by Kacey Linden
“So maybe you hid one more thing from him?” Willow couldn’t help asking.
Mrs. Dillon smiled. “I guess I did. I just couldn’t bear to disappoint him.” She looked over at Willow. “Do you remember anything your mother got you for Christmas?”
“A stuffed dog,” she said automatically. She’d gotten it when she was five, and it was the reason she’d brought Marsh home fifteen years later. As a puppy, he’d looked so much like that incredibly soft, fluffy little toy dog that had appeared on her pillow Christmas morning. “I slept with it every night until I was twelve.” Elliot had started making fun of her for being such a baby and she’d hidden it under her bed in shame. A few months later, her father had been evicted while she was at school, and she'd never seen the dog again.
“When Livie was six, I got her a puppy,” Marcia said ruefully. “She was too young for it, so of course I ended up feeding and bathing and walking him. But I didn’t mind. He was her best friend. Slept in her bed, ate all the food she didn’t like, and howled every day for fifteen minutes when she went to school.”
Tears sprang into Willow’s eyes as she remembered Marsh. He’d been the only good thing in her life. Loyal, protective, and something to hold on to when the days got dark. She missed him.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Do you have a dog?”
“I did.” Willow wiped her cheeks and smiled brightly. “I didn’t mean to cry. He was run over by a car earlier this year.”
“Then let’s talk about something else,” Mrs. Dillon said firmly. “Like Christmas trees! We need to make plans to go pick one out after we meet Rory tomorrow.”
Willow was about to agree when the doorbell rang. Twice.
Mrs. Dillon stepped around the boxes and piles of garland to open it and Willow saw the moment her kind, warm-hearted hostess recognized a visitor she wasn’t particularly happy to see.
“Oh, Mrs. Alverson. How nice to see you. Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, Marcia, I certainly would. It’s so cold, isn’t it? And only going to get colder! I told George this morning that… Oh!” She pretended she was surprised to see Willow, but it was so fake even Willow wasn't fooled. "I’m so sorry. It looks like you already have a guest.” She strode across the floor and smiled, a terrifying expression of holiday cheer that seemed to be composed mainly of enormous white teeth and bright red lipstick.
“Alicia Alverson,” she said, holding out a languid, red-nailed hand as though expecting Willow to kiss it. Alicia was a little younger than Marcia, perhaps sixty-ish, but she dyed her hair to a startling platinum blonde and wore bright red earmuffs. Her ensemble was completed by a red velvet jacket, sparkly white scarf, and jingle bells on the laces of her white snow boots. The effect should have been festive, but Willow found it rather alarming.
She didn't want to embarrass Mrs. Dillon, so she shook the woman’s hand firmly and smiled back, with an equally insincere show of teeth. “Willow,” she said.
“Are you a friend of Marcia’s?” the blonde woman asked, in an unmistakably prying tone.
“Yes.”
Behind Alicia, Willow could see Mrs. Dillon pressing a hand to her mouth while her eyes danced.
"Will you be staying with us for Christmas?"
Willow shrugged.
Stymied in her efforts to find out more about the newcomer, Mrs. Alverson turned instead to the piles of boxes. “Marcia, are you finally going to decorate again this year? How wonderful.” Her tone suggested she’d just ingested a mouthful of sour pickle.
“Yes,” Mrs. Dillon said sweetly, “I certainly am. Willow has kindly agreed to help me and I’m so thrilled to be able to unearth all these lovely old things again. So many fond memories.”
“I’m sure there are.” Alicia’s laugh was a bird-like trill that sounded to Willow like mockery. “Why, I would think some of these decorations are almost as old as I am!”
“You never know,” Mrs. Dillon answered with a polite smile.
“Have you heard yet?” Alicia pasted on a conspiratorial expression. “About the bazaar?”
“No,” Mrs. Dillon said reluctantly. “What about it?”
