“My best guess would be the fear of the unknown.”
“But I know Nick.” Chrissy paused. “Or at least I knew him. I mean, I knew him better than anyone. Didn’t I?”
“Are you worried he’s not the same guy?”
“I think I’m actually worried he is.”
Everleigh’s expression changed, a look of empathy molding her features. Reaching out, she smoothed a wayward strand of dark hair that had fallen across her sister’s forehead. “Okay, then. Let’s come up with some sort of warning for when we do see him—like a type of Nick radar. Something associated with him but not too closely, so we don’t give it away. What was that word he always used for the hockey puck back in high school?”
“The puck? Wasn’t it biscuit?”
“Yes!” Everleigh nodded. “That’ll be our code word. Biscuit!” she yelled, megaphoning her mouth as she cupped her hands on either side.
“You are the world’s biggest dork. You know that, right?”
“If that’s your way of saying I’m the world’s best sister, then thankyouverymuch,” Everleigh said, beaming a broad, toothy grin.
“I’m not sure how I feel about biscuits,” Chrissy said. She gained enough confidence to peek over the tabletop to scope out the situation on the street. All was clear, as far as she could tell. Cautiously, she rose to her feet.
“Yeah. Biscuits are confusing,” Everleigh said as she stood up, too.
Chrissy laughed, thankful for her younger sister and her uncanny ability to make every situation more manageable.
“We’re not actually talking about real biscuits, right?” Everleigh confirmed, a pained look spreading onto her face. “Because those are absolutely delicious. Nothing confusing about that.”
“Just the hockey related ones,” Chrissy clarified. “Buttermilk biscuits are completely fine.”
“Maybe you’ve just landed on a scent for your new holiday candle? Jingle Bell Buttermilk Biscuit? Is it possible I might’ve actually helped create a new scent?”
“Not a chance!” Clutching her stomach in laughter, Chrissy shook her head. “But you have helped me with so much more than that, so thank you.”
“Happy to be of help. Anything you need, just ask.”
“Well, right now, I need you to clock in so we can open up the shop and actually make some money.”
“I’m on it!” Everleigh lifted her hand to her forehead in a salute. “Gotta bring in the big bucks so we can bid our little hearts out tonight. If I win the candy cane wreath, I plan to eat at least half of it tonight!”
“And I’ll plan to find someone to cover your shift tomorrow since you’ll be sick in bed,” Chrissy retorted. “Maybe I should call Nita up and give her advanced warning.”
“You’re welcome to call Nita, but you can’t get rid of me that easily, sis.” Everleigh winked. “You’re stuck with me for life.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
There was no doubt in Chrissy’s mind it was a promise her sister would forever keep.
Nick
“SIX O’CLOCK ON the dot, Nick, and not a minute after,” Grace McHenry instructed with a waggle of her finger in front of her son’s face. “I don’t want to be late again this year. Last year your father made me wait until the store closed up before we could go. Missed all the bidding wars and we were stuck with a pathetic tinsel eyesore. Looked like something out of A Charlie Brown Christmas.”
“I liked that wreath,” Joe McHenry called out to his wife from behind the cash register. He looked across the store as he reconciled the till, flipping through a thick stack of ones from the day’s transactions. “It had character.”
“It certainly had something, but the person who made it had very little in the way of taste,” Grace countered. “I’ve got my eye on Marcia Purcell’s this year. That woman has style and her wreath shows it. It’s just stunning and will go perfectly on our porch. In fact, I’ve already bought the matching garland I want to drape over the doorframe right above it. We’ll have the best looking door in Heirloom Point, no question about that!”
“Is that the goal? To have the best front door?” Joe asked. He shut the cash register drawer. “I had no idea this was a competition.”
“That’s exactly what it is!” Grace exclaimed, her tone flabbergasted. “Where have you been?”
“And just what happens when you’re outbid on this stylish and stunning wreath, dear?”
“Then I’ll bid again and again until I win it.”
“Is there a limit?” Nick asked. “You must have a limit, Mom.”
