Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Jenna
After our confrontation about the potted trees yesterday, I buried myself in work until ChristmasFest closed for the night …
And then I went home and stewed about it.
The fact that he texted a perfunctory apology didn’t really help much.
Aaron
A vendor has been dumping coffee in those tree’s pots. I have told them to stop. I apologize for implying the problem with the trees was your fault. Thank you for alerting me to the issue so I can correct it.
I read it fifteen times, trying to decide if I should respond, and what to say if I decide to.
I never did reach a conclusion about that.
The message just feels so … passive aggressive.
Perfect grammar and punctuation, including periods after every sentence.
He even used the word “apologize” instead of just saying, “I’m sorry,” like a normal person.
And I can’t decide if it’s actually another dig or if I’m just looking for things to be mad about because Aaron and I have been at odds since I moved here.
Well, I suppose that’s not a hundred percent accurate. The trouble didn’t start until I’d been here for a couple of months and we were really getting into the specifics of planning ChristmasFest for this year. That’s when the whole town decided I’m some kind of Christmas ruining outsider.
After one meeting where I suggested a few changes—all of which were summarily shot down—one of the older members of the Downtown Association asked if I were going to steal all the trees and ornaments like the Grinch and tell the children I was only taking them to fix them.
Mara Daniels scolded the guy, telling him to hush and give me a chance to learn how things go around here, which I appreciated on the one hand, but on the other hand, it’d be nice if she was open to any of my ideas.
If I just had one person on my side, I think I could at least get the rest to not see me as an enemy—a Grinch swooping in to ruin Christmas for everyone.
And Aaron, the asshole lumberjack, had just smirked through the whole thing.
Apparently he thought my Grinchiness included killing the trees that I asked for. Why would I even do that?
Still stewing over it as I get ready for work, I decide I’m not going to dignify his passive aggressive apology—if it really is passive aggressive, anyway—with a response.
The last thing I want is to get into a whole thing with Aaron about who was right and who was wrong about his precious potted trees.
The man’s an accountant, after all. Aren’t they supposed to be heartless number crunchers? What right does he have to care so much about trees anyway?
Today goes smoothly at least. I stopped by and checked on the trees, which don’t look any different than they did yesterday, but I suppose they probably need more than twenty-four hours to recover from a daily diet of iced mochaccinos or whatever was being dumped in the pots.
The vendor next to that display gives me a guilty look, and I spear him with a glare to show that I know he’s the reason the trees are suffering. Or at least I do now. It could’ve been a few different people based on Aaron’s description, but that guilty look confirmed the culprit for me.
This is apparently his first year, which is another source of complaints from the committee—too many new vendors for their taste. Hopefully we won’t have any more problems from him. If we do, I’m not sure he’ll get an invite back next year.
I still maintain it’s good to have a steady stream of new vendors from one year to the next.
Yes, obviously having popular regulars that people can count on is good.
There is a core audience that wants to get the same things year after year.
But a lot of people—even among the people who return to buy the same type of keepsake ornament—also want novelty.
They want new gift ideas, new decor ideas, and new things to look at.
The 3D printed toy vendors are doing amazing.
A few people on the committee grumbled about us selling more plastic tat, and maybe they have a point, but we kept our 3D printed toy booths to only two, and I made sure they had a different style so they’re not really competing with each other.
After seeing how well those did the last couple years at the Salem festivals and fairs, I knew they’d be a hit here.
In addition to toys, one of them sells fancy goblets that hold a can of beer or soda, and I’ve seen quite a few people purchasing those on my rounds this week.
Hopefully when this is all over, they’ll be able to admit that some of my ideas have merit.
Maybe next year we can collaborate a little more instead of it being obvious that my job is just to enact the same ideas and recruit the same vendors that they’ve done every single year since the event’s inception.
When I interviewed, it seemed like they’d be open to fresh ideas. I supposed it’s possible they’re equally annoyed, thinking when I interviewed that when I said I wanted to see the event continue for years to come that meant I wanted to keep it exactly the same forever.
“Everything looks so wonderful,” Mara Daniels says when I bump into her near the end of the day.
She peers at me over the little half moon spectacles she wears as Mrs. Claus.
“You’ve done a wonderful job. I know Aaron Farrell pushed back on your idea about the potted firs, but I think they look lovely.
And I’ve heard so many positive comments about the photo background setups that are scattered around the place.
I know we all told you to only worry about the interior this year, but I think setting up one or two outside in downtown for the season next year would be amazing as well.
” She lays her hand on my bicep and says, “Oh! You know, a summer one would be fantastic too. We usually have those painted boards with the head cutouts, and I’m sure people enjoy those, but yours look so cozy and nice.
It’s a different visual. We should have some for the summer too. ”
My eyebrows climb as she gets more effusive in her praise and ideas.
“Wow. Yeah. I think that’s an amazing idea.
Thank you! I’m glad you’re hearing positive feedback about those things.
” It’s funny she brings up the potted trees, since those have been the thorn in my side the last couple of days.
