The Merriest Magnolia

by Michelle Major

  “There’s food in the office fridge,” she told them. “You two can fill me in on what I missed from the meeting while I’m eating.”

  Meredith winked. “And you can fill us in on your new and vastly improved love life.”

  “It’s not love,” Carrie whispered.

  Avery gave her a funny look but didn’t argue.

  “I just realized something tragic.” Meredith made a face. “I’m now the only one of the three of us who’s all shriveled up and lonely in the lady parts department.”

  Carrie grimaced. “Shriveled up? Too much information, sis.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Then we need to find a boyfriend for you, too,” Avery offered.

  “Dylan isn’t my boyfriend,” Carrie reminded them as she walked toward the small office at the back of the studio. She grabbed the half sandwich leftover from lunch and joined her sisters at the small cluster of chairs they’d set up for sip and paint customers.

  “Boyfriend. Netflix and chillin’. Friends with benefits.” Meredith let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t care what name you use. I’m jealous.”

  “We’ll find you a man,” Avery assured her.

  “Dylan isn’t my man,” Carrie argued. “It’s a...”

  “Fling?” Avery suggested.

  “Mistake?” Meredith offered at almost the same time.

  “Diversion,” Carrie supplied after a moment.

  “Nothing wrong with a diversion that makes your toes curl.” Meredith chuckled.

  Carrie folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t say that.”

  Avery leaned closer. “You didn’t have to, sweetie. It’s written all over your face.”

  “And painted all over that canvas.”

  “You two need to mind your own business.”

  Avery threw back her head and laughed. “I remember thinking the exact same thing after Gray and I got serious.”

  “It’s not serious,” Carrie insisted then held up a hand. “I’m done talking about this. Tell me about the meeting.”

  She took a bite of sandwich and waited, wondering if the two of them would let the subject go.

  “Your vision is coming to life all around Magnolia,” Avery said finally, grinning widely. “You’re like a flippin’ holiday festival genius. The town council is so excited, they want me to come up with a tourism plan for the first quarter of the New Year. I think they might actually give us a decent budget. Tourism revenue is strong again with local businesses, and they’ve even had interest from several midsize companies that are looking to build new headquarters in an up-and-coming East Coast town.”

  Carrie listened as they spoke, pride filling her at the same time that guilt made her stomach twist. She really should have been at tonight’s meeting. Dylan was a fun distraction, but she had to keep her eye on the prize. There’d be plenty of time to focus on herself, her art and even her love life if that was what she wanted.

  Now she had to get through the next few weeks of the holiday season and make sure Magnolia was positioned for the future she and her sisters planned.

  * * *

  “THIS IS SO DUMB,” Sam muttered as he and Dylan walked across the parking lot of the old textile factory building Friday afternoon. “Why do I have to be here?”

  “Natural consequences,” Dylan replied.

  “You can trust me,” Sam insisted. “I learned my stupid lesson. At least let me sit in the car.”

  Dylan turned on his heel, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders when Sam almost plowed into him. He paused for a moment, noticing that Sam seemed taller than he had even a week ago and would soon catch up to Dylan in height. A kid in a man’s body.

  It shouldn’t be a surprise. Wiley and Uncle Russ had both been over six feet. Height ran in the family. But the reminder of time passing whether he wanted it to or not still made his chest pinch.

  “The last time I left you alone, we ended up out on the county highway surrounded by cops and firefighters. I almost pissed my pants with worry, Sam. Not going there again.”

  “You mean anger,” the boy corrected. “You were angry not scared for me.”

  Dylan huffed out a small laugh and bent his knees—only a little now—so he was at eye level with the boy. “Scared to pieces,” he clarified. “The anger came after I knew you were okay.”

  “Oh.” He registered Sam’s sharp intake of breath. It killed him that Sam could still believe Dylan didn’t want him. Carrie would say that trust took time to build. Sam had lost everything, his entire life, so it made sense that he was going to test Dylan’s devotion. According to her, Dylan just had to stay the course and the boy would come to see that Dylan would never abandon him.

  Carrie.

  After three blissful nights with her in his bed, she’d seemed to drop off the face of the earth. Or at least out of his life. He’d seen glimpses of her as she worked on the festival, which was ramping up to have a hugely successful weekend. He’d been doing his part with the gingerbread village and other tasks vendors needed, but somehow Carrie had managed to keep her distance.

  Had he simply been an itch she’d wanted to scratch? Or worse, had she been trying to soften him so that he’d change his plans for the real estate he owned in town? Several people had mentioned to him the names of companies that might be interested in leasing or buying the factory and surrounding land if he wanted to go in a different direction with his plans for it.

  He straightened and rubbed a hand over his face and tried to put thoughts of Carrie out of his mind. Hell if he wouldn’t have done just about anything to entice her back to him.

  “This place is creepy,” Sam said as he fell in step next to Dylan with slightly less attitude.

  Dylan had to admit that Sam’s assessment of the factory was spot on. The building was not only dilapidated. An air of sadness surrounded it, as if the structure knew the role its closing had played in Magnolia’s downturn.

