Chapter 28
They’d had plates of baked goodies, mandarin oranges, candy canes, and mulled apple cider for customers all week, and The Second Chance Shop, always delicious-smelling in Vic’s point-of-view, was even more so.
The spicy evergreen tang of Gwen’s gorgeous pine, cedar, hemlock, and spruce swags, centerpieces, and wreaths mixed with mingled scents of cinnamon and warm buttery sugary goodness to create a heady, festive mix, perfectly summed up by Gwen’s eldest granddaughter, Pillar.
“It smells like Christmas in here!” she’d exclaimed the other day when she’d run into tell Gwen that they were there to pick her up.
The description stayed with Vic. It did smell like Christmas. And with its millions of twinkle lights and the various decorated trees dispersed throughout the shop, it looked like Christmas too. The Christmas of every little kid’s fantasy.
And shoppers loved it too. Vic hadn’t known what to expect.
Did people buy second-hand or upcycled items for gifts?
Apparently, yes. Vic was thrilled to see the little store thriving and did her best to earn the paychecks she made, and even more importantly, to reward Madeline’s faith in her by trying to match exactly the right items with each shopper.
“Five more minutes and we can lock the doors—thank goodness!” Madeline whispered as she inched behind Vic at the till to fetch a tiny collectible shelf someone had asked them to hold until they were done shopping and were ready to pay.
Vic laughed. “You don’t fool anyone, Madeline. You love every bit of the festive chaos.” And so do I, she thought.
Madeline twinkled. “What can I say? When you’re right, you’re right.”
“It is so fun, isn’t it?” Gwen said, walking over with a large potted plant, obviously having overheard them. Before they could say anything else, the door jingled again.
The three women exchanged a look and raised their eyebrows.
“Maybe we shouldn’t all so clearly not mind working late,” Madeline said.
A tall, grey-haired woman rushed over. “I’m so, so sorry to barge in so close to closing. I was at work and couldn’t get out any faster.”
“It’s one hundred percent okay,” Madeline assured her. “Take your time. We don’t mind a bit—and there are still a few cookies left, if you fancy a little snack.”
“Thank you so much, but I don’t so much need to browse as I—are you Vic?”
Madeline smiled. “No, I’m Madeline—and this is Gwen.” She motioned toward Gwen, who, always in constant motion, had settled the plant on the till counter and was now straightening a box of locally made Christmas cards. “And here’s Vic.”
Vic stepped forward nervously. She’d never seen this woman in her life. “Um, hello—”
“Claire,” the woman said, and stuck out her hand.
Vic shook it, still without a single clue about who Claire was.
“I’m friends with Savannah.”
Vic caught Madeline’s eyes and lifted her shoulders in the tiniest shrug. Madeline clearly understood body language for Help! I don’t have the foggiest.
“Savannah . . .” Madeline said thoughtfully. “The young woman with the two close-in-age babies? Usually with one on her back and one on her front in a sling.”
“Oh!” Vic said. “Of course.” The mom she’d made tea for, then sketched. “How can I help you, Claire?” If anything, her association with Savannah made Vic more confused.
To her shock, Claire pulled the little sketch Vic had done of Savannah and her kids, now framed, out of her bag. “You did this?”
“Um . . .”
“Yes, she sure did,” Madeline said. “She’s amazing, hey?” She motioned to the more detailed portrait of Boots, also framed, in vintage gold leaf, no less, hanging above the till. “I have one of hers too.”
“Oh my—” Claire studied the little picture of the fat cat with open admiration and seemed almost speechless, but only for a moment. “So absolutely darling! And the cat answers my question!”
“Oh?”
“Sorry, I’m all over the map—I wasn’t planning this but . . .” Claire took a breath. “I’m Savannah’s aunt. That’s how I came across your work.”
My “work,” Vic thought, not sure whether to be proud or amused.
“And I would’ve merely thought it sweet and not given it another thought, except my dear friend Lacey’s ancient cat—her best friend in the world except for me—just died, and the timing, with Christmas, already a hard time for so many people, well .
. . I thought, maybe if I could get her a special little memorial of some kind, it would be, well, probably not a comfort, at least not right away, but something to say without words that I know how special Lady Rumpelstiltskin was to her. ” Claire inhaled audibly.
“Lady Rumpelstiltskin?” Vic said, still not quite understanding what was being asked.
“That is quite the name,” said Madeline.
“Isn’t it just? I mean, we all, Lacey included, called her Rumple for short.”
“That’s adorable!” Gwen said.
“Isn’t it?” Claire agreed.
All three women were now looking at Vic expectantly. The problem was Vic didn’t know what they were expecting.
“So?” Madeline prodded.
