Chapter 21
Midge’s shop is scented with dust, cinnamon, and nostalgia. The layout is exactly how I remember. I’d visited Sugarvale often as a child, but not much recently. The last time I was here was six years ago for a summer antique show.
Beyond the sun-drenched memories with Gran, something else strikes me. “It’s busy.” Crazy packed, as if Midge thinks the maximum occupancy number is a loose estimate of her inventory and not a fire code.
Leo and I glance outside as if we somehow missed twenty other cars crowding the lot. Nope. Only a few minivans and a sedan.
Leo brushes snowflakes from my scarf. “Did they walk here?”
“I think there’s a hotel down the street.” Though I don’t recall it being a hotspot, only a small-town inn near the main thoroughfare. “I never tagged Sugarvale as a touristy place.”
“Is that Iris Junior?” A raspy voice calls from a couple of yards away.
“It’s me.” I smile and snake around people to reach the white-haired, chain-smoking, antique guru. “How are you, Midge?”
She scowls. “Getting old stinks.”
I offer a commiserating smile. “Gran used to say that.”
“Sorry for your loss, pup.” She gives a solemn nod as she moves behind the counter. “Iris was one of the best.”
“She was.”
Leo’s hand goes to the small of my back, and my pulse pounds at his sweet show of support.
Midge’s sharp gaze bounces between us. “Boyfriend?”
My neck prickles with heat. “Not exactly.”
Leo slings an arm around me and tugs me close. “I’m trying to convince her that I’m a great catch. It’s been a challenge.”
“Because she’s smart. You’re too good looking.” Midge sniffs and pins Leo with the glare she reserves for those who swap price tags. “The hot ones are cheaters.”
Leo bristles, and I place a hand on his chest since I’m still curled into him.
He’s not used to Midge’s rash opinions. When I was a kid, she told me my nose was too big for my face.
In my teens, she said I looked like a Vegas showgirl, though I was wearing shorts and a Snoopy tee.
Midge is one of those people who says things for shock value, trying to get a riled response.
“Midge, leave him alone. It’s not his fault.
” Then I pat his chest with a slow shake of my head.
“The poor guy can’t help his hotness. It’s his burden to bear. ”
His hand skims under my coat and tickles my waist. I nearly squeal. “Anyway, we came here for?—”
“Ah, ah. First things first.” She props her elbow on the counter.
I groan. “Seriously? I’m not going to arm wrestle you.”
Leo coughs.
“For old times’ sake,” she demands.
Someone knocks me from behind, and Leo steadies me. After smiling my thanks, I adjust my purse strap, which slipped off my shoulder with the jostle. “Midge.” I address her over a couple talking loudly about teacups. “Maybe another time. You’ve got more bodies here than a zombie movie.”
She ignores my remark and wiggles her fingers. “There’s still life in these suckers.”
Leo rubs a hand over his mouth as if it’s all he can do not to burst out laughing.
Never mind Midge is pushing seventy and looks like her arm would snap like a gingerbread cookie.
The woman is stubborn like Gran. She won’t discuss the Vallerton until she gets her way.
“Fine.” I take off my coat and set it on the counter with my purse and scarf.
“But I better get what I came here for.”
She nods and waves Leo over. “All right, sonny, count us down.”
He’s still struggling to keep a straight face, but he quickly sobers at Midge’s glower. He places his hand over Midge’s and mine. “Ready. Set. Go.”
I determine to keep things at half-muscle, but Midge has a surprisingly strong start.
She tips my arm to the right, and I quickly counter her progress.
It’s almost too easy, but my conscience isn’t sold on giving an old lady a wrist fracture.
I purposefully slack and let her gain ground.
She grunts with a final push, and I give her the win.
“Ha!” She raises both arms, then takes a victory lap around the counter, nearly plowing over a man with a walker. “Still the champ.”
“Way to go, Midge. Though I did put up a good fight.”
She dismisses me with a half-hearted shrug. “Eh, you were okay.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
Leo’s gaze narrows, suspicion marking his every feature. I angle toward him with a finger to my lips.
I reface Midge. “Can we talk business now?” I retrieve my things and drape my coat over my arm. “Jared called me about the Vallerton.”
“Ah, yes. The nativity set. You know, that’s from my personal collection?
” She launches into the backstory as if there isn’t a growing line of customers behind us.
