Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Jenna
His offer of dinner catches me by complete surprise, and I freeze, mouth hanging open but no answer forthcoming. He wants to take me out to dinner? But he … he doesn’t even like me.
“Or drinks? If you’d rather not have a full meal. You’ll be tired by the end of the day, so maybe you won’t want to stay out that late. I’d normally offer another option, but I’m pretty sure your schedule is slammed through Christmas and that’s the only night this week that I don’t have Colin.”
The more that he talks, something dawns on me—Aaron’s nervous.
He asked me to dinner, and instead of answering one way or the other like a normal person, I started buffering instead, and now he doesn’t know what to do.
That’s equal parts adorable and hilarious.
He’s always seemed so even-keeled and together that seeing him flustered has a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
He trails off, a tiny smirk matching mine. “What?” he asks, though it almost sounds like a demand.
Facing him fully, I cross my arms over my chest, my tablet tucked under my arm. I shake my head. “Nothing. Just waiting to see how much longer this is gonna go on.”
He narrows his eyes, but his tiny smile doesn’t go anywhere. Mimicking my stance, he crosses his arms as well. “And here I thought you had somewhere to get to,” he drawls.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your various invitations and explanations. It’d be a bit rude, don’t you think?”
He snorts. “And since when has that stopped you?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. And with that kind of attitude, how could I not say yes to dinner?”
His smile broadens. “So is that a yes?”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head and start moving away to continue my rounds. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Take your time,” he calls after me. “I’ll see you tomorrow around closing!”
I hold up a hand in acknowledgment.
The next morning, I can’t decide what to wear.
I have a date … maybe. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going, but I’m leaning toward yes.
What else am I going to do—come home, eat whatever I can assemble from my fridge and pantry, and watch Brooklyn 99 for the fiftieth time?
I don’t have the brain capacity at the end of the day for anything more than a well-worn comfort watch right now.
Did he mean it as a date, though?
That’s the other part of that maybe. Was he asking me on a date at all?
Standing in front of my closet in the flannel pants and threadbare T-shirt that I sleep in, I debate with myself the various possibilities.
He said it was to make up for inconveniencing me by making me stay late for him to repot the trees.
Arguably, him doing that benefits the ChristmasFest as a whole and me specifically because, A—I’m in charge of ChristmasFest, and B—the potted trees were my idea, despite his well-voiced objections.
So if anything, him repotting the trees is doing me a favor.
He could just let them die. As he pointed out, I already paid for them.
They’re no longer his responsibility. Which would mean the dinner invite is a date.
Of course, dead trees with his business name on them wouldn’t look good for him, either.
So in that regard, he might see his interest in repotting the trees as more self-serving, which would mean he would think he’s inconveniencing me, especially if he doesn’t see that repotting the trees helps me out in the long run too.
Which would make the dinner invite just a way to make up for the inconvenience, and not a date.
Or both? Could it be both a date and a way to make up for what he perceives as an inconvenience to me?
If it’s not a date, does that impact my clothing choices for today?
Whatever I choose has to see me through a full day of ChristmasFest and transition into dinner.
He didn’t mention where we might go, but I imagine it’s not somewhere overly fancy.
While Arcadian Falls certainly has a few fancier dining options to cater to the tourist crowd, those places aren’t exactly frequented by locals.
Annoyed with myself and all my overthinking, I grab a pair of black velvet pants and a cute red sweater and call it good.
They’re comfortable and practical enough for the day, I’m layering a tank top under the sweater in case I get too warm, and I should still look nice enough for a maybe date at the end of the day.
Problem solved.
Except that even though I’ve certainly solved my wardrobe problem for the day, the uncertainty of date or not a date plagues me all day, making me snappish and grumpy, which certainly doesn’t help the community perception that I’m some kind of Grinch out to ruin Christmas in Arcadian Falls.
As eight o’clock draws closer, I keep scanning the space, watching for Aaron.
God, I’ve got it bad. In my mind, I’ve decided that yes, this is a date.
But what if it’s not?
A sick, swooping feeling flips through my stomach. That would … suck.
Should I clarify before dinner? If I do, I can just say no, thanks, never mind. Of course, that would broadcast that I want it to be a date, and given that he obviously wouldn’t reciprocate, it might return us to the awkwardness that we so recently escaped.
I could just go to dinner with him and see what happens … save us both potential awkwardness. Maybe be lightly flirty? That way if he’s looking for an opening, he can find it, but if not, he can safely ignore it and we’re both safe from embarrassment and awkwardness.
I really wish I could shut my brain up for five seconds and just be.
He walks through the doors about five minutes before eight, and my stomach swoops again, this time in a nervous-happy way instead of in a nervous-dread way. I guess that’s a good sign.
He spots me immediately—it helps that I’ve stationed myself near the entrance and have been loitering here for close to ten minutes now—and smiles, lifting a hand in a wave.
I smile back, wide and unashamed. I’d already decided to be flirty, right? No sense in pretending I’m not happy to see him.
“Hey,” he says, stopping in front of me. “How’d today go?”
“Good,” I nod like a bobblehead. “Really good. Lots of traffic. Very busy.”
He grins again. “That’s good. With a late Thanksgiving that means we won’t have any real downtime.