“Some of the trees have been struggling near the front, but I think we’ve figured out what’s going on. ”
“Oh, good,” she says clasping her hands in front of her. “And I’m glad you didn’t let Aaron intimidate you out of your lovely idea. You’re right that having live trees adds a little something extra, and the gorgeous pots they’re in don’t hurt either.”
“I had fun adding the bows. The pots themselves are beautifully glazed, but I think the bows really elevate it.”
“Absolutely,” she says. “Well done. I know it must be difficult coming in like this and taking over organizing an event with so much history and so many of us still involved from the beginning who don’t like things to change. But I’m impressed with how you’ve handled all of this.”
“Thank you, Mara. That means a lot.”
“Only a few more photos to go, so I better get going. Let me know if you need anything!” she tosses over her shoulder, already hurrying away.
“I will!” I call after her, smiling as I pull out my phone and think about responding to Aaron’s text.
Mara thinks I have good ideas. Or at least that some of my ideas are good. Maybe she’s the one I need on my side to bring the others around. If she doesn’t think I’m a Grinch, can I convince the town—or at least the committee—that I’m not?
After the day ends, I head to the Red Arrow. It’s a little dive on the edge of town, and typically there’s a group of us that meets there on Thursday evenings. But when I get there, I’m the only one.
Of course we didn’t get together last week—it was Thanksgiving.
And I was really looking forward to hanging out with the new friends I’ve been making since I moved here.
It’s really only been since September that I’ve been coming to this.
Sarah, the manager of the Christmas Emporium, invited me, and I’ve been here ever since.
It’s mostly other women who own or run businesses downtown—Brit of Bitty B’s Treasures, who’s also on the committee, Nora, Sarah’s sister, Shannon, who runs a hair salon, and Amanda and Stephanie who have a little yarn store a block away from the Town Square.
They also have a booth at ChristmasFest, and I’ve seen several people fawning over their locally sourced yarns and the other little accessories they sell. They seem to be doing well.
A little bummed, I take a seat at the bar instead of claiming a table. I still want a drink, even if no one else wants to come out.
The bartender, Amy, gives me a sympathetic look. “It’s the ChristmasFest,” she says, setting a napkin in front of me. “They always take from Thanksgiving to New Year’s off from the Thursday evening meet up. No one remembered to tell you?”
I shake my head. “I’m guessing everyone was too busy. Or they figured I’d be too tired too?” I shrug. “Either way, I could still use a drink.”
Grinning, she pulls out a pint glass and pours me the cider on tap—it’s dark red and a little foamy when she’s done. “Here. It’s the seasonal cranberry cider. On the house since your friends all stood you up.”
With a soft chuckle, I accept the drink. “I’m not sure it counts as being stood up if this is their normal.”
She shrugs. “It does if no one bothered to tell you that. How was your first week of your first ChristmasFest?”
“Good!” I say automatically, then sip the cider. It’s sweet, but not too sweet. Just how I like it.
Amy arches an eyebrow like she doesn’t quite believe me.
“It has been good,” I repeat. “Mostly.” When she just waits, I grimace. “There was a small issue with some of the trees, but I think it’s been resolved.”
“It has been,” a low voice puts in behind me. “I texted you yesterday that I’d figured out the issue and taken steps to correct it.” Aaron props himself on a stool next to me, and I freeze, not sure what to say in response.
Fortunately, I don’t have to. Not right away, at least. Amy places a napkin in front of him, and we all sit in silence as she fills up a pint glass with his choice of beer—something dark with a lot of foam, but I didn’t catch the name because I was too busy trying to kickstart my brain into responding to him.
I never did come up with anything to text. Trying to figure out what to say in person is even worse!
After sipping his beer, he wipes the foam off his upper lip with his hand, leaning his forearm on the bar and turning to face me. “You got my text, didn’t you?”
Clearing my throat, I sip my own drink to buy time, and nod. “Yes,” I rasp after swallowing. “I did.”
He nods, a single decisive movement. “Good. I assumed so, but you don’t have read receipts on”—yeah, because I’m not a psycho. Who leaves read receipts on?—“and you didn’t respond, so I wasn’t sure.”
I clear my throat again. “I got it. Thank you for taking care of the problem. Based on the guilty look I got from the culprit when I stopped by to check the trees today, I don’t think it’ll be an ongoing issue.”
Another nod. “Let me know if they don’t recover in the next few days. I might need to repot them. Or I could swap them out for healthier trees.”
I nod, too. “Sure thing.”
We lapse into silence, and I want to say something, but I have no idea what. This is possibly the most cordial conversation I’ve had with Aaron. We haven’t found a lot of common ground in the time that I’ve been here.
Shooting sidelong glances his way, I try to decide if he’s as uncomfortable with this silence as I am or if he doesn’t care one little bit.
He sits there, sipping his beer, seemingly unbothered. I can’t manage to stifle my aggravated sigh before it escapes me. Of course he’s unbothered. Why would I expect any different?