Christmas Comes to Dickens

by Nancy Fraser

  She stood a little straighter and set her shoulders. Forget about the sexy five o’clock shadow, Ariana. “For the record, I do not gallerwag. Nor, do I listlessly wander or aimlessly peruse. I’ll have you know that should I ever peruse or wander, I do so with intent. And as to gallerwag? You made that up. It’s not a word. Perhaps you meant lollygag.”

  “No. I meant what I said. Look it up.” He turned into the line, showing her his back.

  Not to be dismissed, Ariana poked him on the shoulder again with her forefinger. “I actually don’t carry a dictionary with me. Besides, words are my business and that is not one.”

  He shrugged. “Got your phone? Google it.” He gave her a backward glance.

  “I most certainly will.” Reaching for her purse, and her phone, she paused, then looked at the back of his head. “Later. You are intentionally distracting me.”

  He half-turned. “You were already distracted.”

  Sidling up next to him, she made eye contact. Just for the record, she noted to herself, they were deep brown and...well, right now, they were sort of probing hers. “I’ll have you know I was not distracted. I’m a writer. I observe things. You came from nowhere and simply cut in line in front of me.”

  “Not exactly correct.” He took a step forward with the moving line. “I’ve been standing behind you for a few minutes. You stepped out of line, so....”

  “I most certainly did not step out of line.” She countered his step and took another one ahead of him.

  “Are you cutting in front of me?”

  “Just reclaiming my place in line.”

  “Oh, no. I’m next.”

  In exasperation, Ariana clenched her fists and glared at him. “My God. What a Scrooge.” She thought she heard someone off to the side snicker. Glancing that way, she realized they’d become the center of attention.

  Great.

  He made direct eye contact again, leaned in a bit, and then said loudly and very clearly, “Bah. Humbug.”

  “Next.” The young man behind the counter called out.

  Swiftly turning, Ariana blurted, “Medium black coffee and three of those cookies.” She pointed to the Snickerdoodles.

  “The usual, Tom,” the man said simultaneously.

  Tom eyed them both.

  Ariana refused to look at the man standing next to her. The usual? A local. Suddenly, her impression of the town was slightly soured, but she was not going to let that sway her.

  “Coming right up,” Tom said.

  “Thank you,” Ariana and the man said in unison.

  She glanced at him. He looked down at her.

  Ariana broke eye contact and looked ahead, waiting for her coffee and cookies. After several long seconds of drumming her fingertips on the counter, she sighed when he set a cup of coffee and a white bag of cookies in front of her.

  “Four dollars and ninety-eight cents, ma’am.”

  She opened her wallet.

  “Put it on mine, Tom,” the man next to her said.

  Immediately, she protested. “Oh, no. I’ll get it. But thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He nodded to Tom.

  “I mean, I’ll take care of my own bill.”

  He peered down. “Welcome to Dickens. I hope you enjoyed your stay. Be careful on your way out of town.”

  Ariana gathered her coffee and cookies, then looked back up to the guy. “Well, thank you, but I’m not leaving. In fact, I just got here and am planning to stay for a few days. I appreciate the warm welcome.” The saccharin sweet smile she tossed him almost made her nauseous. But no matter, she decided right then and there, she was not going to let this single, unhappy incident spoil her mood—or her impression of Dickens.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, turning to leave.

  He grunted something.

  Ariana paused, her gaze straight ahead, and headed out of the shop.

  Chapter 2

  AS SHE STEPPED OUT onto the sidewalk, Ariana abruptly stopped. Townspeople and tourists were scurrying off to their vehicles or into buildings, obviously sent scattering by the blustery gust of wind zipping down Main Street. Snow swirled furiously and fell at a rapidly increasing pace. Firmly grasping her bag of cookies and her coffee, pulling them closer to her chest, Ariana put her head down against the snow and wind and headed to her car parked a few spaces away.

  With a click of her key fob her car door was unlocked, she was inside, and the door shut tight.

  “Whew. That came up quick.”

