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But she had nothing to lose. Her marriage was over, the job she’d committed herself to for years gone, her home now filled with memories that brought hurt instead of joy. She was reinventing her life, and that started with trying things she never had before, even if she failed miserably.

“The thing is, Henry,” she said, turning back to face him, “I need this job. And I’m willing to work hard to keep it. Whatever that means. I’m a quick learner, and I can figure this out. And you’ve already hired me,” she pointed out again. “Do you have someone better you can think of to hire instead?”

It was a gamble, but it paid off. She saw from his expression that he didn’t. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head with what might have been amusement.

“You’re either completely crazy or exactly what I need,” he said, reaching for his jacket. “I guess there’s only one way to find out which one it is.”

Nicole felt a surge of triumph that was probably entirely out of proportion to the moment, but she didn’t care. “So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” Henry confirmed, although he still looked like he might be questioning his own judgment. “But first, we need to make a stop at the general store. Those shoes are going to get you killed on a ladder, and that blazer won’t last five minutes. You need boots and a work jacket.”

As they headed toward the door together, Nicole clutching her armload of lights like a badge of honor, she caught her reflection in the shop window and had to suppress a laugh. She looked like a walking contradiction—half corporate assistant, half Christmas elf.

But she was going to pull this off, no matter how hard it might be.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mabel clutched the warm takeout bag from Maplewood Tavern closer to her chest as she navigated the bustling sidewalks of Main Street, careful not to let the container of George’s favorite beef stew—complete with a side of fresh homemade bread and local butter—tip sideways. The December air nipped at her cheeks, but the sight of Fir Tree Grove beginning to be decked out for Christmas never failed to warm her heart, even after all these years of witnessing the town’s annual transformation.

She knew Henry was working his way through the businesses, and the ones that had been finished sparkled with twinkling lights and elaborate displays that drew tourists from all around every year. The lampposts were wrapped in evergreen garlands and topped with enormous red velvet bows, while overhead strands of warm white lights created a canopy that turned the entire street into something magical. Even in the middle of the day, it all was a Christmas wonderland that looked like it had come straight out of a holiday movie.

Tourists meandered along the sidewalks in clusters, their cameras clicking constantly as they captured every festive detail. Mabel had to pause several times to let families with young children pass, the little ones pressing their noses against shop windows and pointing excitedly at the displays within. She smiled as she watched—seeing how magical it all was to the children was one of her favorite parts of the holiday, and she never got tired of it.

This year felt extra-special too. It was her second Christmas sharing it with George not as a friendly rival—and friend—that she’d spent decades pranking in an elaborate game of one-upmanship, but as the man she loved. The thought still surprised her sometimes, making her smile wider and her heart flutter. She’d loved their friendly rivalry, but this was something so much more special, and she was grateful for it.

The pranks had been fun—flamingos in front of her toy shop, his mailbox wrapped with layers of gift wrap, a tree covered in elves, squeaky chickens scattered throughout her house for her to find—but having George as her partner was infinitely better. As she walked through the Christmas-decorated streets with lunch for the man who was now so much more than her friend, Mabel felt utterly content. She was grateful beyond measure to be spending Christmas for yet another year as George’s partner rather than his adversary, sharing quiet, sweet moments instead of plotting elaborate schemes.

She walked up the front porch of the Hearthside Cottage Bed and Breakfast, admiring the decorations already wrapped around the Victorian-style exterior. It was simple and classy—garlands, ribbon, white lights. The gingerbread trim dripped with faux icicles, and Mabel smiled as she took it in before heading inside.

It was rare for George to take time away from the Christmas tree farm, especially this time of year, but with Henry so busy, he’d agreed to help Christopher—the proprietor—with some electrical work and updates that needed to be done. None of it was so difficult that George couldn’t handle it, and he’d seen an opportunity to take something off of Henry’s plate. Gruff as he was, he could also be kind and thoughtful, and it was one of the many things that Mabel loved about him.