He’d never quite understand the rush of excitement she experienced over purchasing a handmade wreath created by one of her neighbors.
“I’ll stop when I’m the highest bidder,” Grace said. “And not a penny before that!”
Joe lifted his shoulders to his ears and shrugged. “Happy wife, happy life,” he justified to his son.
“Happy wife, empty bank account sounds more accurate.”
“You’ll understand when you have a wife of your own,” Grace said, only realizing her blunder after the words exited her mouth. Eyes rounded, she offered a meek, “I’m so sorry, Nick. That was insensitive of me.”
“No apologies, Mom. We don’t do that, remember?”
“I know. I just forget sometimes. I mean, not about the two of you, but…” Her voice wavered. “You know.”
“I know.” Nick dropped his hands onto his mother’s shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. “I’ll be back at six to pick you up.”
“On the dot.”
“Yes. On the dot.”
He had his shoulder against the store’s entrance door, readying to go when it suddenly gave way and he nearly fell onto the sidewalk. Luckily, he caught himself at the last minute before his body collided with the pavement.
“Nick McHenry!” A pint-sized woman shouted, her volume almost knocking him down, officially this time. “So the rumors are true—you’re actually back!”
Grabbing onto his face, Doris Beasley rotated it side to side in her hands as she peered up at Nick with scrutiny. Then she took his cheek in her thumb and index finger and pinched it the way his Aunt Faith always did when she would visit during birthdays and holidays. He was certain it left a mark.
Nick smiled. “How have you been, Doris?” he asked once her examination was complete. He leaned in for a hug. “How’s Earl doing these days?”
“Oh, Earl’s fine. Becomes more and more useless as the days go by, though, I tell you. I’ve asked him to get the Christmas tree down from the attic for two weeks now, but you know how his arthritis flares up with the cold. Now that we’ve got a big storm coming in, I’ll be lucky to have a tree up by Easter!”
“Nick can help you with that,” Grace offered, edging her way into the conversation. She had a knack for making any and all business her own. “He’d be happy to. Wouldn’t you, Nick?”
Doris’s sprite-like face lit up. “Oh, would you, Nick? It would be my very own Christmas miracle if you could!”
It wasn’t a request he could say no to, especially not after his mother had offered up his services without asking. While he’d be happy to help Doris out, the thought of scaling a ladder with his knee in its current condition made his stomach roll. Still, he figured between he and Earl, the two could manage just fine.
“I can come by tomorrow morning if that works for you.”
Placing her hands on his jaw once again, Doris patted his cheek. “That would be wonderful. You’re a good boy, Nick. I’ve always thought so. Just wish things with you and Chrissy would’ve worked out. You two were pretty adorable together.”
That was Nick’s cue to leave. He was happy to help with odd chores around Heirloom Point, but once his past turned into idle chatter and town gossip, he knew it was time to duck out of the conversation.
“Will we see you at the silent auction tonight?” Doris asked.
“Yes, you will,” Grace answered for her son once
again. It was as though Nick was the puppet and she, the ventriloquist. “He’s picking me up at six o’clock.” Pinning him with a stare only a mother could get away with, she reiterated, “On the dot.”
“Yes, I know, Mom. On the dot. I’ll be there.”
* * *
“IT’S 6:01.” GRACE wore an exaggerated frown as she grabbed onto the handle to hoist herself up and into the passenger seat of Nick’s truck.
Flashing the face of his phone toward his mother, Nick assured, “Six o’clock on the nose, Mom.”
“My watch says one minute after.”
“Right, but you manually set your watch. These things automatically set themselves.”
She huffed indignantly, a hot breath sputtering between her lips like a horse’s nicker. “I don’t trust that. Who sets that time? A robot? Sounds real trustworthy. I’ve been wearing this watch for nearly a decade and it’s never let me down.” Grace clicked the seatbelt across her lap. “But we don’t have time to argue over timepieces, we have an auction to get to!”
