“I design artificial greenery for the company I work for. This one is for a new line of fake mistletoe.”
“Oh, that sounds so fun,” Trinity said, and if her enthusiasm was false, Rachel couldn’t detect it. “What an amazing profession. You’ve always been so good at everything you set your mind to, Rachel. Your company is lucky to have someone as driven as you,” Trinity said, then added, “I know if you stuck around Snowdrift, I would’ve utilized that big, creative brain of yours when we opened our shop.”
Rachel hadn’t even asked Trinity what she did for a living, and embarrassment about her lack of politeness pummeled through her. “You have a store?”
“I do. Floral shop just around the corner. I run it, along with my mother. It’s a slower time of year for us bouquet-wise, so we’ve been focusing our efforts on creating arrangements more in line with the holidays. I know you said you make artificial greenery, but I figure it translates the same.”
“I would love to see your shop sometime.”
An appreciative smile formed on Trinity’s mouth. “We’re closed today since it’s Sunday, but we’ll be open tomorrow. You should come by. I usually have the little ones with me, but they keep busy playing with the flowers and filler.” She laughed. “What about you? Any kids?”
“No husband, no kids,” Rachel said behind her cup. She pulled in a sip and held it there. “Just me and the big ol’ city.”
“Sounds amazing.” Trinity’s voice harbored a twinge of jealousy. “Living the dream.”
Someone’s, sure, but Rachel was beginning to doubt it was her dream anymore.
They looped their way down Main Street on one side and up it on the other, stopping into the bookshop and the gift store for Trinity to do a little Christmas shopping without her children in tow. To Rachel’s surprise, nearly every shopkeeper recalled her specifically by name and acknowledged her with wide, welcoming smiles that had her feeling seen in a way she never had in San Francisco.
The unanticipated reunions had her emotions rising to the surface. She recalled each friendly face too, until they bumped into a woman Rachel couldn’t pinpoint right off the bat. She scrolled through her recent memories.
The younger of the two women from the knitting shop. That was it.
“Trinity,” the woman addressed. “It’s good to see you.”
Lowering her coffee cup to her side and with her other hand busy holding her shopping bags, Trinity pressed an armless hug to the woman. Their cheeks met in greeting. “Sarah, it’s so nice to see you back in town. How are you? And where’s that sweet little cherub of yours?”
“With Holden,” Sarah replied, and suddenly, it all snapped into place.
Trinity turned to Rachel. “Sarah, you remember Rachel Joy.” She waved her cup up and down Rachel as an introduction.
“That, I do. Hi,” Sarah said. She stretched her hand out for a shake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first from the crocheting class the other day. It’s good to see you.” She paused for a breath, then smiled. “I should probably track down my brother. He’s a wonderful uncle, but it’s been a while since he’s been on baby duty.”
“I just saw him at the General Store. He seemed to have things under control.”
“Well.” Sarah’s shoulders bounced in ambivalence. “That’s the thing about Holden. He’s really good at appearing like everything’s fine when things are falling apart just below the surface. It was nice to see you both. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Rachel and Trinity echoed. Even when Sarah was several yards from them, Rachel found her gaze lingering on her, as though the meaning of her words would become clearer the more she focused on them.
“You and Holden never quite made nice, did you?” Trinity shifted the shopping handles within her grip.
“No, we never did,” Rachel confessed, wondering how things had gotten so convoluted over the years and if they would remain that way forever. But she already knew the answer.
Her rivalry with Holden Hart would endure until one of them caved first. And if history could tell her anything, she wouldn’t be the one to do it.
CHAPTER20
“Any questions?”
A redheaded boy’s hand shot into the air.
“Yes, young man,” Holden said, nodding to the student in the front row of desks.
“Does she get paid? Since you said she’s a working dog?”
“These Search and Rescue dogs aren’t motivated by money like people are. For Scout, once she locates her item, an immediate reward is a game of tug-of-war.”
“I love tug-of-war,” another boy piped up from the back of the classroom.
