by Nancy Naigle
By the time the craft class was to begin, only the Madison twins had shown up.
She wondered if something was going on in town. Was the triathlon this weekend? The Christmas parade wasn’t until next Thursday night. That always impacted store traffic for a while, but today was unusually slow.
Emma joined Angela at the front counter. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a class with just two people in it.”
“Can I teach it?” Stephanie had made the cork ornaments before. “Please?”
“Sure.” That was the least Angela could do. “Everything is already set up in the craft room. If anyone else shows up, we’ll send them back.”
“Awesome! I’m going to get them started.”
“Have fun.”
Jeremy came up front—a wisp of cool air following him from Snow Valley. “I love that snow machine. It’s cold as heck, but it’s a blast.” He grabbed his coffee mug and went back into the break room, and returned with hot chocolate.
“I love Snow Valley,” Angela said. “It’s more fun than I’d ever imagined.” Unfortunately, it was a little too late to make a difference.
He slurped his hot chocolate as he read the newspaper over Emma’s shoulder. “What the heck? No way!”
“What?” Emma turned around.
“Right there.” He pointed a finger to the bottom of the page.
“Oh dear.” Emma’s voice held concern.
“What is it?” Angela moved in closer.
Christmas Galore had a large ad inviting families to come play in the snow in their parking lot.
“Snow is our gig!” Jeremy muttered under his breath. “They are copying us.”
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” But the words caught in Angela’s throat. Who was she kidding? This was flat-out wrong. She smiled through clenched teeth. “Excuse me, I just remembered I need to check on something.” She excused herself.
Safely behind closed doors she flopped into the chair behind her desk.
Putting on a brave face didn’t make it any easier to take a hit like this. She slipped out the back door and got in her car.
At this point, she didn’t even care if anyone saw her. Christmas Galore had already done her in; now they were just stealing customers and her ideas … for sport.
Was there any way humanly possible that Christmas Galore could have snow even half as good as what they’d perfected for Snow Valley? They’d worked a solid month on it.
And why was she feeling so competitive about it?
She pressed her foot on the accelerator. She drove over to Christmas Galore with the intention of seeing firsthand what the fuss was all about, but when she got to the block where the store was located there were cars backed up out to the street. The place was packed.
It seemed so unfair that her store would be so empty, only to have practically everyone in town, and their out-of-town neighbors, spending time at the new store in town.
She parked around the corner and walked over, shoving her hands in her pockets, trying to blend in with the other shoppers. One of her neighbors was just in front of her, so Angela slowed down and ducked behind a man and his family, putting some space between them.
There was as much foot traffic heading toward Christmas Galore as there was at the county fair. It was crazy.
Finally, she rounded the front of the building. What she saw was in no way, shape or form like her Snow Valley.
Christmas Galore definitely had snow, but they didn’t have snowflakes from a snow machine like Jeremy had perfected for Heart of Christmas. Nor was it a place at all. There wasn’t a pile of fresh snow where families could make a snowman together, or build a snow sculpture.
What they had was an arsenal of pre-formed snowballs.
An all-out snow war.
Complete chaos right there in the parking lot. Red paper sno-cone cups littered the man-made snow like little dead soldiers.
The sight made her feel a little sick, because no matter how appalled she was, people were having fun. Lots of it.
Across the way the guy from the coffee shop stood off to the side, laughing.
Her heart betrayed her, doing a flip when his eyes met hers. He wore a suit and a very nice smile, but that didn’t make him a nice guy. Looks could be deceiving.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Santa,
I’m sorry. I lied when you asked me if I’d been a good boy. I’d tell you who I am, but then I’d be on the naughty list.
D. L.
Geoff and Chandler stood among the crowd of their first-ever outdoor Snow Throw at Christmas Galore. People had piled into the parking lot to see how they’d pull it off, and it looked like they had.
With sno-cone equipment in every store already, it was no big stretch to churn up a pile of snowballs and it was the cheapest promotional tactic they’d come up with in a long time. The store was as busy today as it had been on Black Friday. A definite win.
Geoff scanned the crowd, feeling on top of the world. He couldn’t believe his luck. He grabbed Chandler by the sleeve, gesturing with a dip of his forehead in Angela’s direction. “She’s here.”
“Who?” Chandler turned to look.
“Don’t look.”
“Then how am I supposed to see who you’re talking about?” Chandler tried to look again.
Geoff rammed his elbow into Chandler’s gut.
“Ouch. What was that for?” Chandler choked out.
“Shhh. Don’t be so obvious.” Geoff nodded subtly toward the left.
Chandler eased his attention in that direction. “What’s she doing here?”
What was Chandler talking about? “No, man. I’m talking about the woman I saw at the coffee shop. She’s right over there.”
Chandler looked again. “The woman you thought was so pretty?”
“Yes. She is.” Geoff turned and checked her out again. “She’s very pretty. You have to agree.”
