Page 14
Rosie
Griffin. The Meridian start deadline is January fifteenth. Crane’s asking whether you’ll reconsider the co-development offer.
Me
I know what the date is.
CHAPTER 5
NORA
He worked the whole weekend.
I knew because I lived above my store. A light burned in the old pharmacy when I got up for water at eleven Saturday night. It was on again at seven Sunday morning. I told myself I would not check a third time. At nine, I looked anyway. The light was still on.
Business was good that weekend, which matters, because bad November weekends are how a Christmas store dies quietly in February. I sold four wreath forms, a card of vintage-style bulb clips, and a nutcracker to a woman from Corvallis who chose him because his painted mustache curled higher on one side and made him look judgmental.
Monday came cold and dark. Jenna had agreed to open Winters Wonderland at nine and stay until I returned. I reached Sweet Provisions’ loading dock ten minutes early with clipboards, vendor maps, and a plan to maintain professional distance by not looking at Griffin’s hands.
Griffin pulled up at seven on the dot, which was exactly punctual and somehow annoying. He climbed out of the rental in work jeans and a henley, carrying two coffees. He handed me one. “Yours has enough sugar to make bees reconsider their life choices. Mine is black. Pearl told me your order.”
I held up the bag of cinnamon twists I’d picked up from Sweet Provisions before he arrived. “I brought breakfast. Seven in the morning is too early to inspect electrical panels on coffee alone.”
“You brought me breakfast.”
“You brought coffee. I assumed we were settling accounts.”
“With cinnamon twists?” His gaze dropped to the bag. “You think I itemize pastry?” He almost smiled. “The walk-in is fixed, by the way. Frank sold Pearl the motor and told her to tell me he charged four dollars over cost. Apparently, that was a message.”
“You itemize everything.” I took a drink of the coffee. It was right, which was annoying, and it was still hot at seven in the morning, which meant he’d timed it. “Here’s what needs doing before the setup crew arrives,” I said, handing him a clipboard. “We mark the loading zones, assess the power lines, and verify that every building can handle its vendor spaces. We also scout the light maze location, which is still not decided, and confirm where Mrs. Morrison’s sleigh, horses, and current portable stalls will stage.”
I dug two pieces of peppermint saltwater taffy from my coat pocket and offered him one. “Emergency provisions. A Christmas-store owner who leaves home without sugar risks professional discipline.”
He unwrapped it and put the whole piece in his mouth. Then he tried to ask his first question. The taffy claimed his molars before he made it through the first word.
“That bought me eleven seconds of silence. I should have brought the whole bin.”
He worked his jaw until one side of his mouth came free. “You did that on purpose.”
“I hoped. The whole piece was an unexpected gift.”
His eyes narrowed, but he was fighting a smile. “Is she going to fight the sleigh ride changes?”
“Probably.” I turned onto Main Street, where the early light turned the buildings blue. “But Ivy’s right. We talk to her in her kitchen, not in a meeting.”
“Frank said you organized the merchant association when Pearl needed help.”
“That was different. Pearl needed immediate assistance.”
“Mrs. Morrison needs a different kind. She needs help letting go of the stables her husband built without feeling like she’s letting go of him.” He kept pace, his voice matter-of-fact. “That’s not spreadsheet work.”
I stopped walking. “You’re describing emotional labor.”
“I’m describing work. Work you’ve been doing for free since before I got here.”
The sidewalk was empty. For one dangerous second, so was my argument.
“I arrived here without a plan I was willing to admit to. Ivy gave me a job. Pearl fed me. Frank fixed the radiator in my apartment and charged me six dollars so neither of us had to call it charity.”
