Love on Main Street: A Snow Creek Christmas

by Juliet Blackwell

  What she really needed to do was to get right back in her car and leave, before she made a bigger damn fool of herself. What had she been thinking, believing it would all work out? Jumping into something without weighing the pros and cons, without thinking it through? Hoping things would, somehow, some way, work out? She was an idiot.

  That’s what you get when you believe in magic. Fred’s voice echoed in her mind. Fred was right. Fred was always depressingly, dauntingly, right.

  ***

  Hours later, after she reopened and endured a steady stream of locals dropping by on one pretext or another to check her out, while Riah alternated between officiousness and boredom as she explained how the business operated, Serafina was relieved to say goodnight to the lot of them. She flipped the sign once again to Closed, locked the door, shut the blinds, and switched off the lights, then went through the door at the back of the store into Darlene’s living quarters.

  Taking a seat at the wooden kitchen table, a steaming cup of tea at her side, Serafina settled in to review the account books. Once upon a time a long, long time ago—Darlene had utilized a computerized accounting program, but for the last ten years she had been using an old-fashioned accountant’s ledger, noting transactions and inventory by hand. As Serafina had expected, Darlene supplemented the shop with card readings and the sale of her “concoctions”: salves and lotions made of fresh herbs and botanicals.

  Serafina was no accountant, but she was a pro with numbers, and quickly realized that, at least for the past five years, Darlene hadn’t been bringing in enough to cover her rent, much less to cover the cost of maintaining an inventory, buying groceries, and paying the utilities.

  And as if that hadn’t been challenging enough, Darlene had lost her sight. As far as Serafina could tell from the account ledgers and bank statements, Darlene had never filed for disability insurance, never even received a dime of social security despite a lifetime of employment. She had, however, been paying Riah minimum wage for working ten to twenty hours a week.

  As the numbers fell into neat columns in Serafina’s mind, she recalled the packed store shelves, the inventory that was shiny and new, not dusty or faded with age. Where had the money to pay for it all come from?

  She sat back in the wooden kitchen chair and let out a long breath. Unless Darlene was engaged in some kind of illegal activity—and operating a meth lab seemed a wee bit far-fetched—there was only one logical explanation: somebody had been subsidizing the business. Could that somebody be Joe? Not only did his niece, Riah, need something to do to keep out of trouble, but Darlene had helped Joe out when he needed it, so many years ago. Presumably, he was returning the favor.

  Bottom line: Joe hadn’t made a profit leasing the store for years. No wonder he wanted Serafina out.

  ***

  The winter sun had long since set when Riah emerged from Magic Baubles and climbed into the messy cab of Joe’s big old green truck. As they drove north, out of town, her sullen silence seemed louder than ever.

  Joe was rarely at a loss for what to do. Once he had gotten through his difficult teenage years, he had prided himself on being the go-to guy, the one others instinctively turned to. Until he met his match in the form of a stubborn, grief-stricken little girl. For the past eight years he had indulged her, because her mother wasn’t there to bake her birthday cakes, and her father wasn’t there to teach her to ride a bike. Joe knew he should have been stricter with Riah, but she wanted her Mom and Dad, and Uncle Joe was a sorry substitute. She had lost her parents, her home. And somehow, it was his fault.

  “You want to pick something up before we leave town, maybe Chinese? You like the dumplings at the Golden Palace, don’t you?”

  “I’m a vegetarian now, remember?” Riah said in the aggrieved tone favored by American teenagers. She was ignoring him, gazing out the window, moving in rhythm to whatever she was listening to with her ear buds.

  “I could make my famous grilled cheese,” he offered, trying gamely. “Grilled cheese, and I’ll heat up a can of tomato soup, how can you beat that? That’s one-hundred percent vegetarian.”

  Joe knew he was trying too hard. Lately, he always seemed to be trying too hard. He remembered being that age, and how his parents seemed unbearably lame. But Riah had it so much better than he had. He had never hit her, rarely even raised his voice to her, and had made damned good and sure she had never gone to school hungry, or wearing worn-out hand-me-downs, or covered in welts and bruises. She was a spoiled kid, he knew that. But she had a big heart. He hoped.

