“No, dear, of course not,” she said. “And I hope you don’t mind me just dropping by like this, but—”
“Actually, I’m late for a meeting with Alex and my sisters. Wedding-planning session.”
Beanie’s softly rounded face crinkled into a big sweet smile. That was Beanie Whitaker in a nutshell, really. A big, sweet smile. “Isn’t that a lovely thing? All of you home in the Cove and another family wedding in the offing? I know I said it before when we were doing all that paperwork with the title company at the bank, but it really is good having the McCrae girls home again.”
Fiona’s smile was sincere this time. “Thank you, Beanie. That’s very sweet of you to say. I can’t say how long Kerry will be here, but Hannah and I are happy to be back home in Maine.”
“Yes, yes. I suppose Hannah will be staying up north with her new husband. I must admit, we were hoping to see her married here, but I’m sure her intended’s family feels the same way.”
Fiona wished she could tell Beanie that Hannah was indeed getting married in the Cove, but one thing they’d all agreed on was keeping that part under wraps for as long as they could, which, given that the invitations had to go out shortly, wasn’t going to be for as long as Fiona would like. Left to her, she’d just send everyone a text message with the time and date, oh, about an hour before the I dos. The more time the Blue clan on both sides of the skirmish had to think about things and work themselves up, the greater chance the ceremony could turn into a civil war, no reenactments needed. “We’re still in the planning stages,” she said, truthfully enough.
Beanie sighed. “A Christmas wedding. It’s just the most romantic thing. I’m sure you’ll do it justice.”
“Thank you,” Fiona said, then asked, “What was it you needed?”
She waved a hand. “Nothing to worry about. You know I have those trunks down in the basement still, and I think something I was looking for at home might be in one of them. I should have called first, I know. I—”
“I don’t mind if you want to go down and look. Just lock up before you head back out.”
Beanie pressed a hand to her chest. “I couldn’t do that. I know you’re just starting to consider what you’re going to do in here, and I want this to feel like your space. Oh, look there now. How darling,” she said, stepping inside and walking over to the railing that led to the second floor. “How on earth did you come up with that idea? So clever and sweet.” She leaned down to examine the little antique teapots that Fiona had attached to the railing on either side of the base of the steps.
Fiona shrugged. “I saw them at Eula’s the other day and it just came to mind. They’ll be planters eventually. I’ll add more all the way up the stairs as I find them.” She was supposed to be making her business plan, not nailing up teapots and rubber boots, but she was itching to get out and start hunting through the indoor flea markets and the endless jumble of antique shops that dotted the coast of Maine. Many of them could be more accurately called junk shops, but she liked them just as well, if not better. Old furniture stores, barns—she had an endless list of places she planned to haunt to start gathering the pieces that would give her studio the refurbished vintage style she hoped would win her new clients. So she’d given in to the need to do something creative, even before her business plan was complete.
“Well, they’re just darling. I have a few old pots that might look sweet on my back porch railing.” She twinkled. “You don’t mind if I use your idea, do you?”
“No, not at all.”
Beanie looked around the room at the few other odds and ends that Fiona had started to tuck in here and there. Fiona could see both affection and a certain amount of sadness in the older woman’s expression. “I see you’ve already moved a few things in.” She said it without inflection, but kept turning and looking at the space.
Fiona wasn’t alarmed by her reaction—it was only natural, even when you wanted to move on, to miss certain things. “I haven’t done much of anything yet, and I don’t mind you going down and looking in the trunks at all. But I really have to dash, I’m terribly late. I hope whatever it is, it’s down there.”
Beanie reached out and put her hand on Fiona’s arm and squeezed. “You girls always have been just the best. I know I told you this at the closing, but I don’t think I could have felt this good about selling the old place to just anyone. Knowing it’s you has made all the difference. I know you’ll take care of her.”
Fiona smiled and covered her hand. “I will, I promise. I hope you like how it all turns out. It will be different,” she said, smiling brightly, needing Beanie to get on board with that reality sooner than later. “But it will be as bright and cheerful as your shop was. I hope it has the same heartwarming and welcoming vibe.”
Beanie was still looking around at the empty front rooms, her expression openly wistful. “Well, you’ve already made a good start with those dear little teapot planters. So it will be wonderful, dear. I know it will.” She looked back at Fiona and her eyes were a bit glassy. She sniffled and dashed at the tears with her gloved fingers. “Don’t you mind a silly old woman,” she said. “I know it’s in good hands. Nothing will change the fact that I’ll miss the old place, but I don’t miss running a business.”
“Well, whenever you need to grab anything from the trunks down there, or you want to move them, whatever—”
“If they’re in your way—”
“No, no, not at all. Eventually I’ll be storing some pieces down there, but it will be some time before things get crowded. You’ll have plenty of time, and I’ll be sure to give you plenty of heads-up when the space is in demand.” At least she hoped that space would be in demand. “There’s a whole lot to do before that becomes an issue.”