It was a quick drive from the hardware store to the community center. Immediately, Nick recognized several vehicles in the lot that belonged to old buddies from school or to family friends. He hadn’t accounted for the night to be a reunion of sorts, but he should’ve known it had the potential to be one. Heirloom Point was a quaint, close-knit community where people tended to stick around.
“That spot right over there,” Grace co-piloted, flapping her hand toward an open parking space near the entrance of the brick building.
Angling the truck into the spot, Nick shut off the engine and pulled in a deep breath.
“You coming?” his mother asked, her purse slung over her shoulder and the truck door cracked open, letting the chilly December air slip into the cab. “We’re already five minutes late.”
“I’ll meet you in there.” He forced a grin in an effort to disguise his rising nerves, but his mom knew better. She always did.
“It’ll be fine, Nick. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Nick wouldn’t go that far. The most he hoped was that it wasn’t a total train wreck.
“Go on in, Mom. You don’t want Doris outbidding you on that wreath you’ve had your sights on.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “You’re right! Sure, she’s a good deal older than me, but she’s got the same taste as I do, doesn’t she? Which means she’s likely my greatest competition!”
Nick watched as his mom closed the cab door and scurried toward the community center. Several more ladies scampered up the walkway, and he could’ve been mistaken, but he’d bet money he saw his mom throw an elbow as a cluster of women attempted to squeeze through the sliding automatic doors in front of her, like mice vying for the same piece of cheese. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.
He was still laughing when his gaze averted. There, alongside her younger sister, Everleigh, was Chrissy Davenport, trailing up the footpath toward the auction house doors, right behind the frenzied crowd of older women. The sisters hung back, allowing the frantic ladies their space to duke it out like they were rushing toward a Black Friday sale on cutlery. He saw Chrissy’s narrow shoulders lift up and drop down in laughter and he figured she found his mother’s behavior equally outrageous. Oddly, it felt like a shared moment, and even within the confines of his truck, Nick suddenly felt closer to Chrissy than he had in years. He supposed the physical proximity had a little something to do with that, but he found a reassuring and welcome comfort in the notion that they still found the same things entertaining.
Or maybe he was grasping for a connection that truly wasn’t there.
Right before he pulled his gaze from their direction, Everleigh glanced briefly over her shoulder, locking eyes with Nick through the frosted truck windshield. There was nowhere to go, nothing to hide behind or disguise the very real fact that he’d been spotted. Lifting his hand hesitantly, Nick offered a small, guarded wave.
Everleigh acknowledged him with the slightest lift of her nose, then quickly turned toward her sister, ushering her into the building without turning back again.
If Nick had contemplated skipping out on the auction, that was no longer a viable option, not now that he’d been seen. Surely Everleigh would tell Chrissy he was there. He’d look like a complete fool if he darted now.
Steeling himself, he clicked open the driver’s side door. Before he even had a boot on the pavement below, a massive hand clasped onto his shoulder, halting him in his tracks.
“Moose McHenry!” a gravely voice bellowed at his back, familiar in tone even if a few octaves lower than the one from his memories. “If Moose hasn’t wandered his way back into town!”
“Tucker.” Nick spun around to acknowledge his oldest childhood friend. “How on earth have you been, man?”
“Where on earth have you been is a better question.” Stepping back to give Nick a thorough once over, Tucker said, “Oh, that’s right. Off making the big bucks with the Lights!”
“Hardly.” Nick laughed.
Glancing at Nick’s weathered pickup next to them, Tucker narrowed his eyes. “Alright. I believe you on that. This the same junker you had when you got your license?” Tucker kicked the front tire. “Couldn’t even afford a new ride? What did they pay you with in Newcastle? Monopoly money?”
“Might as well have been,” Nick said. “If you’re looking for a get rich quick venture, I don’t recommend injured professional hockey player. Especially if you take an entire season off. That kind of kills your paycheck.”
“Can’t say I’m glad for the injury, but I am glad it landed you back in our neck of the woods. It’s been too long, Moose. Too long.”
