Chapter 9
I stub my toe on the ornament box. I shouldn’t have kicked off my boots in favor of fuzzy socks. Cookie-patterned footwear is not professional, but I worked late last night on the float and this evening is the parade and Light-Up Night. Another day stretches before me of being on my feet.
I only work until noon, since all the shops on Main Street shut down in preparation for the parade. Are my shop’s halls decked with boughs of holly? No. But am I full of Christmas spirit to tackle this project? Also, no. Thankfully the float’s finished, and this is all I have left to do.
I can’t do this.
I should’ve done all this during off hours. Because I clearly don’t have it together right now. Why did I think I could power through?
The bells jingle over the entrance, indicating a customer’s presence, and I want to curl into a ball behind the tree. Though whining never pays the bills. I swipe at my cheeks, blink away the moisture from my eyes, and climb to my feet.
“Greta?” Leo’s voice has me scrambling for my boots, but in my dash, I kick the ornament box.
Again! The same freaking toe! Pain shoots through me, and, instead of presenting myself as a chic shop owner, I’m hopping around on one foot, clamping my mouth shut to stifle a yelp.
It’s crazy how one tiny appendage triggers a full-body reaction.
Leo comes into view. “You okay?”
No. Not even close. “I stubbed … toe … box.” Why do people ask questions when you can barely function, let alone carry on a conversation? I squeeze my eyes shut and tears leak out. Shoot. I don’t have time to deal with mascara tracks on my face.
Leo’s at my side. “Is it broken?” He slings an arm around me and hauls me to his side. While braced against his solid frame, we hobble-walk behind the counter like some weird three-legged race. With his free hand, he tugs the stool closer. “Here.”
I sit with a nod of thanks. The throbbing in my toe lessens with each passing moment. The ache in my chest? Not so much. The bare, artificial tree taunts me from its place a few yards away. “I should’ve known this would be rough.”
Leo’s in this half-stoop stance, and I’m not sure if he’s preparing to bolt from the scene or contemplating giving me a foot massage. I really hope it’s the latter.
“How can I help?” he asks. “Does it still hurt?”
“It’s better.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “I’m a mess because of that.” I nod at the array of ornament boxes strewn about my showroom floor. “My gran always looked forward to putting up that tree. She selected each of the vintage bulbs.”
His warm hand settles on my shoulder. “I didn’t know she passed. I’m really sorry.”
I swipe at my eyes again and wonder if he realizes he’s skimming his thumb along the slope of my throat. The rhythmic sweeps are soothing, and yet short-circuiting my system. “She always took special care in setting up the store Christmas tree.”
“Tell me about it.” His soft demand is all I need.
“Everything that goes on the tree is entirely vintage. The yarn mesh star is from the ’40s.
And the tinsel. Oh that stupidly wonderful tinsel is from the ’50s.
After each season, my job was to put it away.
Imagine being ten years old and hand-picking five hundred foil strips about as delicate as tissue paper. ”
“Sounds brutal.”
“It wasn’t something I looked forward to.
That’s for sure. So Gran drew up a contract.
” I gingerly stand, happy that my toe is no longer screaming for mercy, and retrieve the precious paper from the top of the ornament box.
“For every forty pieces of tinsel collected,” I read aloud, taking in her loopy script, “the collector earns one cinnamon bear.” I glance over.
“That was my favorite candy as a kid. We kept the agreement in place every year until it turned into a tradition.” It’s all memories now.
Leo joins my side and gently bumps my arm. “She turned the job into something fun.”
“She did.”
He cracks a smile. “Are you still easily bribed with sugar? Just taking notes here.”
I appreciate his effort in making things light. I need this. “Not sure if I should confess my weaknesses.” Or that I could see him becoming one of them if he keeps looking at me like this. A switch in conversation is in order. “My contact called, and he does have the ceramic tree from your list.”
Leo’s lips twitch at my obvious redirection, but he lets it slide. “Really? Same style?”
“Yes.” I wave for him to follow me behind the counter and open the lid to my laptop.
“It’s an Atlantic Mold and from the same year.
