Fair point. I can’t figure out why anyone would choose backdrops over the real thing, even though that was my entire business model.
But I didn’tlive on a farm.
I know I’ve juggled a fair amount in the last month, but my guilt has been in overdrive lately. There’s a sneaky voice in myhead reminding me of all the ways I’ve come up short. And this is one more log on that fire.
I only shot a fraction of the sessions I had scheduled. Several of my sessions took rainchecks for next year, either for a different setup or for next Christmas.
Not that I had the time, but I took a couple of odd jobs around Storywood Ridge just to do something. While we were settling, and while Phoebe was in school. Of the handful of projects, the Sugar Plum Inn reopening was my favorite.Tonsof details, and those are my favorite.
It’s not that I need the money, since marrying Aiden solved that problem, but I miss my studio. I miss the creativity.
I glance over, Aiden’s eyes practically burning a hole through me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m patiently waiting for you to finish your story time.” He grins. “And trying extra hard not to comment on you trying to bring a Santa out here.”
I only asked him because I didn’t want to put Aiden on the spot. If he ever offers, I’ll happily let him. But it has to come from him, and I want him to choose it.
“Before you say anything, I didn’t even try to book Santa sessions. I’ve been plenty busy without them.”
“Is that the issue?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he bites into another cookie.
I know I’m rambling; frustration and exhaustion don't make a cute combo.
“My Santa got sick.” I throw up my hands. “So now this will be the first year Phoebe won’t see Santa. And I have no idea how much longer she’s even going to keep believing…”
“I had no idea Santa could get sick.” Aiden leans on the counter, munching. “You’ve got to stop making these. You’re going to make me fat.” He grins.
“You don’t have to eat them, you know.”
“I’m your resident taste tester; of course, I have to eat them. Plus, they’re my favorite. You can’t make my favorite cookie and expect me to just leave them in the jar.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything.
“As my resident taste tester, I assume this is your stamp of approval?”
“Huge stamp.” He pops the rest of the cookie. “Come over here, and I’ll show you my appreciation.”
“I’m making a big deal out of nothing, aren’t I? One year without Santa won’t be the end of the world.” I sigh, some of the frustration leaking out.
I wonder if he realizes how much his patience calms me. He doesn’t even have to say much; he just listens.
“It wouldn’t be, but I don’t think you’re making a big deal out of nothing either. She’s your daughter, and this is your tradition.”
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Watching Phoebe help on the farm makes me realize how grown-up she is. I’d been so busy building the studio that I'd missed it. Being a working mom isn’t easy—especially when it’s just you. Having help here has given me time back with her, a byproduct I never expected.
But it’s a Catch-22 because then I worry I’m not doing enough.
“I’ll do it.” He wipes his hands. “You’re right—we don’t know how much longer she has in this stage, and it matters.”
I freeze, realizing what he means. “Aiden, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“First, you’re not asking. I’m offering. Second, I have a suit. It solves the problem. Right?”
“It does, but?—”