“Well, I was hoping to do a nutcracker theme this year, since I have all of my gorgeous nutcrackers from last year’s Christmas, but then a few of the ladies from the quilting group got involved and said they didn’t think we should have a theme! No theme at all! Can you imagine how chaotic that would be? How tasteless? People could decorate with anything! Anyway, then one of them went all the way to the mayor, because he’s her second cousin, and yesterday it was decided that we wouldn’t be having a theme after all. I was so upset, I told them I wasn’t going to do anything this year and that was that.”
“Well, I’m sure the town will miss your contribution, Alicia.” Mrs. Dillon was clearly struggling to be polite. “About that tea…”
“Oh, no, it looks like you are both very busy and I wouldn’t want to interrupt such an enormous task. I’ll see you soon, then?” She popped out as quickly as she’d popped in, striding back down the walk like a woman on a mission, the bells on her boots jangling discordantly with every step.
Mrs. Dillon closed the door and leaned her forehead against the glass pane. “Oh, my. Of all people, it had to be Alicia."
“Something wrong, Mrs. Dillon?” Willow managed to ask, as soon as she’d stopped gaping.
“Alicia Alverson is what's wrong." She said it as though the conclusion was self evident.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s a terrible gossip and self-important busybody who’s completely obsessed with being the most festive person on the planet,” Marcia declared. “And that’s coming from a woman with five hundred boxes of Christmas decorations.”
Willow collapsed on a chair and burst out laughing. “She didn’t seem too happy to find out you were decorating this year, did she? Did this used to be some sort of competition?”
“I’m ashamed to say that it did,” Mrs. Dillon confessed. “The town used to have a contest for the best decorated house, and the week before Christmas everyone would go tour all the entries and vote on the winner. Every house that entered would have cider and cookies for guests, and there would be carolers and prizes and…” She sighed deeply. “It was one of my favorite days of the year. I loved getting to share Christmas with the whole town, but then… it seemed to get so much more competitive after a while. Everyone was trying to one-up everyone else. There was a fight about six years ago when three of the contestants got together to claim the voting was rigged and the mayor cancelled it out of sheer frustration.”
“But Mrs. Alverson is still competing?” Willow guessed.
“I’m afraid so. Every year she has a new theme, and every year she does something bigger, better, brighter. When the contest was cancelled, she started using the Christmas bazaar as an outlet for her competitive spirit, instead of a fun way to raise money for next year’s Christmas boxes.”
“Do you participate in the bazaar?” Willow asked curiously.
“I used to.” There was a nostalgic look in Mrs. Dillon’s eyes.
“And you stopped because it wasn’t fun anymore.”
“Yes.” A twinkle appeared behind her glasses.
“Seems like this year might be a little more fun, if a certain competitive someone isn’t going to take part.”
“What are you saying, Miss Willow?” Mrs. Dillon was smiling now.
“Nothing,” Willow said hastily. “Just wondering if you were thinking about trying again after what we learned today.”
“You know,” Mrs. Dillon observed, pursing her lips, “for someone who isn’t familiar with Christmas—or small-town drama—you adapt very quickly.”
Willow laughed, and was surprised by the tiny tendril of happiness that unfurled in her heart.
She knew she couldn’t stay in Echo Creek forever. A place like this wasn’t meant for someone like her, but she could enjoy it while her time there lasted. It felt like she’d f
allen into one of those tv advertisements she’d seen when she was little, with the snow, and the families, and the festive atmosphere everywhere. Even Mrs. Alverson was more amusing than she was threatening, with her jingle bell boots and her air of offended yuletide righteousness.
Willow might be stuck for a few weeks, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe this was her chance to finally find out what a real Christmas was like. Even though she would probably never have a family or a Christmas of her own, maybe just this once she could hide in the corner and experience someone else’s, instead of always seeing it through the blur of a rain-drenched window.
Which, sadly, would make this the best Christmas she’d ever had.
Chapter 4
The Creekside Coffee Shop took up one half of an enormous log building in quaint downtown Echo Creek. Mrs. Dillon had insisted on driving them both and had to park two blocks away, given the winter holiday traffic.