“Wait a minute.” Chandler leaned around casually. “The one overdressed for the event, wearing the black dress slacks and Christmas sweater?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the woman who has had you so distracted?”
“I haven’t been that distracted.” Geoff saw the look on Chandler’s face. “Fine. A little distracted.”
Chandler raised his brow.
“Fine. I’ve been thinking about her. She’s … interesting.” Chandler looked like he had an opinion. “What?”
“It’ll never work.” Chandler shook his head.
“What do you mean? What do you know?”
“Besides the fact that things never work out for you with the ladies?”
Chandler wasn’t wrong. In all the years they’d known each other while opening stores in ten different towns, it had been the same old story. But that had been by choice. Even so Geoff felt compelled to fight for his own honor. “I’ve had a couple good relationships.”
“Monica?” Chandler challenged.
“Monica was meteorically eccentric. Never saw it coming.”
Chandler curled his lips. “That’s putting it nicely. How about Louise?”
“She wanted a herd of children. I don’t want six kids. I barely have time for me. That was not my fault. It was an impossible situation.”
“Maybe you need to get to know these ladies a little better, before you start dating them.”
“Thanks for the advice, Casanova. All my relationships haven’t been that bad.”
“You’re right. There was Jenny.”
“Well, that was my fault, but I won’t make that mistake again. I should have spent more time with her. Put her before business once in a while.”
“Or once.”
“Whatever.” His eyes darted across the way and then back at his friend. “There’s something about her. She’s pretty, yeah, but look at her sitting there alone. She’s confident. Nice. I’d definitely like to get to know her.”
“How can you tell someone is nice by just looking at their smil
e? Looks can be deceiving. Look at you. You have a nice smile. I know you’re not nice.”
“I’m very nice,” Geoff said.
Chandler busted out with a loud laugh.
“Shh.” Geoff raised a finger.
Surprise registered on Chandler’s face. “Wait a second. You’re not kidding around. You really don’t know who that is, do you?”
“No. I don’t know her,” Geoff said. “Trust me, if I’d met her I’d remember.”
Chandler let out a low laugh. “You know more about her than you think. Geoff, that’s Angela Carson.”
“You know her? Well, introduce me. Let’s go”
Chandler stepped over in front of Geoff to keep him from heading that way. “Angela Carson who owns the little Christmas store in the lighthouse. Heart of Christmas. The one that is going to go out of business because of you.”
“Me?” The breath caught in his throat. She was the owner of Heart of Christmas? Well, this time Chandler was right. There’s no way this would ever work. “I’m not … It’s not my fault that people are seduced by discount prices and sno-cones.”
“I hate those sno-cones,” Chandler said for the tenth time in two days. “Well, folks say her store has been struggling awhile, but our store is pushing her over the edge. Word on the street is she might not stay open past New Year’s.”
“I hadn’t heard.” But still he couldn’t help wanting to look her way again. “We’ve only been open a couple of months. Certainly she can’t blame us for her business failure. She sure has a nice smile.”
“I bet her smile won’t be nearly as chipper when she realizes who you are.”
“Only one way to find out.” He pasted a smile on his face and started toward her.
She locked eyes with him and threw her hand in the air.
His smile broadened. Chandler was overreacting.
* * *
Angela didn’t return the smile. This is not a social call. A few days ago she’d swooned over his nice suit and baby-blue eyes. That was before she knew just exactly who he was. That was not the case today.
He made his way across the parking lot toward her, edging between the throng of onlookers.
She took in a deep breath and stepped away from the crowd closer to the building.
He followed her moves, and with each step closer her heart beat faster. Ready for battle, she stopped, widened her stance and raised her chin.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, a little out of breath.
“Why?” His warm greeting threw her off her game for a second. Fueled by anger she squared up to him.
He paused, looking into her eyes, then smiled. “Since Thanksgiving in the coffee shop. I’m Geoff Paisley, by the way. You remember? At the Crabby Coffee Pot? We saw each other. You waved.”
“You were there spying on me, weren’t you?” Her eyes narrowed as she sucked in a trembling breath and tried to keep her knees from buckling under her.
He stepped back, momentarily rebuffed. “Spy on you?” He cocked his head, as if waiting for her to explain.
“It’s crystal clear now,” she said. “You had a perfect view of Heart of Christmas from your seat at the Crabby Coffee Pot, didn’t you? Oh yeah, you gave me that handsome blue-eyed gaze like it was an unexpected meeting.”
“But we haven’t met.” He had a weird look on his face, like he was confused or thought she was crazy.
Every fiber in her body warned her. That smooth act wasn’t going to work with her.
“We may not have been introduced officially, but that didn’t keep you from stealing my idea.” She leaned in toward him, her words cutting as her jaw tightened along with every muscle in her body. “The billboard one block from my shop?” She flung her arms in the air. “Then this one day after I opened Snow Valley?”