“You’re planning a spring opening, still?”
“That’s right. I have the wedding, followed by the winter months, which will be the perfect time to hole up in here and get it all figured out. I don’t want to rush; I want to take my time, make sure it’s right.”
Beanie was nodding, but her attention was, once again, on the empty front rooms. “I can’t wait to see what you do with it. I noticed the Wellies you nailed to the fence outside, too. Very cheerful, what with all the colorful patterns on them.”
Fiona’s smile turned to a grin. Beanie was being nice, but it was clear she was completely stymied by why anyone would nail rubber boots to a plank fence. “I’m going to use them for Christmas decorations initially, but they’ll be planters too come spring,” she said. “It’s a fun way to recycle old boots, or an interesting use for new ones. They make them in such bright colors now, but you could paint old ones any way you want. Just drill a few holes in the bottom so the water can drain out. I’ll plant a garden below them, along the fence, so they’ll naturally water those plants as well.”
“Well, I’ll be. How clever is that?”
Fiona shrugged. “That’s sort of the theme of my design style. Repurposing, recycling, restoring. A sort of vintage, shabby-chic style.”
“Well, I’m not sure what all that means,” she said, patting Fiona’s arm, “but it looks charming and fun, and that’s always a good thing. Nice that your former business allows you the latitude to take a few months to start up again.”
“I was very fortunate, yes. Operating expenses here aren’t a fraction of what they were there and so I’ll be okay for a bit.”
“Well, operating expenses are lower here, but then so is the per capita income of your clientele.”
Fiona was nodding. “I know.” She smiled. “Thank God.”
They both laughed at that, though Fiona knew Beanie wasn’t quite sure why that was so funny.
“The kind of designing I plan to do here is night-and-day different from what I did in New York. It’s my own personal style, but I couldn’t find a way to make it fit there. I think it will work perfectly here.”
“Well, dear, if you could make a go of it there, I’m sure you won’t have any problems making somet
hing of yourself here where you’re known and loved.”
“Thanks, Beanie. That means a lot coming from you.”
“I know my customers will be dropping by to see what’s what. And all the seasonal traffic will likely come your way over the summer months, thinking the quilt shop is still here. Hopefully they’ll give you a try as well. You never know.” She leaned in, as if to keep anyone else from overhearing. “And some of their pockets are quite deep.” She patted Fi’s arm a final time, then stepped back. “Best of both worlds.”
“Indeed,” Fiona said. “I’m hopeful it will all work out.”
“Will you be selling décor items here?” she asked, once again looking around the empty rooms. “Or just have displays meant to showcase your design style so folks know what they can expect if they hire you?” She looked back at Fiona expectantly.
“I might have a few pieces, and Eula is going to let me put some of her pieces here on consignment as part of my display. She’ll talk up the studio, too.” She smiled. “Some cross promotion, though she hardly needs it. But mostly the décor here will be a way to show what kind of vision I have for designing. It will be constantly changing as I see and am inspired by new things,” she said. “I might hold a semi-annual sale or something to clear out pieces I’m no longer using. I’ve been to a number of sales that other designers hold and I love the idea. It’s a great way to get new clients, too.” She started to edge her way closer to the door. Beanie might not miss running a business, but Fiona was beginning to suspect she missed having folks to talk to on a regular basis.
“You should think about doing some kind of little newsletter or something. Talk up design ideas, like those darling teapots, or the boots on the fence.”
Fiona wanted to point out that if she told folks how to do such things, they wouldn’t need to hire her to do them, but decided nodding and smiling was the better way to go. She sighed quietly when Beanie moved farther into the space.
“You could even give little workshops.” She turned around. “Wouldn’t that be fun? I did that, you know. Quilt classes and little quilting bees—like a girls’ afternoon out kind of thing. It formed quite a community for the quilters.”
Fiona didn’t know how to explain that while both were creative endeavors, designing wasn’t the same as crafting. “I am still sorting through all of that,” she said. “But thank you for the tips.”
Beanie waved a hand, and did another lap around the front rooms, though what she was really seeing in her mind’s eye as she poked here and there, Fiona had no idea.
“My pleasure,” Beanie said. “I know you ran a successful big-city business so you likely don’t need any helpful hints from someone so small town as me, but you’ll find things are done differently here, so just offering you a bit of advice from someone who’s done things the small-town way for almost as many years as you’ve been alive.”
Fiona was at the front door now. “I appreciate it, Beanie, I really do. Now I have to scoot. Thanks for locking up for me.”
Her exit was interrupted by a booming noise outside that was so loud she could feel a little tremor in the cypress plank flooring under her feet.
“What in the world?” Beanie exclaimed as Fiona opened the door and looked in the direction the noise had come from. The Campbell Christmas Tree Farm lot.
“Oh no,” Fiona cried, immediately running outside. She flew down the porch steps and took off toward the side gate, which, as it turned out, was blocked by plowed snow on the opposite side, so she almost flipped over it when it didn’t budge. “Are you kidding me,” she growled when she got her wind back.
