had fallen from one of the wreaths.
As he tidied up the last of the day’s paperwork and stacked his invoices, he saw the kitten leap up into the window, basking in the late afternoon rays of sun as she looked out over the parking lot too.
“She’ll be here soon enough,” he muttered to the kitten, who just blinked at him owlishly. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not anxious to see her. Just want to make sure you get back to your proper home is all.”
He straightened the pile of receipts, filed away the last of the orders for Sunday’s pickups, and swept a handful of fallen pine needles into the trash. The office smelled of fresh evergreen and pine sap, and he breathed it in, savoring the scent of Christmas.
The bell above the door jingled just as he was putting the broom and dustpan away in the closet, and George looked up to see Mabel bustling in, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Sorry I’m late,” she called out, unwinding her scarf with one hand while holding a paper bag in the other. “I brought you something.”
George raised an eyebrow. “What’s that? Not another prank, I hope.”
“Oh hush,” Mabel said, setting the bag on the counter. “Just some of those gingerbread cookies you pretend not to like but always eat three of when you think no one’s looking.” She winked at him as she pulled off her gloves. George frowned at her.
Rascal immediately perked up, leaping out of the window and padding toward Mabel, but not with the urgency George might have expected after a full day away from her.
“Seems like she’s gotten quite comfortable here,” Mabel observed, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she shrugged off her coat.
Instead of gathering up Rascal to leave, she watched the kitten stretch and curl around her ankles, leaning back against the wall of the office as if she were in no hurry.
“How was she today? Any more Christmas tree climbing adventures?”
George leaned against the side of the counter. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Mabel wasn’t just scooping up Rascal and leaving, but he wasn’t displeased either. He liked Mabel’s company more than he’d admit, even if she was so cheerful it practically made his teeth ache.
“She’s been a model citizen, actually. Only knocked over one mug, and it was nearly empty.” A slight smile appeared on his face despite himself. “Spent most of the afternoon curled up on the counter or under the window while I worked.”
“I knew it!” Mabel’s eyes twinkled with delight.
“Knew what?” George huffed, suddenly self-conscious.
“That she’d win you over.” Mabel reached across to pet Rascal, who stretched luxuriously, butting her head into Mabel’s hand. “You two are practically best friends now.”
“We have an understanding,” George corrected her, although his tone lacked conviction. “She stays out of trouble, I let her stick around.”
“Uh-huh.” Mabel glanced toward the window, her gaze settling on the far side of the parking lot. “So, how’s the gazebo coming along? Last I saw it was still missing some finishing touches. Heaters, I think you said.”
George followed her gaze, a hint of pride creeping into his expression. “It’s just about finished, actually. Got the last of the railings up yesterday, installed the heaters this morning. Just need to put the final touches on it and it’ll be ready for customers.”
“Well then,” Mabel said, her eyes lighting up, “I suppose that means it’s time to stock up on apple cider, doesn’t it?
You did say that was your reason for building it, after all.
” She raised her eyebrow, as if challenging George’s claim that the gazebo was purely meant to be a functional spot to keep excess guests out of the office.
George chuckled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You’re right,” he said, leaning against the counter. “It probably is that time. I ordered a few cases for the stand, but there’ll probably be a bigger demand for it now.”
“That won’t cut it,” Mabel declared as soon as the words were out of his mouth, pushing away from the wall.
She scooped Rascal up off of the floor, and tucked the kitten into the crook of her arm as she grabbed her coat.
“Ordering cider online? From a non-local distributor? Come on, put your jacket on. You’re coming with me. ”
George blinked, startled by her sudden decisiveness. “What? Where are we going?”
“To get you proper cider, of course,” Mabel said, already buttoning her coat with one hand while Rascal purred against her. “We’re going to the bazaar so you can try Sweet Orchard’s cider. The orchard just outside of town? It’s local, and they make the best cider in the county.”
George frowned. “It’s not like they’ll have the bulk…”
“They might,” Mabel countered. “Come on now. You have to try it, at least.”
George opened his mouth to argue, but as he looked at Mabel, her eyes bright with excitement and Rascal nestled contentedly against her, the protest died on his lips.
He’d had plans to go home, settle in for the evening by the fire, maybe start a new mystery novel…
but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he wasn’t interested.
“Fine,” he sighed, reaching for his coat. “But just for a quick taste. I don’t have time to be gallivanting all over town when I’ve got work to do.”
“Of course,” Mabel agreed, although her triumphant smile told him she knew she’d won. “Just a quick trip to ensure your customers get the best cider possible. It’s practically a business expense. Plus, you were done with work for the day. I saw you getting ready to close up when I walked in.”
George grunted, but reached for his jacket, wondering when exactly he’d lost the ability to say no to Mabel Stewart. It seemed to be happening more and more lately.
“We’ll take my truck,” he said gruffly, fishing his keys from his pocket. “And that cat better not shed all over my seats.”
The triumphant gleam had taken over Mabel’s face. She looked positively giddy with success. “I’ll hold her. And we’ll drop her off at my place, first. Let me grab her carrier out of my car.”
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to Mabel’s cozy cottage.
The two-story, quaint little house with freshly painted shutters and a wraparound porch was decked out for Christmas, with garlands winding around the porch railings and multicolored lights twinkling from every eave.
Animatronic reindeer munched non-existent grass in the front yard.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Mabel said, climbing out of George’s truck with Rascal’s carrier. “Keep the engine running!”
George drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited, taking in the sight of Mabel’s home.
For all that they were good friends, he didn’t come by her house all that often.
Last year came to mind—when he’d brought her a casserole while her wrist was recovering from the injury she’d sustained while pranking him.
The house was one of the most decorated in Fir Tree Grove, which was unsurprising, but her taste was excellent, he had to admit.
A large wreath with a red bow hung on the front door, and he could see the glow of what must be her Christmas tree through the front window.
Mabel emerged from the house a few minutes later, her arms free of both carrier and kitten. She bounded down the porch steps with surprising agility, silver bob bouncing with every step.
“Rascal’s all settled with her dinner and favorite toys,” she announced as she climbed back into George’s truck.
“Now we can head to the bazaar without worrying about her getting into mischief. I hope,” she added with less conviction.
From what George knew of the kitten, it was likely that there would be some mischief on Mabel’s return.
“Or shedding in my truck,” George added, putting the truck in reverse.
“Oh, please. A few cat hairs wouldn’t hurt this old thing.” Mabel patted the dashboard affectionately. “Let’s go.”
George knew the way, although he rarely stopped by the Christmas bazaar.
It was far too busy and crowded for him, and he didn’t have any real need to go.
But he had to admit, the view of the town as he drove to the center was lovely.
The town itself was a winter wonderland, with every lamppost wrapped in garlands and lights.
Every storefront was decorated, and snow dusted the sidewalks like powdered sugar on Christmas cookies, the drifts piled up on either side looking like sparkling icing.
Pedestrians bundled in scarves and mittens strolled along Main Street, shopping bags in hand.
“Town looks nice this year,” George admitted, slowing as they approached the square where the Christmas market had been set up.
Wooden stalls lined the perimeter, strung with twinkling lights and evergreen boughs, while vendors called out to passing shoppers.
The market was a Fir Tree Grove tradition, with handmade gifts, special games and activities, and seasonal treats that lured locals and tourists alike.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Mabel said, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “Henry really outdid himself. Vanessa said she saw him at the Holly and Ivy, with a whole neighborhood’s worth of Christmas lights.”