  Right at the moment, the only thing she wanted from him was permission to get a tattoo. Ludicrous. What did a sixteen-year-old need a tattoo for, anyway? Bad enough she could get it when she turned eighteen, and was a legal adult. Ever since Peggy had opened the Low Down Dirty Shame Tattoo parlor in town, it was nothing but “tattoo this” and “tattoo that”. Damn.

  Once out of town they began climbing the winding road that would take them to the ranch. The bright beams of the truck’s headlights reflected off the thick snow banks on the side of the highway, and once or twice Joe caught a glimpse of twin red dots as the light reflected in an animal’s eyes.

  When Riah was younger he would point them out, and she would search the passing scenery for more, delighting in nature and animals. These days, Riah claimed the horses smelled, the hay made her sneeze, and the cattle were stupid. Even the dogs had fallen out of favor. She disdained the old house his grandpa had built, claiming the knotty pine was hokey, the curtains were out of date, and her room was too small for the king-sized bed she wanted. Her attitude annoyed Joe, though he had to admit that, as houses went these days, theirs was pretty basic and not much compensation for all she had lost in her brief life. Riah had wound up with the short end of the stick, that’s for sure. He had only been twenty-five when Riah came to live with him, and knew nothing about making a home for a child. He had been a doting uncle, but what did he know about being a father?

  Joe’s thoughts shifted, unbidden, from his niece…to Darlene’s. He wondered how Serafina was settling in to her new home—the home that wouldn’t be hers for long. The look on her face when he said he had another tenant lined up had surprised him. He had assumed she would be pleased to be out from under the burden of her aunt’s store, and had intended to offer her a lump sum to liquidate the inventory so she could return to her job in the big city.

  So certain had he been that Serafina would be pleased to be rid of the place, he had offered the shop space to an old college buddy, Liam. Poor guy was in a bad way, and needed a fresh start. Snow Creek was as good a place as any to start over when a man’s wife walked away. Joe’s own ex hadn’t been able to handle the sullen child they’d inherited, couldn’t make the transition from their carefree life to one of responsibility and early bedtimes. Sure, the marriage had had its ups and down before Riah entered their lives, but Joe figured marriage meant sticking with it through good times and bad, sickness and health, the whole shebang. It had been a shock to come home and find her bags packed. At least she’d had the decency to say good-bye in person, Joe thought wryly. Otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken him to realize she was gone for good, given how little he seemed to understand women.

  “Good riddance,” had been Darlene’s comment when he told her. “I don’t need the cards to tell me that you’re better off without her.”

  As he slowed down to turn into their driveway, they passed the sleek Appaloosa he had given Riah for her sixteenth birthday. It was funny, but Serafina—damn, that was a pretty name—had a way of holding herself, a haughty look in her eyes that reminded him of a full-blooded mare, the kind who was jumpy and apprehensive, until you won her trust. Serafina might not have the knock ‘em dead good looks of an anorexic supermodel, but she was easy on the eyes and pleasantly soft and curvy. That she was skittish as a purebred show horse was not, in his eyes, a drawback. Joe had always liked the challenging ones.

  Darlene had picked up on that right a
way, telling him, “You’re a romantic, Joe. You can’t fool me. You love the lost causes. You work with them, make them feel safe. Have them eating out of your hand. That’s your special magic with the animals—use it.”

  And he had. Joe didn’t really believe in magic, but honesty forced him to admit that Darlene just seemed to know things sometimes, things she couldn’t possibly have known. She got hold of those cards and discovered secrets…or perhaps it was simply that Magic Baubles had been Snow Creek’s information center, the point where the small town’s grapevines all intersected.

  Darlene would start in with her stories, spreading out those dog-eared cards on the card table, arranging them deliberately, one by one, in the classic cross configuration. In the fall and winter, a fire crackled in the fireplace; in the summer and spring, candles cast a pleasant glow. She would tell him truths—many of which he would rather not hear.

  But one was more important than all the rest: she had told him he could talk to the horses. And he damned near could.

