Chapter 17
As Daniel’s words sank in, Penny felt her world slowing down.
The crisp air against her cheeks went still.
The folks hurrying in and out of the hardware store were suddenly moving in slow-motion, like they were wading through molasses.
Her heartbeat slowed until all she could see was the serious, intelligent man in front of her who seemed intent on barreling down the ill-advised path he’d forged — a path built on a premise that she knew in her heart was fundamentally wrong.
With effort, she wrenched her gaze away from his handsome face — she needed a moment to regroup — and turned toward Cane Hardware’s holiday window display, which this year featured an all-encompassing tribute to a single color: Christmas red.
Every inch of the display, from floor to ceiling, was red — red walls, a red Christmas tree with red lights and red tinsel and red ornaments, surrounded by scads of gifts wrapped in red paper and decorated with red ribbons and red bows.
The red should have been too much — too monochromatic, too one-note, too same-same. But somehow it wasn’t. The effect was dramatic, vibrant, festive, rich, inviting. There was a lushness to the display, a hint of mystery — a joyful enthusiasm for the holiday it so enthusiastically embraced.
“I bet it’s even better when it’s lit up at night,” Daniel said quietly.
She glanced at him, startled out of her reverie. “You’re right about that,” she said. “At night, the red is dazzling.”
The crisp breeze returned, reminding her that she was outside on a cold winter afternoon. To the west, the sun was continuing its inevitable descent to the horizon.
Taking a deep breath, she made up her mind. “Can I say something about what you just said?”
“You can,” he said, turning to face her.
She gazed up at his serious face. “You’re coming across as quite stubborn.”
“I suppose I am,” he said slowly. “I get like this sometimes. Not my best quality, but it’s part of who I am.”
“One thing I’m not clear about. You’re aware that your essay has caused trouble for your agent and publisher.”
He nodded. “Which I feel bad about. I didn’t anticipate it stirring things up as much as it did.”
“If you end up telling the world that your essay is right, won’t that cause them even more trouble?”
“If that’s where I land, then I’ll give my team advance notice.”
“Will advance notice be enough?”
He shrugged. “They’re smart people. They know me and their business. I’m sure they already have a Plan B and Plan C in the works.”
“You seem dead set on being stubborn.”
“Only if I’m right.”
“Do you think you’re right?”
He regarded her for a long moment. “Do you think I’m wrong?”
Of course I think you’re wrong, she almost said. Irritation coursed through her, surprising her.
“It’s getting chilly,” she said abruptly. “We need to get inside.”
Without waiting for him to agree, she headed into the hardware store, her irritation — with him?
herself? both of them? — growing. As expected, the place was packed with shoppers.
As she squeezed past the line at the sales counter, her friend Ted, the store’s owner, gave her a quick nod before returning his attention to the customer he was ringing up.
“The decorations are this way,” she said to Daniel, who’d caught up. Squeezing past customers, she made her way to the store’s home-decor aisle. “Here we go,” she said briskly. “Lots of options to choose from.”
“Penny,” Daniel began.
“We’ll want lights,” she said, ignoring him. “And tinsel — lots of tinsel. And at least a few boxes of ornaments.”
“Penny,” Daniel said again.
Despite the irritation still pulsing through her, she reluctantly turned her attention back to him.
“Yes?” she said.
“You think I’m wrong,” he said, his voice level, his gaze serious.
“Oh, very much so,” she said immediately, the words leaping out of her before she could stop them.
He didn’t seem surprised to hear her say that — though she was. She’d had every intention of not engaging with him on the topic, yet here she was, jumping in.
Is that why I’m so irritated right now? she thought. Because I’ve allowed myself to get drawn in?
“Tell me why I’m wrong,” he said.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. “Okay,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “Fine. If your essay is, as Ed and Ike said, the ‘opening salvo’ of an ongoing campaign against my favorite holiday, then yes, your essay is very wrong.”
“I’d like to hear why,” he said. “Your opinion matters to me.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Why does my opinion matter to you?”
“I care about what you think.”
For the first time today, she detected a hint of nervousness in his expression.
“Like I said during the sleigh ride,” he continued, “I find you to be smart, considerate, thoughtful, kind, beautiful….”
There was emotion behind his words. Her cheeks grew warm. And he’d just called her beautiful — he hadn’t said that before.
But no way was a compliment getting him off the hook. “If you think kind words will distract me, think again.”
He shook his head. “Just telling it like it is.”
His gaze was serious and sincere — stubbornly so.
She pushed back a rush of emotion. “Okay,” she said, struggling to gather her thoughts. “I’ll tell you why I think you’re wrong. Are you familiar with the parable from India about the blind men and the elephant?”
He frowned. “I don’t think so, no.”
She paused as a customer eased past them. Never, not in a million years, would she have predicted she’d one day have this conversation with a visiting best-selling author in the home-decor aisle of her local hardware store.
“The parable goes like this,” she said. “A group of blind men are asked to touch an elephant and share what they think it is. One man touches the elephant’s trunk and announces that he’s found a snake.
Another man touches a tusk and says he’s found a spear.
Another touches an ear and decides it’s a fan. ”
Daniel nodded. “So what you’re saying is…?”
“The blind men don’t have a full picture of the elephant. And when it comes to Christmas, neither do you.”
His expression grew thoughtful. “What you’re saying is: I’m a blind man and the elephant is Christmas.”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re saying that over-commercialization — my main beef — is just one part of Christmas and it’s wrong of me to ignore everything else that makes the holiday special.”
“Exactly.”
“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I suppose that’s possible.”
“Before you arrived in town, I told myself that I wasn’t going to get into it with you about your essay. My job, I told myself, was to guide you around town, not change your mind. But I’ve changed my mind about that. I’m going to share something with you.”
“Please,” he said, his eyes alive with feeling.
“I partially agree with your essay. Your concern about over-commercialization has some validity, in my view. Sometimes, to our detriment, we get too hung up on spend-spend-spend — and I’m saying this as a shopkeeper who makes half of her annual revenue at Christmas.”
“Glad we agree on that.”
“Partially agree — let’s be clear.”
“If I’m hearing you right, what you’re saying is that, even if my commercialization criticism is valid, I’m missing….”
“Everything else.”
“Things like?”
“Well,” she said, “that’s for you to figure out. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Fair enough.”
“I’d suggest approaching what you do up here with an open heart. It seems you’ve been doing that, at least so far — so keep at it. Just as you discovered with your volunteer home-repair work, what you get from Christmas is a reflection of what you give.”
“Point taken.”
“Bottom line, I believe your essay is a miss because it misses the big picture. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve become, I guess you could say, invested” — emotion surged through her — “in helping you understand that.”
His brown eyes softened. “I’m glad to hear that.”
She swallowed back another surge of emotion. “For the sake of your career, of course.”
“Of course.”
“In the years and decades to come, I hope to read many more Daniel Bedford novels.”
For a long moment, they just stood there in the crowded aisle, not moving, gazing at each other.
“Tell me what you hope I do,” he finally said.
She took a deep breath. “If, in two days, you still feel that your essay is right, then by all means, say that to the world.”
He nodded silently, his eyes not leaving hers.
“But my hope is that you feel differently, and that you choose to share why.”