John adjusts his colorful socks, a habit he does when he’s nervous. “I’m assigned to help a kid.”
I giggle. To John, everyone seems like a kid. He could have a sixty-year-old man for all I know. Hey! Maybe I’ll see them. I don’t know how often our assignments cross paths, but it’s a possibility.
Henry dismisses us to get started, and I clutch my assignment letter to my chest as we leave the building. I love it on campus; it’s a place of learning. But I can’t be an eternal student—I asked. At some point, they want you to give back. I get it; I do. And I’m ready to do my part.
“Earth, here I come,” I declare, my voice filled with determination and joy. “Ready or not, Bailey, it’s time to rediscover the beauty of human connection!”
One
BAILEY
The scent of freshly cut pine wafts through the air as I carefully place the last ornament on my small Christmas tree. Each time I brush the branches, the needles soft to the touch, I’m glad I made an effort to go to The Christmas Tree Farm and pick out a live tree.
The twinkling lights cast a warm glow across my sparsely furnished apartment, reflecting off the large windows that overlook the bustling street below. I’m just renting, and I’m not even sure how long I’ll stay in town. I needed to get out of a bad relationship and be in a new space. Benton Falls feels like the kind of place where I could hide out and be unnoticed for a while.
I step back, admiring how the tree transforms the simple space into something magical. This is what I love about decorating, creating a feeling through my surroundings. I was building quite the clientele in the city before … well, I don’t want to think about that lying, manipulating, horrible man I’d given my heart to. I glance down at my chest and look hard, as if I could see through to my actual heart. In my mind, it looks dried up and cracked, like parched clay in the desert. I have no idea how to fix it or if I’m even fixable.
A gentle knock at the door startles me from my reverie. I open it to find Mrs. Pennington, the owner of The Pampered Pooch Pantry downstairs, holding an envelope. She’s a petite woman in her early sixties, standing at about 5’ 2" with a slightly plump, grandmotherly figure. Her face is round and kind, with rosy cheeks and laugh lines that speak to a lifetime of smiles. Her eyes are a gentle blue, twinkling with warmth and often crinkling at the corners when she smiles, which is frequent.
Biscuit, Mrs. Pennington’s constant companion, sits next to her leg. An elderly golden retriever with a graying muzzle, soulful eyes, and a penchant for taste-testing new treats, he never barks at people. Everyone who comes into the store, be it human or a four-legged customer, is welcome and loved on site.
“Bailey, dear,” she says, her eyes crinkling with a smile, “this just came for you. Looks important!”
Biscuit wags his tail slowly.
“Thank you,” I say as I take the envelope. The thick, rich paper weighs heavily in my hand. I try not to think about what it could mean for me. I pray it’s the beacon of hope I’ve been searching for; life seems so small lately. A part of me knows I’m not meant to hide in an apartment and give virtual decorating advice. It’s just hard to put myself out there with clients after the way I was personally and professionally destroyed.
I tuck the envelope behind me and use my other hand to give Biscuit a quick pat. “How are the new cranberry spice biscuits coming along?”
She chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “They’re a hit. Biscuit here can’t get enough of them. I think we have a new bestseller on our hands.”
“That’s fantastic,” I tell them. I’m really happy for her. Mrs. Pennington is one of those people who seeks kindness. I don’t think she can help herself.
Biscuit scoots forward half an inch, begging for more attention with his soulful eyes. I give in immediately. Mrs. Pennington shakes her head at him. “He is so emotionally needy sometimes.” She tsks her tongue, and I laugh.
“Aren’t we all?” I quip. Once the words are out, I realize I may be more emotionally needy than others lately, and I’m embarrassed that I let that slip. I used to wear my feelings on my face, allowing the whole world in. Now I guard myself, and I’m not sure I like that. I feel tougher, but it also feels like a suit of armor that doesn’t fit right. I hate that I no longer know who I am.
“Touche.” She winks. “I’d better get back to the store. The Scotties are coming in this afternoon. Merry Christmas.” She waves over her shoulder as she makes her way down the stairs. Biscuit is right behind her, careful not to push past her and knock her over. His large size is something he’s actually aware of, and I love that he’s a big ol’ teddy bear.
The Scotties are two Scottish terriers who adore Biscuit and whose owner is intent on spoiling them. I swear he keeps The Pampered Pooch in business. Although, I have wondered if Mr. Watson isn’t so much in love with his dogs as he is with Mrs. Pennington. I’ve only seen them together once, and I caught him looking at her like she was hanging the sun, the moon, and stars. The old me would hint around, maybe tease her a bit about Mr. Watson’s affections, but the new me doesn’t want to mess up a good friendship that feels precarious. Everything feels precarious lately.
Ugh! I came to Benton Falls to get my act together—to find myself. Why is it so hard to reconnect withme? I’m right here!
I close the door and bring the envelope out from behind my back. I turn it over in my hands. The elegant script on the front catches my eye. Calligraphy is a lost art. If I had any talent in that area, I’d write everything with swoops and swirls.
My heart skips a beat as I recognize the logo of the Historic Holly Inn embossed in the corner. Oh my gosh! I hold my breath. I applied for the holiday decorating contest months ago, long before I decided to move here. In fact, it was the pictures on the website that came to mind when I was looking for somewhere to lie low. I hadn’t heard from them, and I thought I didn’t make it.
I stare at the envelope. They wouldn’t use such wonderful stationery to tell me I didn’t make it, would they?
With trembling fingers, I slide it open. “Please. Please,” I plead with my Maker. I really need a win. Being invited to participate would be huge for me. The very boost I need to get my feet back under me and find my way back to the career I love.
I scan the lines as fast as my brain can soak up the words.
I made it. I hug the paper to my chest and fall against the door.
I made it!
This is the chance I’ve been waiting for, an opportunity to showcase my talents and prove to everyone—including myself and that half-whit ex-boyfriend who told the whole world I was a fluke—that I have what it takes to succeed in the world of design.
