Shaking my head and pushing the encounter with Dave out of my mind, I drove back to the SnowDrop Inn.
Chapter Twenty-One: An Idea
Caleb
The vendor market had turned the whole block into a crowd as people slowly looked over each stall. I had the shop door propped open as an invitation. People drifted in and out in small groups, some curious, some purposeful, some just warming up before heading back into the cold.
This was the version of busy I liked.
Here I was the guy behind the counter who knew where things were and how they worked. I tuned a guitar for a teenager, teaching them how to do it for themselves in the future. I showed a couple from out of town where the music stands were and demonstrated how compact certain ones could become. Someone bought a banjo. Someone else browsed for ten minutes and left without buying anything, which was fine too.
I caught myself smiling, which was embarrassing because there was nothing particularly smile-worthy happening. It just felt… right. Like a life I could keep showing up for.
When the bell chimed again, Ephram stepped inside, stamping snow off his boots and glancing around like he was making sure he hadn’t walked into a trap.
“Can I help you?” I asked, wondering if he was trying to find a holiday gift for Lydia. I wasn’t sure he had come to theright place as I hadn’t noticed any musical tendencies about his girlfriend. Then again, he knew her better than I did.
He grunted. “I’m on Secret Santa duty.”
“That sounds dangerous<” I mused with a smile.
“Police station Secret Santa,” he clarified. “Even worse, I pulled Gail.”
I nodded immediately. “Piano.”
“Piano,” he confirmed. “She already owns everything so I figured this would be the place to start brainstorming on what to get her.”
“She doesn’t own everything,” I said, already moving toward the shelf near the back. “She doesn’t have the new contemporary arrangements yet. The one with the winter set.”
I pulled the book and flipped through it once, just to be sure. Clean layout. Interesting harmonies. Challenging without being obnoxious.
“She’ll like this,” I said, handing it to him. “It’s different enough to be interesting without feeling like homework.”
Ephram turned it over, impressed. “You’re good at this.”
“It’s my one consistent skill.”
He set the book on the counter, then glanced to his right. “Isn’t that supposed to move?”
I followed his gaze to the corner of the counter, where Dave’s abandoned bobblehead sat, unmoving, its head frozen in a permanent nod that it had never actually completed.
“It’s defective, like the person who brought it in,” I said flatly.
Ephram picked it up and shook it gently. Nothing happened.
“That’s upsetting,” he said.
“My former agent brought it as a merchandise concept. It’s horrible,” I replied, ringing through Ephram’s order.
“Ah,” Ephram said, nodding slowly. “This explains nothing and everything.”
“He thinks I should do a full product line,” I continued. “Tour. Branding. All of it.”
Ephram set the bobblehead down before taking out his wallet. “I can tell by your tone you’re not interested in all of that.”
“I prefer to stay here in Maple Ridge,” I answered.
Ephram paid for the book, then leaned his elbows on the counter instead of leaving like a normal customer.