  She sat for a moment, placed the coffee in the cupholder, and removed her gloves. The smell of cinnamon and sugar tickled her nose as she opened the white bag. Ah, a little bit of heaven....

  Her shoulders relaxed as she reached for a cookie. About to take a bite, she looked out her windshield—which was quickly piling up with heavy, cold wet stuff—and watched the gentleman from inside the coffee shop eyeball her sitting in her car as he passed. She made eye contact, just as she was popping a Snickerdoodle into her mouth, and he glanced away. Following him, she watched as he scurried along, his head down while passing five shops and then turning left, and finally entering a store on the corner. Her gaze traveled up to read the sign over the shop. Dickens Hardware.

  “Bah humbug to you,” she said aloud, and rolled her eyes.

  But her gaze stayed on the shop and she examined it for a moment. Something was...different from the other shops. Funny she hadn’t even noticed before, but the shop practically disappeared into the scene and didn’t stand out at all.

  Oh. She glanced up and down the street. “Well, that’s ridiculous. It’s the only shop not decorated for Christmas.”

  Bah Humbug. The man’s words echoed in her brain.

  “I believe we have a modern-day Scrooge on our hands here.” She pondered that for a moment, watching the shop front—then shrugging, popped the last bite of cookie in her mouth. “And none of my business.”

  Pushing the unwelcome experience aside, she grappled in her bag for her phone. After tapping in the Holly Hill Inn address on her map app, she backed the car out and followed the directions. She was still a little early to check in, but with the snow kicking up, it was probably best she got there soon. The inn was located a few miles out of town. Hopefully, the owner wouldn’t mind if she waited inside.

  It took all of twenty-one minutes to find the inn.

  Tucked back off the road at the end of Holly Hill Lane, the inn finally came into view. Ariana could barely see it through the snow squall until she got closer—a splash of red popped through the blowing white, guiding her like a beacon. She maneuvered the circular drive and parked, eyeing the old inn with delight. What she could see of the home sent the giddy in her tummy soaring right up to her heart—red painted clapboards with white trim and a picket fence bordering the front of the property, all dripped with greenery, red bows, and twinkling white lights. There were candles in the two windows on the porch. A brick walk, which appeared to have been recently swept but was drifting over again, was framed at the entrance by a wide arch. The brick rambled through a garden area—one that was likely enchanting in the spring—and lead to the front portico of the old home.

  And there were holly bushes, right and left, lining the brick sidewalk.

  Ariana reluctantly left her car, cookies tucked into her purse, coffee in hand, and camera bag over her shoulder. With her head lowered against the blowing snow, she made her way to the trunk of her car and retrieved her rolling bag. It took a few minutes to lug it all up to the portico—the wheels on the luggage kept icing up—finally, she just carried it the rest of the way. Out of the snow and standing on the covered porch, she shook herself and stomped her feet to remove as much snow as possible, brushed snow and hair out of her face, and headed for the doorbell.

  A woman opened the door before she got there. “Ariana Angelo?”

  “Yes. I’m early. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh no.” Smiling warmly, the woman opened the storm door and reached for Ariana’s
luggage. “It’s not a problem. Please, come in.”

  They shuffled inside. “Let me take your coffee,” she said, setting it aside. “And get you out of these wet things.”

  Nodding, Ariana set her purse on a nearby bench.

  “You can leave your boots here.” She pointed to a large welcome mat by the door, where a few pair of shoes and boots were already lined up. Then, she helped Ariana out of her coat, hanging in on a hall tree by the door. “I’ll roll your bag over to the desk and meet you there.”

  Kicking out of her boots, Ariana placed them on the mat, then turned to peruse the entryway to the inn.

  She sighed. I’m finally here.

  Christmas. Everywhere, there was Christmas. Holly, tinsel, twinkling lights, ornaments, and more lit up the festive entryway. And, the spicy aroma wafting down the hallway smelled heavenly. Christmas cookies? Fruitcake? Her heart danced.

