Page 26

There’s a small queue growing at our gift-wrapping station, and of course the lady who was whispering about me earlier is first in line. She watches me like a hawk as I make my way over to a table surrounded by racks full of holiday paper, ribbons, and bows.

“How can I help you?” I ask, doing my best to keep all the irritation and anxiety I’m feeling out of my voice.

It’s not easy, though. The last thing I need is to cause a scene, and I absolutely hate confrontation. A vein in my neck starts to throb.

“I’d like this wrapped, please,” the customer says, setting down a large gingerbread-scented candle in a brown-and-white tin decorated like a gingerbread house.

It’s one of our most popular candles, and I’ve wrapped so many of them over the years, I could probably do it blindfolded. Still, I keep my eyes trained on the task at hand, hoping that if I avoid eye contact with her, I won’t be drawn into a conversation.

It doesn’t work.

“You look so familiar,” she says, dipping down a bit to study my face.

I force a smile. “I get that a lot.”

“Really?” asks her friend.

I nod and focus on making crisp folded edges with the wrapping paper. Inside, though, my stomach feels like a piece of wrapping paper that’s been torn from a package and then squeezed into a tight ball.

“Maybe you know my granddaughter, Kelsey?”

She’s not going to let this go, is she?

“I don’t think so,” I say.

I glance up quickly and notice that Kash has moved from the nutcracker display to a closer spot, near the German Christmas pyramids.

“Did you take ballet lessons at On Pointe Dance Academy?” the woman asks.

“Nope.”

I’ve just finished taping the very last part when she sets her soft, warm hands over mine.

“I have it,” she says like she’s Sherlock Holmes and she’s just solved the Mystery of the Mysterious Mademoiselle. She leans closer and whispers, “You’re that girl from those videos, aren’t you? From that concert…” The delicate floral perfume she’s wearing clashes with the cinnamon scent that lingers in the store, and I worry I might have been too optimistic about not cleaning up puke today.

I learned a few months ago that the fastest way to defuse a situation like this is to meet it head-on, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it is. As soon as someone knows something bothers you, it’s like an open invitation to keep picking at it. If you pretend it’s no big deal…

“You got me,” I say, and give her a conspiratorial look, like I’m counting on her to keep it our little secret. This method works about 75 percent of the time. I hold my breath and wait to see if she’ll announce her discovery loud and clear for all to hear. Thankfully, she takes the smile-and-wink route.

Unfortunately, Kash has made it closer, to the holiday bakeware section, but there’s still a sizable line at the wrapping station. It’s all I can do to focus on our customers and not jackrabbit out the door.

A porcelain angel tree-topper.

A collection of cocoa tins and festive mugs.

I’m midway through wrapping up a set of hand-embroidered tea towels when he sidles up to the side of the counter. The tips of his dark black boots, scuffed and worn, slide into my peripheral vision, and I feel my hackles rise.

“The back of the line’s over there,” I say with a nod and without glancing up. I have patience for many things, but line-cutting isn’t one of them. Especially not if the line cutter is Kash Murray.

My fingers quickly crease and fold the paper, which is bright red with glittery gold polka dots. The faster I finish, the faster I can get out of here.

I need to get out of here.

“Yeah,” Kash says. “I was hoping we could talk.” His voice is confident and husky, and I’m tempted to look up, but this line’s not getting any shorter, and my anxiety is through the roof.

“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” I say as I tear a piece of clear double-sided tape from the dispenser and use it to secure the flap. I swivel the gift and glance up at the customer who’s patiently waiting for me to finish. “What color ribbon would you like?”

We pretty much have an entire craft store ribbon aisle to choose from. I think there are way too many, especially when a handful of rolls of standard holiday colors would suffice, but Mom thinks our customers deserve as many options as we can give them.