“This?” His look was incredulous. “You didn’t invent snow. And this … is what we do. Give our customers what they want.”
“Oh yeah. Like trinkets that’ll break before the holiday is over.”
“And who really cares anyway? They don’t make anything like they used to.”
That was his rebuttal?
“Christmas is just one day out of the year,” he said. “You can buy ten of my holiday decorations for the price of one of yours. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Don’t belittle the importance of Christmas,” she said. “I sell quality products. One of a kind. Traditions that hold family memories together made by artists from all over the world. You can’t put a price on that.”
“But you do, don’t you?” His eyebrow cocked. “A quite high price too.”
“And you don’t care about the value you’re offering to your customers.” She rocked on her heels. “I do.”
“Are you saying price is the only guide to value?”
“Maybe it is.” She’d made her point. Score!
“So, let me be sure I understand.” He spread his stance, getting down to her eye level. “You’re saying a four-year-old enjoying a ten-cent sno-cone has no value?”
She searched for a response.
But he wasn’t finished. “If making memories is so valuable, I’d argue my sno-cones will be fond memories for lots of kids, and I don’t care if their parents spend half their paycheck on cheap trinkets that may or may not make it through the holiday while their kids slurp cheap sticky syrup … then so what?”
“That’s just the kind of thinking I’d expect from you. You’re only interested in filling your pockets. You are nothing but a money-hungry…” She couldn’t even complete the sentence. “You don’t care about the people of this town at all.”
“Look at this crowd. They look pretty happy to me. No one is making them buy anything. But I see a lot of Christmas Galore shopping bags.” He raised a finger and started counting. “One. Two. Three. Four. There have to be eighty just in plain sight.”
“Flimsy plastic bags that can fill a bird’s stomach until it ultimately starves to death, or chokes marine life, and if they survive that, the plastic breaks down and passes toxic chemicals through the food chain right to our dinner plates. Yeah. Thanks so much for that.” She pulled her lips into a tight line. “You!” She stabbed a finger in his direction. “You are an irresponsible oceanfront merchant, and you are a thief. You stole my idea for snow at the beach. And you are just riding on Christmas’s coattails for a buck.” Her eyes began to tear. She could not—would not—cry in front of him.
“Well.” He was flustered. “Business is about bucks. Or is that news to you?”
She growled in frustration. “No.” She thrust her hands to her sides. “You … you are nothing but a suit. All you care about is money. There is much more to Christmas and this town than money.”
“I will not apologize for focusing on my bottom line. Something, truth be told, that you probably should have done a better job of.”
She gasped. How could he? “You don’t know anything about me or my business.”
“Au contraire, my dear. I’ve done my homework.”
“Do not call me ‘dear.’”
“I know that little shop of yours has been in your family since the early 1900s and still pretty much operates that way. Do I need to recite your revenue too? Or how about that I know you pride yourself in being a part of the fabric of this community? Well, my dear, your fabric is as outdated as wool underwear.”
A hundred things reeled through her mind, but before any of them passed her lips, SPLAT!
She screamed, gasping and reaching for her face, where an icy snowball had just smashed into her shoulder and ricocheted off of her cheek.
She worked her jaw. Nothing seemed to be hurt except for her pride.
Geoff stood there staring at her with his mouth agape.
She spun around and hightailed it out of the crowd to her car. She didn’t slow down until she hit the red light at the intersection two blocks up the road.
She stretched to see her cheek and chin in the rearview mirror. That snowball had left
a bright red mark on her cheek. She couldn’t very well go back to work looking like she’d been in a fight.
As soon as she got home she texted Emma to let her know she was at the house in case she needed anything, then put a compress on her cheek, hoping it wouldn’t end up bruising.
Not ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. She took the warm rag from her cheek, stopping at the hall mirror to see if the red had gone away yet. No such luck.
She turned and answered the door. “Emma? Is everything okay?”
“The store’s fine. Jeremy and Stephanie have everything under control.”
“Oh good. You scared me for a second there.”
“Are you okay?” Emma let herself in. “Oh my gosh. What happened to your cheek?”
“Oh. That.” Angela turned away and walked to the living room. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Did someone hit you?”
“A snowball. It was stupid.”
“Snow?” Emma pulled her hands to her hips. “You went over to Christmas Galore, didn’t you?”
Angela tucked her feet under her on the couch, then fell over into the fetal position. “I did.” She covered her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Who hit you?”
“I don’t know. Some kid, I guess.”
“You didn’t see it coming?”
“No. I was looking at…” She closed her eyes. “Remember that guy that I saw at the Crabby Coffee Pot? He was there.”
“At Christmas Galore?”
“Right there in the parking lot.” She got lost in the moment, recalling him standing there so at ease like he’d done nothing wrong.
“The one with the nice smile and blue eyes?”
Feeling miserable, she uttered, “That’s the one.”
“Well, then, it wasn’t all bad. Maybe he’s your consolation prize for closing the store.”