The color is just a touch lighter than the pic you showed me.
But it’s pretty close.” I angle my computer toward him and show him the image of the tree that Jared sent over.
“You did it. That’s the one.” The warmth in his voice is like that first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy morning.
“Might want to save the praise because I’m struggling with the nativity set. I called all my contacts but nothing. I put feelers out, so maybe something will come of it.”
“So you’re saying not to get my hopes up.”
I think he’d have more success convincing Santa Ned to kick his nicotine habit than finding this Vallerton set. “’Tis the season for miracles, right? It’s also the season for elevated stress, but let’s stick with the miracles thing.”
He huffs a laugh. “I appreciate your optimism.”
“I’m the soul of positivity,” I say brightly. “But seriously, if anything comes up. I’ll let you know.” Guess I’ll need his number after all. I hand him a customer contact form and a pen, even as my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s Bruce.
“Excuse me. I have to take this.”
Leo nods and turns his focus on the paper.
I hit accept and lift my cell to my ear. “Hey, Brucie. You ready for tonight? I’ve been bragging to everyone that I have the best float puller in all of Ohio.”
A beat of silence.
“Bruce?”
“Hey Greta,” he rasps. “I, uh, got into a little fender bender.”
“Oh my gosh. Are you okay?”
Leo glances over at the alarm in my tone.
Bruce coughs. “I hit my shoulder pretty hard off the steering wheel, but the doc says I’ll be fine with rest and limited movement.”
And now I understand the meaning of his call.
“I’m sorry about tonight.” Regret roughens his voice. “I hate letting you down.”
“No. Don’t apologize. You need to rest.”
“I’d offer my truck to pull the float, but it’ll be a while in the shop.”
My heart sinks as I lower onto the stool.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. I want you to get better.
” I hang up with Bruce and can’t help the sag in my spine.
I’ll have to back out. Not only was Bruce my driver, but he was the key component of the float.
Ugh. It’s mandatory for Main Street shops to have a float in the parade, but what else can I do?
“Everything okay?” Leo’s voice breaks in.
“My wingman can’t make it tonight.”
“For the parade?”
“Yeah, Bruce has hauled my float for the past five years. Both he and his truck are out of commission.”
Leo sets down the pen and hands me the contact form. “I have a truck.”
Temptation is a six-foot man with a backward hat offering to save my Light-Up Night. “Don’t you have to drive the firetruck and annoy everyone with the siren?”
“No, the city allows families to ride along. Those with kids get first dibs.” He shoots a smile. “So I’m all yours tonight, if you want me.”
“Your phrasing is questionable.”
“I’m under your command.”
“Worse.”
“Come on. Let me help.” He dimples at me as if he knows that a dented smile never fails to get him what he wants. He’s not exactly wrong because I feel myself caving.
“I don’t know.”
“If you’re worried I’ll ghost you again, I promise to remain by your side until parade time.”
Well, that’s a danger all its own. “It’s more than that. Bruce promised?—”
Leo raises his right hand as if swearing a vow. “I’ll do anything Bruce was supposed to do.”
“You don’t realize what you’re signing up for.”
“Who’s this Bruce guy?” Now Leo’s acting alpha male as if Bruce is his rival. I hold back a laugh, even as his gaze is hot on mine. “Please?”
“Why do you want to help me?” I could think of a million better things to do with my time than volunteer for a night full of festive chaos. “What’s in it for you?”
He steps closer, pinning me with his dark gaze. “A spot on your nice list.”
“Mmm.” My bored hum doesn’t fool anyone. “My nice list might be full.”
“Is that a challenge?” He tugs on my hands and brings me to my feet. “Because I promise I can be the nicest of the nice.” He dips his head, his voice a gruff whisper across my skin. “So nice you won’t be able to handle it.”
Of that, I’ve no doubt. I retreat a step, only to knock my heel against the stool. “Fine. I’ll take you up on your offer.” My lips tug in a smile, and something in it makes Leo’s smug expression turn wary. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. “I hope you don’t get stage fright.”
All amusement drops from his face. “Why?”
“Because tonight, you get to sing.”