“Be nice to Taylor,” Buck calls out to me, purely to start trouble, since he’s literally coming with me.
“Of course I’ll be nice,” I spit back, even though we both know he was baiting me.
“She sounds like a nice young lady,” Dad says thoughtfully. “Maybe just try not to be…”
“A grump?” I offer.
“I didn’t say it,” Dad replies, lifting his hands. But his eyes are twinkling.
“Dadisnice to Taylor,” Meg says loyally. “He’s helping her fix up her shop and she’s going to help decorate the tree lot.”
Mom and Dad exchange a pleased look that makesme want to yell thatnothing is going onbetween Taylor and me.
But what’s the point? I may as well let them have hope for my love life, even if I don’t have any myself.
You’re about to spend the evening alone with her, the know-it-all voice in the back of my head whispers.
But I can handle that. I’ll just help her out. She’s a good tenant. I’d like to keep her around.
And if my heartbeat speeds up a little at the thought of seeing her tonight, so what?
7
TAYLOR
The sun is just blushing pink over Angel Mountain as I get back to the bookshop and throw my shopping bags down before heading right back out.
Roan and Meg are planning to help out with the shop tonight, but I needed a little break this afternoon and decided to check out the hardware store down the street.
Not only did it have basically everything under the sun for improving a house or shop, but it also had spools of thick, decorative ribbon, and a bin full of Christmas lights that were on discount.
“Overstocked,” the bored kid at the checkout counter said when I asked why it was on sale.
I don’t know why they overstocked, but I’m grateful. I bought enough to light the tree lot up like it’s Times Square, plus a couple of massive outdoor extensioncords. I even got a dozen metal hooks because I have an idea.
But I’m going to need help with it.
As I head down the block to the jewelry shop just on the other side of the tree lot, I think about how the owner there probably wishes the lot next door looked nicer too. And I tell myself that they’ll be glad I stopped by.
But I don’t really believe it. In Manhattan, the response to my request would definitely be a resounding no, or a request for a shocking amount of cash and a pair of lawyers to argue over a complicated contract.
I take a deep breath of crystalline mountain air before heading up to the front door.
The shop has a sign that saysBells and Baublesand the Christmas display in the front window is absolutely gorgeous. There’s a bed of fluffy cotton snow holding sleeping forest animals and tiny glittery fairies hanging from almost-invisible threads.
The bell over the door jingles merrily as I enter, and I’m relieved to see that there’s no one in the shop but the lady behind the counter.
“Hello there,” she says with a gentle smile. “How can I help you?”
She’s middle-aged, with long hair and a flowy skirt. For some reason, I feel instantly comfortable with her.
“I’m not here to buy anything today,” I tell her regretfully as I try not to let myself drool over the casesof shimmering gems. “I just had a question. I’m leasing the bookshop on the other side of the tree lot, and I had an idea. I was hoping to speak with the owner?”
“Well, congratulations on your new place,” the lady says warmly. “And I’m the owner. My name is Marion.”
“Nice to meet you, Marion,” I reply. “I’m Taylor.”
“Great name,” she says with a smile.
