Thinking about it now, Nick wondered where that jersey ended up throughout his many travels. Likely stuffed in a dust-covered shipping box in his storage unit. Glancing across the room at the two lone suitcases of belongings, Nick questioned if it had been a wise decision to leave so many of his things back in Newcastle. He figured it was a dropped anchor, something to pull him back to that city even though hockey—the one thing that first drew him there—no longer held a place in his life.
As if on cue, his knee began to ache, that dull but persistent discomfort he’d grown to ignore, like the annoyance of an untreated toothache or burrowed splinter. Rubbing his scar with his fingers, he closed his eyes and drew in a breath through clenched teeth. The surgery had been a full year prior. Even though the doctors remarked how well he’d healed, Nick sensed he’d never be quite the same. His terminated contract with the Northern Lights was all the proof he’d needed to solidify that hunch.
Rolling his shoulders, he shook his head and lumbered forward, careful not to put his full weight on his left leg. He’d been assured it was “good as new,” but Nick could easily recall the enormity of that terrifying injury. Whether he intended to or not, he favored that leg and likely always would.
With slow strides, he hobbled his way to the kitchen. Nick glanced at the espresso machine and resolved to learn how to use it that holiday season. There was likely a video tutorial online that would have him whipping up mochas like a barista in no time. The last woman he had briefly dated always ordered the most complex coffee drinks, like she was reciting a Shakespearean monologue rather than ordering a caffeinated beverage. But a few of the drinks actually sounded decent, especially the peppermint mocha he’d stolen a sip of when they’d caroled on the coldest of Newcastle nights. Maybe Nick could learn to like new things, fluffy coffee drinks being the first on the list. It seemed like an easily achievable victory, and Nick was in desperate need of a victory, in whatever form it presented itself.
Familiarizing himself with the new space, he looked around, noting the matching sugar and creamer ceramics on the counter to the left of the machine and a Mason jar candle on the right. He reached out for the candle and took it into his grip, unscrewing the metal ring to release the lid with his other hand. Like a spray of perfume, the aroma of honeysuckle and vanilla wafted around him. The candle almost slipped from his grasp, the scent smacking his senses awake.
He was suddenly twenty-years-old again, sitting in the bed of his truck, his high school letterman jacket slipped over Chrissy’s narrow shoulders, his nose pressed softly into her hair. Inhaling deeply, Nick could feel his heart pick up speed within his chest, quickening just like it had on that autumn evening when he’d uttered the question that forever changed him. Forever changed them.
Today had been an afternoon of time travel for Nick, that candle being the biggest transporter of them all. Curious, he tipped it upside down, looking for a label.
Chrissy’s Candle Company.
Setting the candle onto the granite, he deliberated only a brief moment before grabbing a matchbook from the counter. He struck the tip against the sandpaper, lit the wick, and gave in to the fact that every square inch of Heirloom Point was bound and determined to pull him into the past, once and for all.
Chrissy
CHRISSY LIKED TO have complete quiet while candle making. She needed her senses to zero in on the various oils and combinations of fragrances, no other distractions vying for her attention. It was similar to turning down the car radio when trying to locate a destination on her GPS. It didn’t make any sense, but somehow it always worked.
She’d gotten into the shop early that morning, just before sunrise. Chrissy needed the entire shop to herself during these waning moments before daylight. Once Everleigh clocked in, it would be nonstop chatter straight through until lunchtime, and likely during that, too. While she loved her sister’s company and the help she provided at the shop, Chrissy coveted these precious few hours of calm when she could do her best and most focused work.
Today’s goal was to create the annual Christmas candle. She’d gathered her favorite festive oils from the shelf: clove, pine, cedar wood, and sugar. She wanted both the warm, welcoming smell of Grandma’s Christmas kitchen, coupled with the nostalgic aroma of freshly cut evergreen trees. It was a difficult balance to achieve and she’d been at it for two hours without landing on the right blend. Every attempted mixture reminded her of the previous year’s candle—Balsam and Bells—and she’d be darned to repeat it. Where was the creativity in rerunning the past?
She knew her friends and family eagerly awaited the launch of her holiday candle. It was fun to watch their faces when they lifted the lid for the first time and pulled in a deep, intentional breath. It was like watching a loved one unwrap a long awaited gift on Christmas morning. There was joy and contentment and warmth and cheer. In a way, it felt as though—without even intending to—Chrissy had created her very own Heirloom Point tradition. She loved that anyone had the ability to do that. Though the word itself hinted at longevity, all traditions needed a true starting point. Chrissy was so grateful for her little shop and the starting point it afforded all of her dreams and ambitions.
By the time the sun crested through the store’s windows at daybreak, washing the candle displays with hazy, golden light, Chrissy had decided to call it quits on that particular creative session. No combination of scents felt like the right one. She tidied up her workstation just as the store’s entrance door chimed upon opening. Expecting it to be Everleigh, she startled when she heard a low, baritone voice instead.
“Morning!” a man called out as the door swung shut, rattling the chime once more as it settled into place.
“I’m back here!”
