“They’d never make it on time. Perks of living in Alaska.” Ava abandoned her soda and went for a bottled water from her fridge instead. “I’m half tempted to drop the cards in mailboxes around town. Not sure the postmaster would appreciate that.”
It was the mixed-up expression on Brayden’s face that gave her pause—the one that morphed between sour, contemplative, and cautious.
“Out with it.”
“Those cards. They’re a great idea.”
“But?”
“Let me design some new templates. You don’t have to use them, but I think you might like what I come up with.”
Ava lifted an eyebrow, the mystery of Brayden’s past pulling at her curiosity even more. He didn’t even have a website for his woodworking, yet he was suddenly a graphic designer? “What’s wrong with my cards?”
“You didn’t list your website, for one.”
Shoot. He was right. Which only reminded Ava that she needed to add the baskets to her website inventory tonight. Tomorrow she needed to put flyers up in the local businesses, assemble as many as possible, and set up an impossible-to-miss display at the store. “I’ll add that.”
“Are youthatopposed to taking a chance on me?”
Heat crept up her neck and she turned away.He’s talking about the flyers, right?“Are you trying to tell me that you—the woodworker—have a hidden talent for graphic design?” She was used to doing most things on her own. Splurging on fancy marketing graphics was a thing of the past. She wasn’t terrible at it, but someone else might be better. That much she could admit. She’d taught herself how because it was the best for the bottom line.
Brayden stepped back from the tree. “Send me the template,” he dared, not looking at her as he fixed a stray branch. “I’ll send you some mockups. What’s the worst I could do? If you don’t like them, don’t use them.”
“I can’t pay you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Why do you want to help me?”
When Brayden turned his gaze on her, that butterfly fluttered to life again. Heck, it might’ve invited a partner to play. “It’s Christmas. My grandpa was big on helping people. Especially at Christmas.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You answered a question without being super mysterious.”
Brayden let out a laugh as he moved into the kitchen to clean up the dinner mess. “What about Anchorage?”
Ava set down the last strand in its own pile—it was the only one that fully worked—and pushed off the couch. Elsie’s eyes blinked open, likely at the crinkling of wrappers. She pushed out of her dog bed, missing on the first attempt. “All the craft fairs are booked solid. I’m on half a dozen waitlists, but I’m so far down on the list I can’t even hope to make one.” If only her idea had struck her sooner, maybe she could’ve planned better. “Planning is usually one of my strengths—and still one if my mom asks—but this year has been a little . . . hectic.”
“I bet you’re more on top of this than you give yourself credit for,” Brayden said. “But a little collaborative effort never hurt anything. Maybe I can help. We’ll be spending more time together than we expected, right? If we don’t, our cover will be busted. How many of these baskets do you have, anyway?”
Ava let out a laugh. “You’d never believe me without seeing it for yourself.”
Stepping out from the kitchen and waving a hand toward the stairs, he said, “Lead the way.”
“Right now?”
“I thought you had everything in your garage.”
“I do.”
“Then amaze me.”
He followed much too closely for Ava’s sanity. It was that dang flutter again. Her guard was dropping, and it didn’t seem she was capable of stopping it.
It was afakerelationship. Nothing more. Sure, when she first met her neighbor, she had it bad for him. Brayden Young was attractive and mysterious. Every available woman in Sunset Ridge had their interest piqued at his arrival in town. But he stood her up and blamed it on falling asleep. The excuse still bothered her.
