Merrie
“I’m sure the purple ornament would look lovely with that color scheme,” I said, trying my best to still seem preppy and full of Christmas cheer. Really, I wanted to shove a candy cane in my eye. I had been helping this woman for the last forty-five minutes in her quest to decide on which ornament she was going to buy.
You cannot lose this sale. This is your first real customer of the Christmas season. Not counting the ice prince.
Because I wanted my ornament shop to provide high-end boutique-level service, I had given the woman two cups of hot chocolate and three cookies. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t buying a single thing.
It will get better after this.
It has to get better after this.
The customer gave a great big sigh. “I’m just going to have to ask my tarot card reader. Can you put this ornament on hold for me?” She handed me the small purple snowman.
I took it with a pained smile.
“I’ll be back.” She took a cookie to go.
She will not be back.
“Merry Christmas!” I sang out as the bells over the door jingled, mocking me.
I slumped down behind the counter after the woman had left. We had been open for the last four hours. She had been my only customer.
I am so screwed.
The bells jingled, and I perked up then deflated.
“Don’t act so unhappy to see me,” Olivia said. “Especially since I brought you some dinner.” She set the carryout contained on the counter.
“The line was insane,” she said. “I can’t believe it took me an hour. How’s business going?”
“Terrible!” I wailed. “I’m going to be out of business by the end of the week.”
I poured myself the last of the hot chocolate and drained the cup.
“It’s a Friday night,” Olivia reminded me. “You only just opened. You need to give it a little bit of time. Do some advertising. Maybe dress up as an elf and walk around the Christmas market and tell tourists to come to your shop.”
“I need a job,” I said, panicking. “I see the writing in royal icing. I’m screwed. I’m going to have to collect the Christmas tree carcasses when this is all over and build a hovel down by the river.”
“Okay, wow,” Olivia said, opening up the takeout container. “Someone has had too much sugar and alcohol. You need some fat and protein.” She scooped up a forkful of the cheesy pasta and shoved it in my mouth.
“Yummm. Bourbon bacon and white cheddar mac ‘n’ cheese.” I scooped up another steaming spoonful. “Amazing,” I mumbled around the piping hot pasta and bacon. “Perfect Christmas food.”
The oven dinged. I pulled out a tray of cookies.
Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Do you think you need to get a health department letter to bake cookies in the shop?”
“Of course she can bake cookies!” My great-aunt Bettina swept into the shop and held her arms out to wrap me in a hug.
I was concerned. “Olivia’s an architect. She knows the codes…”
“Nonsense,” Bettina replied. She brushed the snow off her green, white, and red velour tracksuit. “My Merrie’s not selling the cookies. A girl can bake cookies in her own shop.”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m shut down,” I said dejectedly. “I don’t have any customers; I need to find a job.”
“That’s too bad because I’m here to buy a Christmas ornament,” Bettina said, “a big one. And to ask you to lend your Christmas prowess to the decorating committee for the upcoming town hall meeting.”
I smiled at her gratefully.