“I know it’s close to Christmas,” Claire added. “I’ll pay you, of course. Is one hundred enough, or—could I do payments if you need more?”
Vic shook her head, confused. “I’m not sure—”
Gwen interrupted Vic with an understanding smile. “Vic, Claire’s asking if you will do a small portrait of her friend’s cat for the price of one hundred dollars, or more if you’ll accept payments.”
Vic blinked.
Claire nodded energetically. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.
I’m so relieved that you even do pets!” She motioned at the Boots’ picture again.
Then she dug into her bag again and pulled out a 5x8 manila envelope.
“I have photos—at least six of them. And personality-wise, well, she was an angel in cat form. The most gentle soul. Unless you were a dog. She wasn’t a fan .
. . Or a man. Couldn’t stand them. Or a kid, either.
No, she wasn’t much for kids. Not all. Or, well . . . she really loved Lacey.”
Somewhat dazed, Vic took the proffered envelope, withdrew the photos, and studied them. Different ages and poses, which was great. Rumple—Gwen was right, that really was a great name—was a petite Tortoiseshell with, from one photo anyway, the capability of giving a great stink-eye.
“What kind of a background or setting do you think your friend would like for Rumple?” It was only as the words left her mouth that Vic realized she was going to say yes to this bafflingly flattering bizarre request. She was going to do a . . . commissioned piece of art.
Claire was full of ideas and Vic jotted down all of them. “And what size were you thinking?”
“Small,” Claire said decisively. “6x6 or 5x7 at the largest. Lacey’s home is also small, and there’s something about your little portraits being little that makes them so—”
“Charming?” Madeline supplied, and Vic was gobsmacked and very, very touched that Madeline used the same word she herself had thought of regarding her “work.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing with incredulity.
“Exactly!” Claire exhaled in relief.
“It is a fast turnaround, but it should work. I have a light schedule right now. I can have it to you for Christmas Eve, if you want to pick it up here?”
The details were sorted, Claire went bustling on her way, and Vic rang in the last customer who had happily taken the extra browsing time Claire’s visit had enabled.
When Gwen locked the door, they all said, “Whew!” simultaneously—and laughed.
Madeline flipped the Christmas countdown calendar that currently announced “4 More Sleeps” to read “3 More Sleeps” instead.
“So, it’ll be ready for tomorrow,” she explained unnecessarily. “Now, how about sharing a pot of tea before we head out?”
“Lovely,” Gwen said.
“Yes, please,” Vic said.
“Really, we should be having champagne,” Madeline said as they headed to the dining room. “Do you drink champagne, Vic?”
“As long as it’s cheap and sweet,” she said—then thought, Shoot, they probably have taste and like the good stuff.
She needn’t have feared. Both Gwen and Madeline roared with laughter.
“Our kinda girl,” Gwen said.
“But why champagne?” Vic asked curiously as they sat down, tea in hand a few minutes later. She was always so far behind Gwen and Madeline in jokes or conversations.
“Well, to toast you, of course,” Madeline said as if it was glaringly obvious. “I’ll make sure to buy a few bottles of something sparkly for our staff party and we’ll do it then.”
“There’s going to be a staff party?”
Yikes, the eagerness in your voice is humiliating.
Can it. I’m not in the mood.
“It’s a tradition Gwen and I started. A new year kickoff, after the Christmas rush is done. We chat our faces off, eat good food, drink bubbly, and talk about our dreams for the next year. It’s very small—just me, her, and now you.” Madeline sounded, of all things, momentarily shy. “Is that okay?”
It was better than okay. It sounded perfect.
“I’m . . . it’s . . . yes. That sounds amazing. I’m honored.”
Ugh, you’re so desperate.
But Madeline and Gwen were smiling at her as if her response made them happy too.
“To Vic!” Gwen raised her teacup.
“To Vic!” Madeline agreed. “And to what I have the feeling is only the first of many commissions.”
“Um,” Vic raised her teacup.
Chat moved on, much to Vic’s relief. Any attention focussed too directly on her, even positive, even complimentary, was too scary, too uncomfortable.
“Oh, before I forget,” Madeline exclaimed when the teapot was empty, and their second cups were nearly the same. “Our staff party’s not until the New Year, but Grant and I have a little open house on Boxing Day. It’s also kind of become an annual event. We’d love for you to join us, Vic.”
“It’s always so fun and not scary at all,” Gwen added, deftly stacking their cups and saucers on top of a bare plate that had been filled with cookies. “You should definitely come.”
Vic smiled noncommittally.
“And feel free to bring your mom,” Madeline encouraged.
Vic was afraid that she grimaced visibly. Her fear was confirmed when Gwen and Madeline both chuckled, and Gwen said, “Or not.”