  ***

  Serafina inspected the suite of rooms behind the store, which Darlene had called home. The private quarters consisted of a small sitting room with a kitchenette in one corner, a tiny bedroom barely big enough for a bed and a chest of drawers, and an even tinier bathroom with an old-fashioned, claw-foot tub. Uninhabited for several months now, the apartment was closed-in and musty, and Serafina longed to air it out but it was too cold to throw open the windows. A small space heater had eventually chased away the chill, but it was a very humble home.

  Serafina had been ten years old the last time she was here, and hadn’t realized just how small and cramped the quarters were. Then, she had seen only the magic of the shop, which doubled as Darlene’s living room after hours, the two of them lounging and talking for hours in the mismatched chairs and sofa that surrounded a low table. Two old-fashioned, ladder-back chairs with woven rush seats were arranged on either side of the card table Darlene used when she read the cards.

  Serafina found some sheets in a tiny linen closet. They smelled like rosewater and sunlight, and she remembered helping her aunt hang the laundry on the clothesline draped across the private courtyard behind the store. Unfortunately, the vivid memories of her aunt weren’t helping Serafina’s mental state. She felt restless and claustrophobic. What she needed was a way to make this shop her own. Serafina had fixed up the condo she and Drew shared in San Diego, adding homey details such as wood antiques and lace curtains. Drew made fun of her for it, of course. He wasn’t much of a homebody, though he enjoyed the comforts her efforts provided. After a long day of teaching, Serafina liked to unwind by putting up her feet, pouring a glass of red wine, and leafing through home decorating magazines. She wasn’t so much interested in the actual decorating ideas as much as she loved to imagine the lives that unfolded within such gracious homes, the families that would fill them with laughter and love and warmth.

  Serafina sighed. Time to face facts: her life was a disaster. She had made the wrong decisions at every turn, burning her bridges behind her. She had known it was a mistake the moment she’d turned off the highway and had spotted the Snow Creek sign, announcing it was The Home of Paul McAlester. Who the heck was Paul McAlester? she’d wondered before being distracted by all the snow. Trees weighted down with snow. Embankments covered with snow. Piles of snow everywhere. Apparently a blizzard had dumped several feet of snow on the mountain just few days before, and Snow Creek was still digging its way out. Serafina’s thoughts were as cold as the frozen world around her.

  And if that weren’t bad enough, she had very little savings, no job, no fiancé, no family who cared much.

  I wonder what the cowboy’s up to tonight…the thought came suddenly, unbidden. It was just that he was so manly and handsome and there was something about the way he drawled just a tad when he spoke…Stop! He was married, right? He had to be. Wouldn’t a man like that be married? And why should she care?

  Restless and trying to keep her mind off the cowboy, Serafina wandered around the empty shop, stopping to peer out the front windows, looking up and down snowy Main Street. People in bright scarves and knit caps rushed back and forth, hailing each other, chatting and laughing, apparently reveling in the season’s good spirits. Children darted here and there, their mittened hands clutching candy canes and cookies. And she could have sworn she saw Santa Claus walking by, minus the standard-issue red suit. But each quaint Christmas vignette, each cheery holiday garland wrapped around each old-fashioned streetlamp, lashed at Serafina’s heart, scraping her emotions raw.

  She had no one to celebrate the season with—her mother and Fred were in New York, and she didn’t want to vacation with them anyway. She hadn’t yet told them what had happened with Drew, or that she’d quit her job. Fred adored Drew and made a point of telling her regularly that marrying Drew was the best idea she’d ever had. She’d tell them eventually, but at the moment she just couldn’t stomach Fred’s reaction. Oh, he’d say he was sorry, probably offer to help out until she could get back on her feet. But just below the surface would be Fred’s know-it-all disdain. She just couldn’t face it, not yet.

  Serafina’s stomach growled, but she didn't want to brave a restaurant alone. And where did a person buy groceries in such a quaint village? Ye Olde Comestibles Shoppe? She’d seen a Safeway some ways down the highway, but was loathe to move the car from the spot she had fought so hard to win. Not to mention driving in the snowy darkness.

