“Mom?”I call out, unwinding my scarf.
“In here, honey!”Her voice comes from behind a tower of boxes near the register.
I start toward her, but Alexander has stopped just inside the door, his gaze moving over the shop with genuine interest.He looks completely out of place—this polished Manhattan CEO in his expensive coat, standing among secondhand treasures and Christmas kitsch—but there’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten.He actually looks charmed.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, heading to help Mom with the boxes.
“Oh perfect timing!”Mom says when I reach her.“The shipment from the Carver estate finally arrived—three boxes of vintage Christmas items.Help me get these to the back room so I can sort through them?I need to price everything and get them on display before the weekend festival crowd.”
“Sure,” I say, hoisting one of the boxes.It’s heavier than it looks, packed tight with wrapped items.I look towards Alexander worriedly.
“He’ll be fine browsing,” Mom assures me with a knowing smile, nodding toward Alexander.“Let him explore.Men like their space when they’re shopping.”
I follow her into the back room, which is really more of a large storage area with a worktable, shelving units, and a small desk where Mom does her pricing and inventory.The familiar scent of old paper and lavender sachets fills the space.
Mom immediately starts unwrapping items from the first box—delicate glass ornaments, ceramic figurines, vintage tinsel.“Oh, look at these!Mrs.Carver had the most beautiful collection.This angel alone is worth?—”
The shop bell chimes again, cutting her off.
Through the partially open doorway, I can see into the main shop.My stomach drops when I hear Amber’s voice.
“Aunt Carol?Are you here?Mom said you had that ceramic nativity set she wanted to borrow—Oh.”
Mom’s expression tightens.
“Are you okay?”I ask quietly.
She sighs, setting down the ornament she was holding.“Ever since Chase cheated on you with Amber, things have been uncomfortable.Your Dad’s not happy, more so because Frank keeps trying to change the narrative that this was somehow your fault.And Amber keeps bragging about what she’s done and insulting you.The last two family dinners did not end well.”
I frown.“Do you want me to tell her to leave?”
My mother sighs.“I don’t want you to face her any more than you have to.”
She straightens up to go out, but I grab her wrist, shaking my head.“Amber is my problem.I’m more than capable of dealing with her.Besides, Alexander is out there, remember?”I give her a small, reassuring smile.“Don’t worry.I’ve got this.”
Mom hesitates, then nods, squeezing my hand.We both move closer to the doorway, staying in the shadows where we can see but not be seen.Through the gap between the door and frame, partially hidden by the angle, I have a perfect view of the shop floor.
Amber has spotted Alexander alone, and her entire demeanor turns flirty.Shoulders back, chest forward.She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear in that practiced gesture I’ve seen her use on every guy since high school.
Mom makes a disgusted sound beside me, low enough that only I can hear.“That girl...”
“Shh,” I whisper, watching.
“Hey,” Amber purrs, moving closer to Alexander.
“Hello,” Alexander replies, his voice completely flat as he continues studying a music box without looking at her.I press my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.The absolute disinterest in his tone is magnificent.
“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot yesterday,” Amber tries again, practically batting her eyelashes.
“Really?”Alexander doesn’t even glance her way, carefully turning the music box over in his hands.Mom squeezes my hand, her lips pressed together in disapproval.
“I’m Amber Morrison.”She smooths down her designer coat—deliberately, like she wants him to notice the label.“My father owns Morrison Motors.Largest dealership in three counties.”
Alexander sets down the music box with careful precision, his expression unchanged.
Amber takes his silence as encouragement.“We’re very established here, the Morrisons.Old money on my mom’s side, you know.”Her gaze sweeps dismissively around the thrift shop.“My family hosts the annual charity gala every year—the real social event of the season.Not like the little craft fairs and bake sales some people organize.”The jab at Mom’s shop and community involvement is clear.I feel Mom stiffen beside me.
Alexander moves to examine some framed architectural drawings, putting distance between them.
