1
Merrie
There are two types of people in the world: those who believe in Hallmark holiday romance fantasies and those who know it’s a terrible fucking idea to move to a small town to live out your Christmas dreams.
Actually, there is a third person—the type that is dumb enough to burn all their life savings in an attempt to make that dream a reality.
In other words, me.
“I think you have some customers!” Olivia jumped up and down beside me.
The small town of Harrogate had gone all out for Christmas—Main Street was closed for foot traffic only, wreaths hung from the lampposts, and stalls selling artisanal goods lined the streets near the historic city hall building. All the shops were bedazzled in holiday decoration, and tourists and local residents alike wandered out in the quaint small town, soaking up the Christmas cheer.
But the people outside kept on walking past my shop door.
I sagged. “If I can’t even make a sale on Black Friday, the rest of the Christmas season is not looking bright.”
“Most people are Black Friday shopping for Christmas gifts, not holiday decorations,” my bestie promised. “This weekend you’ll totally sell a ton of Christmas tree ornaments.”
I started to panic. “I think this was a bad idea! I’m a failure, and I’m going to spend next Christmas in a box!”
“No, you won’t,” Olivia assured me. “It’s illegal in this town to sleep in a box. You’ll have to live in a drainpipe.”
“I can’t survive in the wild!” I started hyperventilating. “I’m a city mouse who likes to pretend to be a country mouse from the comfort of her heated shop.”
Olivia shoved one of the freshly baked Christmas cookies in my mouth.
I chewed furiously.
“It’s the holiday season. You eat, sleep, and breathe Christmas. You got this. Selling ornaments? That was what you were put on this earth to do. You’re in a charming small town in an Instagram-worthy shop. Your store is going to be this year’s hottest item, and you’re going to have your big Christmas romance with the small-town hunk of your dreams.” She shoved another cookie in my mouth along with a generous spoonful of frosting.
The timer dinged.
The seventies-era portable oven I had borrowed from Great-Aunt Bettina made a wheezing noise as I opened the door. I felt like people were more likely to spend money on handmade Christmas ornaments if the shop selling them smelled like cookies. Also, cookies.
Of course, that meant I actually, you know, needed people in my shop.
I took a sip of my bourbon hot chocolate with extra bourbon. Did I mention I was coming off an emotional hangover from a Thanksgiving spent with my large, blended family? And I had no money? I needed this bourbon, dammit.
I looked around at the carefully curated displays. I had spent months and all my savings creating the perfect Christmas shop, and it showed. Walking into Merry & Bright was like walking into an elf’s workshop. The shop was my dream come true—even if it wasn’t bringing in a lot of customers.
“Maybe I need another Christmas tree,” I said, adjusting a Charlie Brown Christmas ornament on the twelve-foot-tall Frasier fir tree strung with large, colorful retro lights. Olivia’s cat Louis poked his head out of the tree for a scratch.
“You do not have money for a second Christmas tree,” Olivia said flatly.
“Just a small one!” I protested. “I’m running an ornament shop. I need multiple Christmas trees. It’s a business expense.”
“Your whole business plan is nothing but business expenses at this point.” She balanced her wrist on the reclaimed wood counter and painted green frosting on a sugar cookie wreath. “At least they can’t throw you in debtors’ prison like this is Victorian England and Ebenezer Scrooge is calling for your head.”
“No, but they can take my business, ruin my credit, and make it so I can never qualify for so much as a gift card ever again,” I replied, ticking off on my fingers.
“That’s when your magical small-town Hallmark hunk shows up and saves the day,” Olivia joked.
“Ye of little faith. We are in a picturesque small town,” I said, holding up a finger. “It is totally within the realm of possibility that by Christmas Eve I will be in a log cabin in the woods, snow will be falling, and a handsome bearded flannel-wearing hunk named Marcus who has a job building Christmas parade floats or holiday wreaths will be proposing marriage to me in front of a fire stoked with wood he chopped himself.”
“Aren’t you mildly allergic to flannel?” Olivia asked as I took the next batch of cookies out of the oven.
“I would spike my hot chocolate with allergy meds if I could have Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Small-Town Handsome as my one true love,” I replied, smearing frosting on one of the still-hot cookies.