She’d thought it was the least she could do to bring him lunch, not least of which because he’d been kept so busy with this new project on top of filling orders at the farm that she had barely seen him since their family dinner with Jackson and Vanessa. And she always loved an excuse to stop by the bed and breakfast and say hello to Christopher, who she rarely saw, especially since she didn’t often have a reason to go by.

She pushed through the front door, immediately enveloped by the warm, welcoming atmosphere that made the bed and breakfast so popular for visitors. The lobby was decorated with an old-world elegance that matched the Victorian architecture. There was a small Christmas tree there—Mabel knew there would be a larger one in the main front room—and garlands draped over the staircase and around the front desk, candles scattered in appropriate places that would give the room a soft glow in the evening.

Christopher gave her a wave from the front desk. “George said he’d be down shortly,” he said, seeing the takeout bag in her arms. “If you want to go wait in the main room, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Mabel said with a smile, heading into the front room. The fireplace was crackling merrily, it smelled of pine and cinnamon and a huge tree twinkled in front of the large window facing out to the front porch. Christmas was in full swing here, and she basked in the holiday atmosphere as she looked for a place to sit.

The seat nearest the fireplace was occupied, she saw. Not abnormal—this was the busiest time of year for the bed and breakfast, and Christopher was probably getting this woman’s room ready while she waited. But she couldn’t help noticing that the woman looked very different from the typical guest who stayed at the B&B.

Most of the guests were always from out of town, except for the occasional resident that booked a room for a staycation. Usually tourists from one of the nearby towns, sometimes from a larger city. Mabel had seen all kinds visit Fir Tree Grove, from harried families to couples to singles, from what had looked like pretty much every income level. But this woman still stood out.

She didn’t just look wealthy, Mabel thought curiously, she looked rich. Old-money, old-world rich. Everything about the woman screamed wealth and sophistication, from her perfectly coiffed silver hair to her perfectly pressed silk blouse and velvet pants, to the low heels on her feet with jeweled buckles on the toes. Her posture was ramrod straight, her chin tilted at an angle that suggested she was accustomed to looking down on the world around her. One word came to mind as Mabel looked at her—aristocratic.

Mabel found herself studying the stranger with fascination. It wasn’t that the woman appeared mean-spirited, exactly, but there was an unmistakable air of entitlement about her, a sense that she expected the world to rearrange itself to accommodate her preferences and was genuinely surprised when it failed to do so.

Trying not to stare to the point that it became rude, Mabel settled into one of the comfortable armchairs near the fireplace, placing the takeout bag carefully on the side table beside her. A moment later, Christopher bustled in, bringing a cup of tea that he carefully set on the side table next to the woman before glancing over at Mabel.

“George said he’ll be down in five,” he said with a smile. “I really appreciate his help so much. With Henry so busy, and our maintenance man down with a bad flu, his assistance has been a lifesaver, really. I can’t thank him enough.”

“Well, he loves being a help—” Mabel started to say, only to be interrupted as the woman began talking to Christopher as if he hadn’t just been carrying on a conversation with Mabel.

“Have you looked into my issue yet?” the woman asked—demanded, really—her voice prim and elegant with a sort of transatlantic sound to it that reminded Mabel of old movies. “As we discussed earlier, the ventilation system in my room is simply inadequate. I can detect the distinct aroma of cinders from the fireplace, and while I’m sure some guests find that rustic charm appealing, I’m afraid it’s quite disagreeable to my sensitive respiratory system. I was hoping you might have a room available that’s further from any source of combustion.”

Mabel had to suppress a laugh at the elaborate way the woman phrased her complaint, twisting her lips together as she tried not to seem like she was listening in. Who talked about “sources of combustion” when they meant fireplaces? And the way she said “rustic charm” made it sound like a communicable disease rather than one of the bed and breakfast’s most beloved features.

“I completely understand your concern,” Christopher said quickly, sounding a bit harried. “Unfortunately, we’re completely booked through the New Year, but I’d be happy to provide you with an air purifier for your room. Would that help address the issue?”