  Instead, she made a meager meal of some cheese and crackers she had bought at a convenience store in Sacramento, yearned for chocolate, drank a glass too many of cheap red wine from a bottle she’d found in the back of a kitchen cupboard, curled up on the sagging chintz sofa, and cried herself to sleep.

  ***

  The next morning, Serafina awoke to find the shop was freezing. The space heater did a decent job in the small back rooms, but the store was heated by the fireplace, where the flames had long since died out.

  Shivering as she hurried into the back room to wash up, Serafina decided to treat herself to a hot meal. She put on as many warm clothes as she had—living in San Diego meant her wardrobe lacked cold weather gear—then locked the store behind her. In the early morning light she gingerly picked her way across the street, avoiding iced-over puddles and slushy mounds of snow.

  The Main Street Diner was a few doors down, right next to the Low Down Dirty Shame Tattoo and Piercing Parlor. A tattoo parlor seemed out of place in quaint Snow Creek, but Serafina supposed there was a demand for such things everywhere these days. Half her students had sported visible ink.

  The diner’s lights cast a warm golden glow over the snow banks, beckoning her to enter.

  The moment Serafina walked in, she was sorry. The restaurant was packed with men in work jackets and boots, and the place fell silent as everyone turned to check out the newcomer.

  Serafina shifted on her frozen feet, unsure whether it would be worse to stay or to flee. As she was turning to leave, a woman with wild, curly red hair gestured to her.

  “Come join me,” the woman beckoned from one of the black Naugahyde booths.

  Serafina looked around, wondering if the woman was talking to someone else.

  “Yes, you,” the woman said with a little laugh. “I’m all alone in this big booth, plenty of room. Have a seat if you like.”

  “Thank you,” said Serafina, sliding onto the bench seat.

  “I’m Peggy. You look like you could use some coffee.”

  Before Serafina even had a chance to respond, Peggy nodded at the waitress and Serafina found herself facing a steaming cup. The coffee was dark, and smelled wonderful. Serafina took a sip, moaned in appreciation of the hot, bitter brew, and started to relax.

  “Good, isn’t it?” Peggy asked. “The tourists who come for the skiing expect quality coffee. A lot of things in town revolve around the tourists. You’ll see. I hear you’re taking over Darlene’s place?”

  “How did you know that?”


  “The Bench Boys mentioned they saw you yesterday, and news travels fast in a small town. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sonic boom.”

  Serafina smiled. “The ‘bench boys’?”

  “Sully, Ray, and Leo. They practically live on that old bench outside Magic Baubles. Leo’s here today—over there, at the end of the counter.”

  Serafina peered around the edge of the booth to see a man in horn-rimmed glasses hunkered down over a huge plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, thick slabs of toast, and hash browns.

  He beamed at her and waved.

  Serafina blushed, ducked her head, and avoided eye contact. Real mature, Serafina. Real mature.

  “I imagine the other two’ll be in soon. You don’t often see one without the other two showing up eventually. They’re like Mutt and Jeff, and another Jeff.” Peggy smiled at her own joke. “Leo says your name’s Serafina? Okay if I call you Sera?”

  “Um…sure,” Serafina said, surprised but pleased at Peggy’s easy familiarity.

  “Cute landlord, huh?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Joe’s just about the most eligible bachelor in town.”

  “Is that right?” Serafina said, afraid anything she said would start a rumor. “I guess I assumed he was married.”

  “He was, once upon a time. First the accident, then the divorce.” Peggy shook her head. “Everybody in town thought he’d be snatched up quick, but turns out we were wrong. Oh, he’s Joey-on-the-spot whenever the folks ‘round here need help, but he hasn’t had much truck with women.”

  Serafina got the sense that Peggy was warning her off, and nearly laughed. At the best of times, Serafina had never been a man-magnet. She was too weird, too smart, too…honest. She didn’t have a flirty bone in her body, and whenever she tried, she usually made a fool of herself. Drew was one of her rare success stories with men…and look how that turned out. After what happened with her ex-fiancé, she couldn’t imagine dipping her toe back in the ocean of romance for some time to come.