“This is a better setup,” I say, as I set the last one down. “You’re working with the natural light you’ve already got.”
“It also allows me to have more, smaller sections,” she says. “And the view of a Christmas tree lot could be good.”
I glance out at my lot. It’s pretty scraggly looking. There’s some snow, but the area peeking out from under what’s melted is just yellowed grass and mud. And the trees on their own aren’t so pretty compared to the lavishly decorated shops around them. Even Taylor has more going on than I do with her red ribbons brightening the garlands on her door and railing, and she’s not even open yet.
“The idea of a Christmas tree lot is probably better than the real thing,” I admit.
“For now, maybe,” she suggests.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask her.
“Well, you’re helping me in here,” she says. “Is there any reason I can’t help you dress up your place a little?”
I’m stunned, but she looks genuinely excited about the idea.
“Really?” I ask.
“Meg could help too,” she suggests.
“She would probably get a kick out of that,” I admit. “What kind of supplies do you need?”
“Not much,” she says. “Some lights for decoration, and just another piece of wood and some paints for a better sign.”
“You’ve been thinking about this,” I realize.
“It’s my main view,” she says with a guilty expression. “No pressure though.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “I’m open.”
And I am. My eyes, my mind, and my heart all seem to be open to this young woman who so effortlessly gets past my guard every time I’m with her.
“Listen,” I say, suddenly wanting to unburden myself. “I need to tell you something, and I hope it doesn’t change things between us.”
“Oh,” she says worriedly. “Okay.”
“I actually own this building,” I say quickly. “Along with the lot, obviously. I bought it in the summertime.”
I wait for her to react to this info, maybe be mad at me for not saying anything before. Or maybe get weird because I’m somehow in charge.
“Wow,” she says lightly. “So you’re the grumpy landlord.”
A chuckle breaks out of my chest before I can stop it and she smiles up at me, looking surprised.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “That’s me.”
“Mrs. Perkins is really nice,” she says, frowning. “She wouldn’t call you a grump for no reason.”
“That’s true,” I say, nodding.
“But you’re not a grump,” she says. “At least not always.”
“Oh, I think plenty of people would tell you otherwise,” I say.
“Why are you a grump?” she asks.
No one has ever asked me that before. I guess because they’ve never needed to. I wasn’t always like this. Back in school, I was actually known as kind of a prankster.
And then things changed.