  A lovely fir tree stood in the corner, decorated with what looked to be handmade decorations. Ariana drifted to it and as she touched and explored the ornaments, felt a strong sense of family. “These are beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Yes. Three generations of ornaments, all decorated by children,” the woman said, and then stepped around the counter closer to Ariana. She put out her hand. “Hi. I’m Kat Hall, by the way, owner of Holly Hill Inn. We spoke on the phone. I should have said that earlier.”

  Ariana shook her hand and smiled. “I assumed. I’m very happy to meet you. This tree, by the way, is simply stunning. Do you mind if I take a picture?”

  Kat shook her head. “Not at all. If I remember correctly, you’re a writer—a blogger—right?”

  “Yes. Blogging mostly, but I’m trying to get into magazine work, too. Christmas is my specialty.” She glanced back to the tree. “And, I should say I’ll be needing your written permission for photographs. I have a sample release we can look at later, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.” Kat grinned. “I figure it’s all advertising, right? I’ve no problem with pictures.”

  Ariana thought about getting her camera out and taking a picture of the tree and ornaments right then but thought better of it. She had plenty of time. She fingered one of the decorations—a wooden cut-out of a nutcracker soldier—rather imperfectly painted.

  “My brother painted that one,” Kat said. “I think he was ten.”

  “I love that it’s sort of messy.”

  “It does lend it a bit of charm, doesn’t it?”

  Ariana noticed Kat staring at the ornament. Then, she shook herself and looked away. “Let’s get you checked in. Your room is ready. I hoped you would get here early. I think we’re in for a pretty significant snowfall tonight.”

  “Oh? More?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “This last gust came up fast.”

  Kat looked up. “Well, according to the weather people, it may stall over us. Who knows how much snow we will get? The storm pushed through quickly from the west but some sort of pressure out over the coast might hold it here in the valley for a while. I guess we’ll get what we’ll get.” She studied her. “How do you feel about being snowbound?”

  “Seriously?”

  Shrugging, Kat went back to writing something on a card. “Who knows?”

  A smile bubbled up inside her, burst across her lips—she could feel it—and Ariana had to contain her giggle. “You know, Kat? I almost can’t think of anything else I would love more, than to be snowbound at Christmas in a lovely place like this.”

  Kat glanced up, reached for Ariana’s hand, and smiled. “What a sweet thing to say. And refreshing. Usually when people are stuck here, they get cranky.”

  Laughing, Ariana returned, “I assure you I will not be cranky.”

  “You’re a woman after my own heart.”

  “I love Christmas.”

  Just then, the front door burst open and Ariana turned toward the commotion.

  “Mommy!” A little girl shouted while tumbling inside, slamming the door, dropping a backpack with a thud, and shrugging out of her coat—which landed in a heap in front of the door—while also kicking out of her boots. “We got out of Christmas Camp early. The bus brought me. The big snow is coming!”

  The child rushed forward while Kat rounded the desk. “Aimee Hall.” She halted the child with a look and crossed arms. “Where are your manners? Please say hello to Miss Angelo, our guest.”

  The little girl halted, sighed, and looked at Ariana. “Hello. Sorry. I’m Aimee.” She stuck out her hand, much like her mother had done earlier.

  Ariana crouched and took the child’s small hand into hers and shook it. “I’m Ariana. Nice to meet you. How old are you?”

  “I’m six.” The little girl beamed, obviously proud of herself.

  Smiling, Ariana said, “I thought as much. I have a six-year-old niece. Wow, your hands are cold.” She rubbed the girl’s hands between her own.

  Aimee looked up at her mother. “Lost them again.”

  Kat rolled her eyes. “I’ll find you another pair of mittens. Now, go back and hang up that coat, put your boots on the mat, and take your backpack up to your room. The Camp called so I knew you were coming. Cookie ingredients are waiting in the kitchen and we have work to do. Now, go on, and don’t forget to wash those hands.”

  Aimee grinned, displaying two missing front teeth. “Awesome. I love baking cookies. Will you bake with us, Miss Angelo?”