Sometimes the weekend after we open isn’t as busy since it’s still November if Thanksgiving is early, but since we’re already into December, things should continue ramping up right through Christmas Eve. ”
I wrinkle my nose. “Really? Even here people put off shopping that long?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Procrastination is human nature, I suppose. Sometimes holidays sneak up on people—they get busy and lose track of time because they’re focused on all the other things they have to juggle and gift purchases slide down the list. There’s also a fair few who’ve made it a tradition to visit ChristmasFest on Christmas Eve for one last browse through the vendors and treats from Give and Cake. ”
I giggle. “That name still cracks me up.”
“It’s pretty great, I agree. They’ve been a fixture here my whole life.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “There are places like that back home, too. There’s a burger place downtown that’s almost as old as the city itself. The menu is basically burgers and pie—not even French fries.”
“No fries?” he interjects, sounding shocked. “What’s a burger without fries?”
I hold up a finger. “What’s better than a burger and fries? A burger and pie. They have a really good chocolate cream, plus they have seasonal berries in the summer. It’s great. They’re still cash only, and they make everything on a big grill right in front of you.”
“Like a hibachi place?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “No. It’s not a performance like that.
It’s just that the kitchen isn’t hidden in the back somewhere.
It’s small, little more than a bar and a few tables for seating.
And the grill is against the wall on the other side of the bar, so you get to watch them make your burger, and they’ll double check if you wanted your onions grilled or whatever right then and there.
The burgers are delicious, and it’s not overpriced. It’s a local gem.”
“Where’d you say you grew up again? I might have to take a trip there sometime just to try the burgers.”
With a smile, I tell him the name of the town I’m from.
“Jenna?” I turn to see Mara Daniels smiling at me. “Congratulations on surviving your first full week of ChristmasFest! How’s everything going?” Her eyes dart between Aaron and me, though her brows are crimped lightly with curiosity.
“Oh! Things are great. Really great.” I mentally swat away the lingering frustration from yesterday’s reminder that while I might think my changes are positive—and I’ve heard plenty of positive comments too—some people still think I’m the worst thing to happen to ChristmasFest.
Mara arches an eyebrow. “You know, I’ve raised four kids, and I’m also a grandma now.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, glancing at Aaron to see if he knows what this is about.
He seems to be trying to hide a smile by rubbing his hand over his mouth, but I can still see his eyes twinkling. While he seems to be in on some kind of joke, he’s not giving me any clues.
Mara leans in and lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper. “I can always tell when my kids aren’t being entirely honest.”
With another glance at Aaron—he snorts softly, trying to cover it with a coughing fit—I nod. “That sounds like a useful skill.”
Humming, Mara nods too. “It is. And so, that leads me to believe from your overly bright answer that something isn’t so great.”
The penny finally drops.
“Colin’s started doing that too,” Aaron mumbles, and Mara smiles at him like they’re both in some kind of secret club. Which, I guess they are—the parents’ club.
“It starts young and never really ends. Even Ty, my oldest, still tries that with me. I’ll call, I’ll ask how he is, and he’ll tell me everything’s amazing and magnificent, and that usually means he’s struggling between clients or that one of his clients is being particularly difficult.
If things are actually going well, he’s a lot more laid back about telling me so.
” She turns to me again, looking me up and down over the top of her tiny Mrs. Claus spectacles. “What’s going on, Jenna dear?”
Sighing, I shake my head. “Nothing I can’t handle. I promise.”
“Is Aaron giving you trouble?” She points at him, discussing him as though he’s not here.
“Hey!” he objects, and I grin, shaking my head.
“Not anymore.”
“Not anymore?” he repeats.
I shrug, unbothered. “You know you were a thorn in my side for a while. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.”
Subsiding, he grumbles to himself, but I ignore him as I talk to Mara, filling her in on the tree situation.
“He’s here to repot the trees that were struggling from the chai lattes.
Says he wants to make sure the soil is right so they thrive the whole season.
He actually made a really cool suggestion that we should auction off the potted trees and their decorations and use the money to benefit a local charity.
” I glance at him again. “The youth hockey thing, maybe?”
Mara clasps her hands. “Oh, I love that. That’s a wonderful idea. And Troy would be thrilled, I’m sure. See?” Mara continues, nudging my arm gently. “You’re starting to find your place here. I knew you would in time.”
I let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Well, not everyone agrees.”
Her eyebrows raise again. “Ah. There it is. Who’s giving you trouble?”
“No one,” I tell her, and I know she doesn’t believe me from her pursed lips and crossed arms. “I promise, Mara. I’m a big girl.
I can handle myself.” I glance around, noticing that half the booths are closed for the night.
“I’m going to do a quick sweep of the place before locking the doors so Aaron can start working on the trees.
I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I’m doing fine, I promise. ”
She studies me a moment longer, her lips still pursed, then she sighs. “Okay. I believe you.” To Aaron, she says, “One thing you learn as they get older is that you have to let them handle things themselves, even when you want to swoop in and fix everything.”
He grunts. “Already starting to learn that lesson. Smaller things like zipping his coat and figuring out how to tie his shoes, but … yeah.”
Mara nods knowingly and sighs wistfully.
“True. You start out so totally attached, and the goal of parenting is to work yourself out of a job. It’s rewarding and wonderful but also difficult to watch.
” To me, she says, “If you do need help with anyone, please don’t hesitate to come to me.
Jake and I have your back.” When I snort softly—and involuntarily—at that, she grins and holds up a finger.
“I didn’t say we’d back every one of your wild ideas, but we support you.
You belong here now, Jenna. And don’t let anyone tell you different. ”
My heart squeezes at her words. How I wish that they were true.