“Only if you’re sure I won’t get in the way.”
“Nonsense. I would love the chance for adult conversation. It seems most of my discussions revolve around superheroes and toy cars these days.”
It was wonderful to see Trinity chasing her dream while also leading a life that fulfilled her as a wife and mother. Rachel wasn’t sure when the idea that the two were mutually exclusive had come to her, but Trinity quickly shot that misconception down.
The woman handed off an apron, much like the one Rachel had donned at her parents’ market the other day.
“What was it you said you were working on for work? A new project?” Handing Rachel a crimson vase, Trinity gestured toward the large floral cooler behind them. “Feel free to use anything you like. It’s all yours.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “And for work, it’s a prototype for an artificial mistletoe.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. I remember you saying that now. What’s got you hung up?”
“Everything.” An insecure laugh slipped between Rachel’s lips. “I can’t really pinpoint it. For starters, I’ve been calling it Mistlefaux, but that wasn’t received well in focus groups.” At least not in a focus group made of one. She tried to keep the frown from forming when she thought of Holden’s initial reaction. “My creative juices have run completely dry.”
“It’ll come to you.”
Rachel hoped so. “It doesn’t help that mistletoe isn’t very pretty.”
“Well, it is a disease on a plant. I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that it’s not beautiful. But the use of it is. Two people in love, sharing a sweet moment beneath its sprigs of green.”
A sweet moment. Rachel liked the way Trinity phrased that, and as they stood side by side, each crafting their own floral holiday arrangement, the words inspired her.
An hour passed and Rachel would have continued whiling away the long afternoon in the shop had her ringing phone not interrupted her budding creativity.
“Your father needs help at the market.” Her mother bypassed a formal greeting and got right down to it. “Everyone’s going a little forecast crazy, stocking up on food and nonperishable goods. Any chance you could help him man the place until closing? There’s a line out the door.”
“I’m just around the corner, at Trinity Tillman’s flower shop. I can be there in less than ten minutes.”
Her mother sighed her relief through the phone. “That would be wonderful, sweetie. I know he would appreciate the help.”
“Not a problem.” She said her goodbyes to her mother and then to Trinity.
“Please take your arrangement with you,” Trinity offered. “It’s beautiful.”
“I would if I were heading straight home, but I’m walking over to the market and don’t want to drop it. Why don’t you keep it here? Who knows? Maybe it will even sell.”
“I’m certain it’ll fly off the shelf to the next customer to walk through those doors.”
Trinity’s optimism was catching. Rachel clung to that encouragement as she traipsed down the street toward her father’s market. The wind chill had her teeth chattering instantly. The scarf hanging loose around her neck couldn’t ward off the cold the way it was currently looped, so she tugged the edges and tightened it up. Had she been confident that she wouldn’t trip face-first on the icy pavement, she would’ve tucked her hands into her pockets.
Running her palms up and down her arms for friction, she picked up her pace. When she rounded the corner, that line her mother mentioned filtered into view. It wrapped all the way around the block, coiling lights and lamp posts like a strand of Christmas garland.
“Excuse me.” Rachel pressed between the throng of patrons congesting the sidewalk. She slid her way through the shoppers filling up the entry doors. “Pardon me.”
“Sugar Plum!” Stewart raised his voice and hands. “You’re here!” He called her over to the register and passed off an apron. “And not a moment too soon.”
“This is crazy.” Rachel had never seen the store at full capacity like this. “What is everyone here for?”
“Supplies. We’re running low on canned goods and are already completely out of bottled water. Flashlights and batteries are getting scarce too.”
As a young cashier rang up a customer’s items and read their total aloud, Stewart loaded the things into a paper bag. While composed on the outside, Rachel could read her father’s internal stress level easily. He had a tell that was a dead giveaway: he would remove and polish his glasses with the hem of his shirt whenever his anxiety reached its peak. He’d done it twice already and Rachel had only been in the store for a few minutes.
“How big is this storm supposed to be?” She’d grown up on the mountain and lived through her share of winter weather. But she didn’t remember this level of panic buying and prepping. It was as though the town expected the apocalypse.
“They’re projecting up to three feet overnight with widespread outages and road closures.”
Rachel shuddered. “What can I do?”