  “The town suffered a big hit when Tremaine Industries pulled out,” Dylan explained. “My dad had worked here half his life. A lot of the machinists were at a huge loss once the factory closed.”

  “Is that why your mom and dad moved?”

  Dylan nodded. “It was a forced retirement.”

  “And now you’re going to demolish the whole thing to build rich-people condos?”

  “Luxury housing.”

  “Same thing,” Sam said with a knowing snort.

  “You know that your father came up with the current Scott Development business model. I’m trying to bring his vision to life in Magnolia.”

  Sam kicked an old, rusted beer can away from the entrance. “I thought that Dad was all about making poor neighborhoods nice again. At least that’s what he’d talk about over dinner. How the communities he revitalized should appreciate all the good he did for them. He thought you guys were like construction rainmakers or something.”

  “That’s exactly why the company chooses the projects it does, to make a difference. We’re going to make a difference in Magnolia with the added bonus of this being a great place for you to live.”

  “But Magnolia isn’t failing in that way. Things are kind of dated, but it’s basically a cool town. Carrie has plans to make it better and you want to gut everything and start over.”

  “Not true.” Heat crept along the back of Dylan’s neck. Sam sounded exactly like Carrie but somehow it felt more difficult to argue with the teen, who didn’t actually have skin in the game of this town’s next steps. It had been simple to convince himself he wasn’t the bad guy when his motivations were building a future for Sam’s benefit.

  The kid had three and a half years of high school to manage. It would take a couple of years to really get everything off the ground the way Dylan wanted. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal to leave the running of the operations in Boston to
his very capable right-hand woman and spearhead the project in Magnolia.

  Besides, everyone knew that Sam was his primary consideration in life. He hoped they did anyway. But what if his decisions were motivated by the fear of failing both his late cousin and Sam? If he stayed busy he could often ignore the panic that always seemed to swirl under the surface, doubt in his ability to take care of Sam, run the company his uncle and cousin had built and generally live up to expectations he’d never asked for or wanted.

  What if both Carrie and Sam were right and he was making things worse instead of better? He’d always prided himself on keeping emotions out of business. He truly believed that the moment he let them rule was the moment he’d lose control of everything.

  Maybe he’d never had that much control in the first place.

  “You concentrate on keeping your head in the game at school and let me focus on the company.” He sighed. “This would have made your dad happy.”

  “Whatever,” Sam mumbled. “Very little made that guy happy, especially not me.”

  “How can you say that? Your dad loved you more than anything on the planet.”

  “But he didn’t like me much.”

  Dylan’s heart lurched at the resignation in the teen’s tone. As if that was simply an indisputable fact.

  He wanted to argue but the truth was he didn’t know much about the inner workings of his cousin’s family. Wiley had been a no-nonsense hard-nosed businessman. He and Kay doted on Sam and had seemed like the picture of a perfect family. Maybe that had simply been what Dylan wanted to see and not the full reality.

  What did he do with that information now? Pretend like Sam had it wrong? Make excuses or defend the boy’s dead father against an accusation he knew nothing about?

  “I never got that impression from your dad,” he said honestly, “but it sucks you felt that way. I had a crappy relationship with both my parents growing up. No one benefits in those situations.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “You matter. You’re a great kid, Sam. I may screw up a thousand things in your life but never doubt that I like you. I do.”

  “Okay,” the boy agreed.

  Thankfully, Dylan was saved from saying more by a sleek black Mercedes pulling into the empty lot. A man and a woman climbed out, both looking out of place with expensive clothes and the air of the big city coming off them in waves. Steven Ross and Elizabeth Christiansen were the investors Scott Development had partnered with on the last several large projects the company undertook.

  “What a dump,” Steven said, his lip curled in distaste as they approached. “Are you sure we’re not going to be tripping over dirty needles or passed-out hookers in this place?”

  “The building is empty,” Dylan said, taking a step forward as if to block Sam from the crassness of the words and the implied judgment in them.

  Steven gave a mock shudder. “I can’t believe you came back to this place. I see the potential to take over but it’s way too quiet for your lifestyle.”

  “It’s fine,” Dylan said through clenched teeth. He felt Sam stiffen next to him. The last thing he wanted or needed was for the boy to think that Dylan had sacrificed his own happiness.

  “Don’t be a jerk.” Elizabeth nudged Steven’s arm. “Magnolia is charming,” she said with a smile. “It’s got to be a nice change from the bustle of Boston. If I get stuck in traffic on I-90 one more time, I might move here myself.”

  “Never gonna happen, babe,” Steven told her. “You’re too much of a pampered princess to leave the comforts of the city for small-town life. Are you going to trade out kale for collard greens or Manolo heels for Muck boots? I don’t think so.”

  “Why don’t we check out the inside,” Dylan suggested, needing to defuse the tension between the couple. Steven and Elizabeth had been a couple as long as he’d known them, although he couldn’t understand how they made it work. For all of Steven’s brilliance as a powerhouse in real estate ventures, the guy was a womanizing jerk. But Elizabeth, who was a visionary architect in her own right, sported a nearly golf ball-size diamond on her left hand. Something kept them together as a couple. Another example of looks being deceiving.