A cluster of sleigh bells above the heavy oak door heralded their entrance, though there was little need as Mrs. Dillon instantly began to wave and call out the names of half the people in the place.
While Marcia was busy catching up, Willow glanced around the coffee shop and acknowledged a feeling of relief. She’d been picturing a tiny, cramped, soulless latte factory, but her mental image couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The Creekside Coffee Shop had a wide-open space for customers, with high ceilings, rustic lodge decor, and an open fire burning in the hearth at one end. The floor between the counter and the tall front windows was filled with a selection of tables, couches, and circles of cozy chairs, backed by the long bakery case filled with everything from bread to crème brûlée. Willow took a deep breath of warm air scented with cinnamon, flour and coffee, and watched the teenager behind the counter flirt madly with the group of twenty-something snowboarders ordering drinks.
It almost didn’t seem real.
“Are you Willow?”
She whirled and took a step backwards, almost falling over a chair in the process.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I startled you,” apologized the woman standing only a few feet away. “I’m Rory.”
Aurora Ellis was not what Willow had been picturing either. For some reason, she’d expected the coffee shop owner to be a tall, harried woman with gray hair and a commanding voice. Closer to Mrs. Dillon’s age.
Rory was only about thirty years old and an inch taller than Willow, with startling red hair and brilliant green eyes. She wore skinny jeans tucked into cowboy boots and an emerald sweater that perfectly complimented her fiery hair and pale complexion.
“Hi. I mean, yes, I’m Willow.” She felt her face warm with embarrassment at the woman’s scrutiny and wished she’d been able to buy concealer to cover her bruises. There was no way this woman would miss them, or be able to overlook Willow’s unfortunate tendency to trip over her own tongue when she was nervous. What had ever made her agree to this misguided attempt to find employment?
“Well, I don’t think Marcia is going to finish making the rounds any time soon, so why don’t you come sit down with me and we’ll chat about the job.” Rory smiled and held out a hand to indicate a corner table near the window.
The woman was friendly, confident and gorgeous, and she made Willow want to curl up into a ball and hide under her pillow. “Thank you,” she said instead, and cleared her throat. “I appreciate your willingness to consider me.” As if anyone with such a picture-perfect business would want someone like Willow working there.
“Well, if you have any experience at all and are willing to put up with the craziness of the holidays and ski season at the same time, I’m the one who’ll be thanking you,” Aurora insisted, seating herself at the tiny table and crossing her legs. “Suzette’s engagement caught me by surprise. I would take her place myself just to get by except my boys will be out of school in two and a half weeks and I’ll be spending a lot more time with them.
“So, tell me about your work history, Willow. You’re what, about twenty-five?”
“Twenty-three,” Willow corrected. “I worked at an animal shelter after school until I graduated, then I tried a few office jobs, but I didn’t have reliable transportation so that never worked out. After that, I worked for three years at a coffee and sandwich shop in Washington. They never trained me as a barista, so I don’t know anything about making coffee, but I waited tables, made sandwiches, handled the front counter and the orders, and cleaned everything up at night. My most recent job was with a cleaning company.”
“Do you have a reference I could call?” Aurora had been looking at the notebook in her lap, but her eyes flashed up at the end of the question and Willow froze, with her mouth slightly open.
She shouldn’t have accepted Cale’s blithe assurance that references wouldn’t be a problem. Willow’s old boss at the coffee shop would certainly give her one, but that was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. What if Elliot was poking around, asking all of her old acquaintances whether they’d heard from her or knew where she was?
“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her chin and folding her hands on the table. “I don’t.”
Aurora leaned back in her chair and tapped her pen against the notebook. “Rough work history?” she asked bluntly.
“No,” Willow said honestly. “My bosses liked me, and I’m a hard worker. I’m not outgoing, but I’m polite to customers and I’m very careful to get orders right the first time.”
“Sounds like an ideal employee,” Aurora agreed, “but I’m afraid I have to ask for something more concrete than that. I might be able to work with a criminal history, but I need you to be up-front with me.”