The two stepped up onto the curb, making their way to the auction. Tucker Hayes looked mostly the same, the boyish youth now gone from his cheeks and face, but the same jovial expression present. He was similar in height to Nick—just over six feet tall—and the red hair he’d sported just below his ears in high school was now trimmed neatly above them. And, impressively, he’d finally grown the scruff on his jawline that they’d so often grumbled was an impossible feat back during their teenage years. It was strange to see someone Nick had known since kindergarten now as a grown man, but time had a way of doing that—forcing everyone to grow up.
Nick didn’t feel any more grown up, though, as he and Tucker neared the entrance. In fact, the same butterflies that swarmed in his stomach the first time he’d asked Chrissy to dance at the Fall Formal had taken flight again. Nick was all clammy hands, perspiration laden brow, and queasy, worried stomach. He was in worse shape than the night of his debut with the Northern Lights, and he’d gotten sick in a trash can before taking to the ice then. If his past was any indicator, tonight would end in a similar manner.
“You here to bid on a wreath?” Tucker asked as the two pressed into the crowd gathered just inside the door. A line two dozen people deep stretched out from a folding table near the front where attendees awaited the assignment of their bidding number.
“I suppose so. Mostly my mom needed a ride, so I thought I’d scope things out.”
“Scope things out, or scope someone out?”
It would’ve frustrated Nick that this was everyone’s first assumption had it not been blatantly true. The community center was the perfect neutral ground for a first interaction. It was Switzerland. Of course he’d thought about stopping into Chrissy’s candle shop, but on her home turf, Nick didn’t know what to expect. And had she wandered her way into his parents’ store, they’d have more than a few spectators in the peanut gallery of public opinion. The Silent Night Silent Auction created an ideal crowd to get lost in.
And at the moment, that’s exactly what Chrissy had done.
Nick straightened his spine to peer over the tops of heads, but he couldn’t locate her.
“Numbers seventy-two and seventy-three.” A woman he recognized as Miss Sandra, the local high school nurse, scribbled the numbers onto separate index cards with a th
ick, black marker. “Bidding closes at 8:00 p.m. sharp, so be sure to keep an eye on your final bids and close out no later than 8:30.” She looked up as she slid the notecards across the table to the men. “Nick McHenry!” she roared suddenly, dropping her pen and bounding to her feet. Yanking Nick over the table, she drew him into a giant hug. “I heard you were coming home but didn’t believe it could be true! The return of a hometown hero!”
“My brother’s the real hero in our family, ma’am,” Nick noted, knowing his older brother’s service to their country was the only status worthy of true heroism. To get any sort of recognition for mere entertainment when Kevin was off securing their freedom felt ill-placed. “I’m just a mediocre hockey player.”
“You’re more than that, Nick. Oh goodness. Just look at you!” Sandra squealed. She jumped up and down on the balls of her feet. “Handsome as ever, I must say! You always were such a good looking young man.”
Nick peeled himself from her arms that clung with boa constrictor-like force.
“Good to see you again, Miss Sandra. None of the physical therapists or doctors that worked on me over the years ever offered lollipops like you always did. Made me almost long for the high school injuries that landed me in your office every other week.”
“You know, I still give those out. Sugar free now since the school’s passed some healthy eating initiative, but stop by sometime and I’ll make sure you get your proper fix. Just bought a new bag.”
“Will do,” Nick said with a chuckle. He picked up his bidding number, placed it in his jacket pocket, and followed Tucker into the auditorium. What often served as a gym equipped with basketball hoops and retractable stands now displayed over a hundred holiday wreaths, all hung on the walls around the court like a museum made of Christmas cheer. On the table directly underneath each wreath was a sheet of lined paper, ready to be filled with the back and forth of bids of friendly—and not-so-friendly—competition.
“Remember the year we bid on behalf of Prosper Tomlin? Junior year, I think. Didn’t he end up taking home about a dozen or more wreaths by the time the night was over?” Tucker reminisced as he looked around the packed space. He tipped his head in cordial greeting to each neighbor that walked by while they moved about the room. “Think he hung one on each of his horse stalls, if I remember correctly. Had to use them somehow, I suppose.”
An Heirloom Christmas Page 3