Chrissy could hear the footfalls of thick boots and when he rounded the corner to her small workshop in the rear of the building, she beamed at the sight of her father dressed in his police officer’s uniform, ready to begin his day.
As a young girl, Chrissy always admired her father in uniform. He looked proud and strong and even though the recent years had been trying, her father always wore a resilient smile on his weathered face. He was noticeably handsome, with short graying hair shaved closely on the sides, left just a smidge longer on top. A thick, neat mustache ran the length of his upper lip and two dimples indented his cheeks even when he wasn’t fully grinning, like they were just waiting to deepen with a smile. Of the two daughters, Chrissy favored her father looks-wise, her dimples the most noticeable match. Everleigh had their mom’s signature golden curls, and even though she tried not to, Chrissy always felt a twinge of jealousy over that. Oh how she’d wanted the image in her mirror to reflect the likeness of her mother, even just a bit. She often wondered what it would be like to visibly carry around a piece of her mom in her own appearance.
“Smells wonderful in here, Chrissy,” Lee said, leaning over to kiss his daughter on her forehead. He picked up a small bottle of oil from the wooden tabletop and rolled it between two fingers. “Working on your holiday candle?”
“I can’t get it right, Dad. I’ve been at it all morning and I feel like everything I mix smells just like last year’s.”
“I liked last year’s candle,” her father said.
“So did I, but I want to create something new. Something different.”
Her dad shrugged. “I think what people appreciate about your candles is the comfort found in them. How the scents take them back to a certain time or place in their memory.” Dropping two hands onto his daughter’s shoulders and squeezing lightly, he said, “I know that’s what I love about them.”
Chrissy stood from her metal stool and took her father’s hand to walk with him out into the store. It wasn’t more than four hundred square feet or so in total, with a tiny back area where she did most of her candle making and bookkeeping. She’d portioned off sections of the open space with distressed cabinets, bookshelves, and tables, creating little cubbies to display her fragrant products.
This time of year, the shop transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with garland swags draped over every surface and miniature evergreen trees decked out with twinkling lights and small silver balls on their branches. She’d used the softest fleece fabric she’d ever touched to create a carpet of “snow” in the front window display and she’d sprayed white Styrofoam balls with iridescent paint, arranging them as snowballs strewn about. It was like stepping into a scene from the North Pole, and Chrissy just loved it.
“Moved things around a bit since I was last in?” Lee squinted as his searching gaze swept over the shop.
Chrissy knew just what he was looking for. She walked toward the closest shelf and pulled down a coral tinted candle, then handed it to her father.
He lifted the lid from the glass jar, his eyes slipping softly shut as he breathed in the sweet, flowery aroma. Chrissy watched his mouth purse as though holding back something he chose not to say, and when he opened his eyes, a reflective sheen of tears collected in them.
“It’s like a piece of her is still here, Chrissy. Seriously, it smells just like her.” His words floated out on a breath. “Just like her.”
After her mother’s passing three years earlier, Chrissy made it her mission to make a candle that emulated the floral-scented perfume her mom dabbed onto her wrists and neck each morning. Rose and honeysuckle and almond with just the smallest hint of cherry blossom. Chrissy couldn’t believe she was able to match it so closely. It was remarkable, really—a gift almost. That was the only real explanation for it: there was just a bit of divine intervention involved in creating that particularly meaningful scent.
Every time her father came into the store, he’d take the candle from the display, open it, and breathe in the cherished memories of his beloved wife, Audrey. It was the perfect, calming start to his otherwise hectic day.
“I’ll say it again, but you are more than welcome to take one home with you, Dad,” Chrissy said. “I have plenty to spare and can always make more. That’s one recipe I have memorized.”
“You know why I like keeping it here, Chrissy.”
And she did. Not only did the candle remind everyone of Audrey Davenport, the entire store embodied her. After all, when Chrissy opened it, she and her mother were partners in the venture. She couldn’t even count how many early mornings they’d spent together, mixing and breathing in candle concoctions until they were dizzy from the strong fragrances and delirious from hours of laughter. For that reason, the store would always hold the deepest place in Chrissy’s heart, especially those early dawn hours. It was practically her home away from home.
Lee placed the candle back onto the shelf, just as the door to the shop burst open, a startling swirl of frosty air blasting into the space like a freezer door thrown open.
“It’s gonna be a cold one!” Everleigh bellowed, tumbling into the shop with snowball-like momentum. She ran her palms up and down her arms vigorously before unwinding her plaid scarf from around her neck and bunching it up in her hands. “We either need to light every candle in this store for warmth or crank up that heater! We’ll be icicles by the end of the day if we don’t!”
“Heater’s still on the fritz, sis.” Chrissy reached out for Everleigh’s quilted jacket. She folded it over her arm as soon as her sister slipped it off. “I’ve got a call into Ted, but we’re not the only ones in Heirloom Point with HVAC needs. We’ll have to wait our turn.”
“I’m happy to take a look at it after my shift. In the meantime, the McHenry’s probably have a space heater you could use. Don’t think one would cost you more than fifty dollars, tops,” Lee suggested.