Willow had expected to be rejected, but hearing it still stung. She simply wasn’t the kind of person who could expect to be hired on the spot by a complete stranger. Without a resume or marketable skills, or even anyone to vouch for her, she could offer nothing to a potential employer. But she did need a job—any job—if she was ever going to escape permanently from her brother and change her life for the better, so she straightened her spine and looked Aurora in the eye.
“I’m hiding from the person who did this,” she said, pulling back her hair and pointing to her face. “I’d rather not provide any kind of trail that might give him an idea where to look for me.”
She expected the red-haired woman to recoil, but instead Aurora nodded briskly.
“Fair enough.” She snapped her notebook shut. “Willow, I’ll be up-front with you as well. Echo Creek is a place I’m proud to call home, and I’m only here because someone was willing to take a chance on me. I feel like it’s now my privilege to pass that along to others who may need it. Also, Mrs. Dillon has already decided you’re one of us, and she’s rarely wrong.” She smiled warmly.
“I’d be happy to have you here on a trial basis, starting tomorrow if you like. You show me what you can do, and I’ll let you see what it would be like to work for me. If we’re both happy after a week, you have a job for as long as you need it. Twelve dollars an hour, if your performance is what I expect it will be.”
Stunned, Willow just stared at her for a moment, wondering whether she’d heard correctly. She’d been hired? “Thank you, Mrs. Ellis,” she finally managed to say. “I really appreciate it. When would you like me to come tomorrow?”
“Call me Rory, please.” Her new boss held out a slender, manicured hand. “I’m not married and Aurora makes me feel like I should be wearing pink frills and waiting for someone to kiss me to wake me up.”
Willow shook her hand, relieved enough by the turn of events that she even managed a small smile. “I’ll remember.”
“And if you can come at 8:30, I should just be getting back from dropping off the boys at school. I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone then. Oh, and you can wear jeans. I’ll have a monogrammed flannel shirt for you, and an apron.”
Willow nodded and pushed back from the table, just as the bells over the front door rang out enthusiastically. She instinctively
turned to see who had come in and instantly whipped her head back around to stare fixedly at the toes of her shoes.
Cale.
She couldn’t help but take an occasional surreptitious glance as he made his way towards the counter, looking serious and focused in his uniform. He made his order, chatted briefly with the teenager behind the counter, then turned to look over his shoulder before Willow could look away. When he met her eyes, his brief look of surprise turned quickly into a genuine smile.
She really needed him to stop smiling. It made her feel indecisive, like she couldn’t figure out whether she ought to run away or smile back. It also turned her face what was probably an alarming shade of red.
“Cale!” Marcia called from where she sat by the window. “Did you put up a Christmas tree yet?”
He shook his head, and Willow thought he looked oddly embarrassed. “Not yet, Mrs. Dillon. Have to clean the place up first.”
Once he finished paying for his order, he walked over to Willow and Rory, giving the petite redhead a brief hug as she stood to greet him. Were they… an item? Cale looked to be the younger of the two, but not by much, and they made a very attractive couple.
“Sit,” Rory said, indicating her chair. “I’ve got to check some inventory, so while you’re waiting for your coffee you can interrogate my newest employee.”
Cale’s eyes lit up as he dropped into the chair across from Willow. “Love to,” he said, adjusting his belt as he leaned back and grinned at her. “Looks like you don’t need my help with this job thing. Congrats! Rory is the best and the coffee here is amazing.”
Rory was the best?
“Thank you,” Willow said carefully, tucking her feet under her chair and drawing her hair over her shoulder. Something about his dark-eyed gaze made her want to hide, if only so he couldn’t see how nervous he made her feel. “This is a beautiful place, and I’m sure Aurora… Rory, will be a great person to work for.”
Cale’s eyes warmed and he nodded. “Like I said, she’s the best. And don’t you think it smells like Christmas in here?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Marcia I said this, but they make the most amazing cinnamon rolls you’ll ever eat. There’s nothing better than cinnamon, woodsmoke and coffee on a cold, snowy morning.”