“It’s been sitting in storage for years.
I bought it off some chump who had no idea what a fortune it’s worth.
” She snickers. “But the Vallerton was never my style, so I thought I might as well put it up for sale.”
I smile wide, a lightness flooding my chest. Within seconds, I will have completed my end of our bargain and fulfilled my promise. “I want to take it off your hands.”
“Too late.”
My world goes gray. “W-what?”
“Sold it an hour ago.”
“No.” My throat thickens, making my words rusty. “You don’t have another?” That’s like asking Shakespeare if he has extra Hamlets lying around.
“Sorry, hon.” She waves me to the side, so the next customer can approach the counter. “You know how this business is.”
Frustration soars, but mostly, I’m crushed. “Thanks, anyway,” I manage with a forced smile and Leo helps me into my coat. “I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”
“You too. Come back for a rematch.” She pats her bicep, unaware of my misery.
Leo grips my hand and leads me to the car, even as a numbness spreads through me. That was, in all probability, our only and last chance.
He starts the ignition and twists toward me. “You okay?”
“If it wasn’t for that stupid deer …” I would’ve been here long before the competition. I would’ve gotten the set. I’d almost be to Silver Creek by now with my treasure secured in the back. “I’m sorry.” I can’t look at him. “I messed it up.”
He gently cups my chin and softly nudges until I meet his gaze.
“No, you didn’t.” He slides his hand to frame my face, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb.
“What you did today”—he shakes his head with a disbelieving smile—“goes above and beyond. Thank you, Greta.” He leans closer, withdrawing his touch but not breaking eye contact.
“And for the record, I’m not a cheater.”
I keep my voice soft. “I never thought you were.”
“But you are.” He flashes his palm at my sudden jolt. “In a totally different way. You let that lady beat you. You could’ve whipped her soundly.”
“Midge is a sore loser. If I’d won, she might not have been willing to negotiate. Not that it mattered.”
“I think it’s more than that.” He absently toys with the edge of my scarf, but there’s nothing flippant about his gaze, searching mine as if he wants to gather all my secrets and hold them close. “I think you were saving her pride. Because that’s the kind of person you are.”
He leans closer, but his phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. He grimaces at the screen. “More bad news.”
I slump in the seat. “Do I want to know?” Seriously, if I had a punch card for all the terrible things that occur in a week, I could’ve had a free appetizer by now.
“We’re in blizzard conditions. Whiteouts are expected throughout the night. I won’t risk driving back. Not with you.” His tone tells me this is non-negotiable. “You said there’s a hotel down the street?” He glances both directions as if he could spot the Sugarvale Inn from here.
His protectiveness is sweet, but I want to go home.
I’m hungry, tired, and devastated about losing the Vallerton.
As if this trip hasn’t already cost me emotionally, now it’s going to hit me financially.
I don’t want to pay for a hotel room. But whiteouts are no joke.
I’d only experienced it once when walking down Main Street.
The sudden rush of snowfall can reduce visibility to the point that it’s hazardous, especially when driving.
I direct Leo where to go and notice the snow’s coming down harder and faster. Now that the sun’s down, the drop in temperature will make the roads slick.
What should be a quick jaunt down the street takes us longer because of the weather.
We finally reach the hotel, and I blink at the full parking lot.
“What’s going on?” I can’t imagine all these cars are here because their drivers wished to escape the snow.
Sugarvale doesn’t get that kind of traffic in the winter.
Leo finally finds a parking spot. He grabs his bag, and we race toward the automatic doors.
A “Welcome to SugarFest!” sign greets us as we enter the lobby.
“SugarFest?” I say aloud as I take in the space.
Large gumballs—basically multi-colored inflatable balls on fishing line—suspend from the ceiling.
Floormats shaped like chocolate squares lead to the front desk.
A rainbow balloon arch resembling Skittles stands at the far left.
This place is like Candy Land on steroids.
People are wandering about, talking and laughing.
Well, this explains the foot traffic at Midge’s.
A man dressed as an old-fashioned soda jerk, wearing a red-striped hat and holding a megaphone, announces some sort of event that is about to start.
“Event?” I look at Leo, who only shrugs.
“Let’s just see about some rooms.”
Leo and I approach the front desk.
A lanky man around my age puts his phone down with a sigh. “Can I help you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but Leo beats me to it. “We need two rooms for tonight.”