  Taken aback a little, Ariana glanced at Kat. “Well, I... I don’t want to impose. This sounds like a mother-daughter moment and....”

  Kat laughed. “Oh please. I get a lot of those around here. We could use your help if you want to bake. Another set of hands is always appreciated. But only if you want.”

  “Please?” Aimee jumped up and down, grinning.

  With a tip of her chin, Ariana said, “Only if you call me Ariana.”

  Aimee stuck out her hand again. “Deal!”

  “Deal.” Ariana hesitated no longer and shook Aimee’s hand. “I’d love to.”

  Kat’s fists settled on her hips. “Well then. Let’s get you both upstairs. We will meet in the kitchen in fifteen minutes. All right, ladies?”

  “All right, Mommy.” Aimee bounded toward the stairwell.

  Ariana retrieved her purse from the bench.

  Kat turned back to the desk. “I just need your signature on this card, Ariana, and then I’ll grab your key and we will get you to your room.” She pushed the card across the desk, along with a pen.

  Ariana took the pen and started to sign.

  “Just note that I left the end date open—who knows when you’ll be leaving here.”

  Jerking her head up, Ariana caught Kat’s gaze. “You’re serious about the snow, aren’t you?”

  Kat’s eyes twinkled as she smiled back. “Anything is possible in Dickens at Christmas, and for some reason I have a feeling you will be here for a long time.”

  “Oh, really?” Ariana pushed the card across the counter.

  Kat winked and turned toward the stairs.

  “WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE kind of cookie, Aimee?”

  Shifting around Kat to grab a cooling rack from underneath the kitchen island, Ariana sidestepped Aimee and placed it on the countertop. Bending to peek into the oven window, she inspected the sugar cookies, waiting for just the right second to take them out. She had a theory—you take them out when they are slightly golden on top, and they will come out chewy in the middle and crispy around the edges, just how she liked them.

  “I love Pecan Meltaways.” Aimee crouched to look in the oven window too. “But those sugar cookies look so good, I can’t wait to get the icing on them.”

  Smiling, Ariana rose and headed back to the island. “Me too. They will have to cool for a while first, but let’s get started on making the icing.”

  “I know,” Aimee singsonged. “Mommy says it too. Ice them too quickly and the good stuff melts right off.”

  “Exactly.” Scooting around Kat again, who was bu
sy layering the ingredients for chocolate toffee bars, Ariana rummaged in a utensil drawer for a rubber spatula, when she spied a bamboo skewer and picked it up. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

  She headed back to the oven.

  “You sure know your way around a kitchen,” Kat told her.

  Crouching again, watching for the golden tint to pop up on the cookies, Ariana sighed. “Well, my mom is a baker. She’s been big on Christmas baking since I can remember. We still bake every year. Except, well, I’m not with her this year.”

  “Oh?” Kat wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “Why not?”

  Ariana popped her head up and smirked. “Because I’m here.”

  Laughing, Kat pointed. “Of course. What are you doing with that skewer?”

  “This.” Standing, Ariana pulled open the oven door, stepped back for a second as the heat escaped, then carefully poked a skewer into one of the cookies in the middle of the pan, quickly removed it, and brought it closer to inspect. “Perfect.”

  “Clean?”

  “Yes. And it’s long enough to get to a middle cookie so you don’t burn yourself.”

  “Wonderful tip.”

  Ariana grabbed an oven mitt. “Let’s get these out to cool.”

  A phone rang from somewhere and Kat glanced toward the kitchen door. “Drat, that’s mine. It’s on the desk in the entry. Aimee, can you run for it?”

  “Got it, Mommy.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.”

  Ariana studied Kat, then perused the kitchen. Reaching for her camera she’d set off to the side, she snapped a few quick pictures of Kat working, and of the trays of cookies scattered about the kitchen. After a minute, she stashed her camera back in a cabinet, safe from the cookie makings.

  Returning her attention to the sugar cookies, she said, “We’ve done some serious work here. These need to cool for a minute before putting them on the racks. I’ll get started on the frosting.” She measured some powdered sugar into a bowl.