  He gestured to Sam, whom he could feel still sulking next to him. “You both remember my cousin’s son, Sam. I picked him up from school right before this so he’s going to join us on the tour.”

  “How do you feel about rats and the smell of stale urine?” Steven asked with a mock shudder. The guy was a complete tool.

  Sam glanced up at Dylan. “Nasty.”

  “The building is clean,” Dylan assured him, leveling a glare at Steven. In the past Wiley had been the one to work with Steven’s firm. The two men had even been friends. Dylan could hardly believe it. Five minutes of dealing with the guy and he wanted to punch him in the face.

  Elizabeth looked like she felt about the same despite the fact that she was engaged to the oaf. “Don’t listen to him.” She gave Sam a genuine grin. “You look like your dad.”

  Sam’s shoulders hunched even more. “Thanks, I guess.”

  This had been another mistake of epic proportions, Dylan realized as he led the small, disjointed group into the building. Sam didn’t need reminders of his father or the past or to act as Dylan’s wingman on a deal that had so much personal meaning for him.

  He ushered them through the space, trying not to let memories overtake him. The cool interior of the building smelled musty, yet the scent of oil from the machines still lingered in the space even though operations had been closed down for years.

  The local real estate agent he’d worked with to broker the sale had sent him photos of the building, both inside and out, but this was Dylan’s first visit since he’d returned to Magnolia.

  With Steven making disparaging comments every few feet, Dylan’s head was pounding by the time they returned to the entrance. They stood inside the building to finish talking as the sky outside had gone from partly cloudy to fully gray with a spitting rain coming down.

  The gloomy weather only added to his melancholy. Sam looked like he felt about the same. The kid had been quiet and dour during the tour, not even cracking the hint of a smile at any of Steven’s lame attempts at humor.

  Elizabeth saved the day, rattling off a list of tasks for each of them to push the project forward. She was efficient and upbeat, which Dylan appreciated. Although that didn’t make him want to accept when Steven invited him to dinner before they headed back to Boston.

  Instead, Dylan sent the couple on their way and headed to the car with Sam after locking the factory’s heavy front door.

  “Sorry about that,” he said as the defrost air blew from the vents. “I forgot what a tool Steven could be.”

  Sam gave him a look that could only be described as withering. “I thought you’d be thrilled because spending time with him was a true punishment.”

  “Good point.” Dylan slowly pulled out of the parking lot, glancing up through the front windshield. “It looks like the rain is going to pass. I have some work to do this afternoon. Is there anywhere you want to go first?”

  “Back home to Boston and my friends,” Sam answered automatically.

  “Christmas tree shopping it is,” Dylan replied, ignoring the boy’s request.

  Sam gaped at him. “You said we could only have that stupid little fake tree I found in the basement.”

  “I changed my mind. Maybe all the holiday spirit around here is finally wearing me down.”

  “Maybe,” Sam agreed, almost reluctantly.

  If the kid suspected that Dylan made the offer about a tree out of guilt, he didn’t let on. Dylan was happy to pretend if it meant a chance at changing both of their moods.

  As he turned onto the road that led to downtown, he flipped on a holiday channel on the vehicle’s satellite r
adio system. Anything to drown out the doubt that seemed to fill his mind and heart.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CARRIE FELT COLD all the way to her bones. She’d been helping at the Wainright’s Christmas Tree Lot, situated on the far side of the town square, for the past several hours.

  Phil Wainright, who owned the hardware store a few doors down from The Reed Gallery, had been running his tree operation every year for as long as Carrie could remember.

  In addition to the rows of fragrant trees brought in from farms in the Great Smoky Mountains on the western side of the state, they had strands of twinkling lights, holiday-themed inflatables, garland and gorgeous wreaths. The festive operation attracted more people into downtown and ramped up the holiday vibe. With additional tourists coming through for the festival, the Wainrights were having a banner year in sales, both of Christmas trees and decorations and accessories sold from the hardware store.

  So when Lily Wainright, Phil’s youngest daughter who’d recently moved back to Magnolia to help with the family business, burst into the gallery earlier and told Carrie that her dad was having chest pains, of course Carrie had offered to help with ringing up customers at the tree stand so Lucy could take Phil to the hospital.

  She wasn’t alone. A couple teenagers who worked part-time at the hardware store had also been recruited. The boys did most of the heavy lifting, leaving Carrie to help customers select the perfect tree and then take payment for the purchases.

  Unfortunately, the weather hadn’t cooperated most of the afternoon. After almost an hour of drizzle, it was finally starting to clear up. Despite the rain they’d had a steady stream of customers thanks to a new shipment of trees and the impending countdown to the holiday.

  Now Carrie understood why she’d seen Lily in heavy jackets, leather work gloves and layers of warmth since the lot opened. The temperature was only in the low fifties, but standing outside in the dampness had chilled Carrie right through her puffer coat. She smelled like sap, and her hands were covered in scratches from helping people move trees around.