It wasn’t as though that thought hadn’t crossed Chrissy’s mind a half dozen times already. Of course the hardware store would have one. In fact, she knew they had at least two different models in their selection. From her time spent as a store employee during her teenage years, Chrissy would probably even be able to locate the heaters without any assistance. Aisle thirteen, right next to the air purifiers and oscillating fans.
But she wasn’t about to march across the street and buy one. Not with Nick back in town.
“We’ll be just fine, Dad. They’re not predicting snow until later this evening.”
“If the snow starts falling and we still don’t have heat, I’m officially quitting.” Hands on her hips, Everleigh jutted her bottom lip just like she did as a child. Chrissy was well acquainted with that look, the one that got her younger sister off the hook more times than was reasonable. Unlike her parents, Chrissy was immune to its influence.
“It would certainly be a shame to lose you right before the holiday rush, but Nita did say she’s looking for part time work. Might be the perfect time to bring her on. When’s your last day?”
Squiggling her mouth into a grimace, Everleigh swatted her sister. “You know I’ll never leave you.”
“Is that a threat?” Chrissy teased, her voice breaking into a laugh on the last syllable.
“Alright girls, as much as I’d love to stay and listen to you two bicker all day, duty calls. Someone has to keep the citizens of Heirloom Point in line, and today, that someone is me.”
“In that case, wouldn’t it fall under your job description to referee our arguments and keep us in line?” Everleigh teased.
“I’ve already put in my time doing just that. Officially retired from that position the day you moved out.” Lee rubbed his palms, one against the other, as though wiping them clean of his parental responsibilities.
“And boomerang! I’m baaaack!” Everleigh sing-songed. Reaching out for a hug, she wrapped her arms around her father and squeezed. “Be safe out there today.”
“Always try to be,” Lee said, pulling out of Everleigh’s firm embrace and turning to give his eldest daughter a hug before heading toward the door. “Will you both be at the silent auction tonight? I’ll be busy working security, but I hope to see you there.”
“Absolutely!” they spoke in unplanned unison.
Laughing, Lee grabbed the door handle and exited the shop, tossing one last wave over his shoulder as he stepped onto the sidewalk of Spruce Street.
Everleigh spun toward her sister. “So, how’s the new candle coming along?”
“It’s not,” Chrissy answered, resignation heavy in her tone.
“You put too much thought into it, you know.”
“I put too much heart into it, I think,” Chrissy corrected. “But I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Just makes the process a little longer than I’d prefer. I should’ve started weeks ago, honestly.”
“You already know I don’t have the best sniffer, but I’m happy to lend my nose if you need it.”
Everleigh wasn’t exaggerating; she had a terrible sense of smell. Just a few months earlier, Chrissy thought it would be fun to do a blind testing of sorts. She had peeled the labels from the jars and blindfolded her sister, then instructed her to note the various scented oils within each candle. To say it was a miss was a gross understatement. Everleigh had the worst nose of anyone she’d ever met. Suddenly nutmeg was cinnamon and basil was mint and peach was pear. It was all a messy mixture of wrong ingredients, to a laughable degree. While it was undeniable that Everleigh was an excellent saleswoman, she failed miserably when it came to fragrance identification.
“I’ll figure it out,” Chrissy said, grateful for her sister’s offer even still. “It’ll come to me. Always does. I just need to pick a scent and run with it.”
“Speaking of picking things, have you thought about which wreath you might pick tonight? I’ve got my eye on Trisha Lancing’s this year. It’s a candy cane wreath, Chrissy! The ones they make at their candy shoppe down the street. I heard there are over three hundred, full-sized candy canes on it! I figure even if it goes for upwards of fifty bucks, it’ll still be a screaming deal!”
“I haven’t thought too much about what I’m looking for this year. I’m sure once I see something I like, I’ll just go for it.”
; “Something else you might like…” Everleigh’s voice trailed off as her gaze slid over the shop and out the front window. She nudged her chin in the same direction.
There, on the sidewalk of Spruce Street, directly across from Chrissy’s Candle Company, was Nick McHenry, walking through the square as though he’d never even left.
Chrissy dropped to the floor.
“What on earth are you doing?” Everleigh shouted.
“Shhh!” Grabbing her sister’s sleeve, Chrissy yanked her down to her level.
“Why are we hiding?” Everleigh whispered this time as she crouched onto the wooden floorboards. “He can’t see us.”
“He might be able to.”
Popping her head up over the table, Everleigh squinted. “Nope. He just went into McHenry Hardware. The coast is totally clear.”
Falling back on her haunches, Chrissy slumped against the bookcase and closed her eyes, relief filling her like helium in a balloon.
“Is this the reaction I can expect from a Nick sighting? Because I have a sneaking suspicion he’ll be helping his family out at the store a lot this holiday season. If flattening onto the floor is going to be your response, I need to invest in some knee pads. I can’t be diving for cover like this without a little protection.”
Chrissy smacked her forehead with her palm, admittedly embarrassed by her overreaction. “Why am I acting like this, Ev? I mean, seriously. Why am I so terrified to see him again?”
An Heirloom Christmas Page 2