Over in the Campbell tree lot, someone had backed the long flatbed of the farm’s huge truck, which had been full of baled trees, to the back edge of the empty lot and had attempted to raise the bed so the trees would roll out to the ground. Only, instead, the bed had only lifted enough for the trees to all roll to the still-gated end, where they’d gotten wedged and piled up, causing the back end of the truck bed to tip down to the ground and the entire front end to lift up into the air. She had no clue what she thought she could do to help, but she climbed the rest of the way, ever-so-not-gracefully, over the fence, swore as her ankle-booted feet sank knee deep in the snow piled on the other side, and finally slogged her way free so she could get closer to the situation.
“Ben!” she shouted, craning her neck, trying to see whether he was in the driver’s seat of the truck, but it was suspended so high above her head that she couldn’t tell, and couldn’t back up enough to get a better view due to the pile of snow. Snow that hadn’t been piled in her customer car lot an hour ago. She’d yell at him about that later. “Ben?” she called out again. “I’m calling the fire department,” she shouted. “We’ll get you out of there.”
“No need,” came the recognizable voice behind her.
She swung around, and clapped her hand to her chest. “Oh, thank God, you’re not in the—” She didn’t finish the thought, but swung back around. “Who’s up in there?”
“My ex-employee, Andrew.”
She swung her gaze back to him. “Why is some guy you fired in one of your company trucks? Was he trying to steal your trees or something?”
“I haven’t fired anybody, but if we get him out of that cab in one piece, his ass will be out of a job.” He already had his phone to his ear when she’d turned around, and now he started speaking into it. “Yeah, it’s Ben Campbell. I need a ladder truck at my tree lot. No, it’s not on Harbor Street this year—it’s two blocks up from Monaghan’s, on Hill. Yeah, I got an idiot kid who thought he’d make his job easier by dumping the trees out of the truck.” He paused, then said, “Yep, that’s exactly what happened. I’m afraid if those trees shake loose, the cab is going to come down hard. I don’t think he got hurt going up, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in that baby when it comes down. Can you bring a ladder truck and pluck his skinny, fired ass out of that thing?” He paused. “Yep, I’m here. Thanks.” He clicked off and pocketed the phone.
“What happens after you get him out?” Fiona asked. “I mean, after you fire his skinny ass. How do you get the trees out and the truck down without something breaking?”
“Well, I guess that’s for me to figure out now. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Ben, wait!”
He paused and turned, which was when she realized she had no idea what she’d wanted to say to him.
“You plowed your snow into my parking lot.” She motioned to the snow piled up against the lot side of the fence. “It’s true I’m not using it yet, but you didn’t even ask.”
He glanced past her, then shook his head. “Sorry. I told him to plow the other side—we got a permit from the town to use that field for parking. Unfortunately, I can only fire the guy once.”
“Same guy?” she asked, glancing back up at the precariously balanced truck.
He nodded.
She smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I think you’ve got bigger problems than I do.”
“College kids. Most of them are great. Hard workers. Occasionally though? You get that guy. I’ll get it taken care of.”
He turned to go a second time, and apparently not satisfied with having a decent, unawkward conversation with him, she blurted out, “About earlier.” She immediately groaned inwardly. Just let him go, for God’s sake. He had a guy stuck in a truck, and she was still fixating on that stupid kiss. The one that had felt anything but stupid. The same one she’d shut down any future hope of experiencing again. “Never mind,” she said hastily. “Go on. Do what needs to be done.”
The echo of sirens filled the air.
“Right,” he said, giving her a quick, considering look before he turned back toward the truck. He hadn’t gone but a few steps when he looked back over his shoulder, surprising her with a grin that reminded her of his mischievous, adolescent self. Back when they’d both been kids, that grin would have made her privately swoon but physically brace herself for whatever he was about to say.
/> Now, all she could think about was the way he’d looked at her in Eula’s, and the way he’d kissed her right here in this parking lot, and suddenly the idea of Ben Campbell being mischievous took on a whole new meaning.
“At the risk of pissing you off all over again”—he gestured with his gloved hand toward her head—“you’ve got some sort of vegetation sticking out of your hair. Quite festive, really.” He winked, then turned back, pulling his phone out again as the ladder truck rolled in, followed by the EMT.
Fiona groped around her hair and face with her now-soggy mittens, probably smearing what little makeup she wore, and pulled a sprig of holly and berries that had probably gotten stuck in her hair and hat when she’d half fallen, half climbed over the gate. “Yep, you should have stuck with your femme fatale moment in Eula’s and called it a day,” she muttered. She tossed the sprig back toward the fence, only to look down and notice that, on her climb over the fence, she’d also managed to soak two big spots on the front of her coat.
She supposed she should be grateful he’d only commented on the foliage. At the moment, Fireplug Fi was probably the kindest of the nicknames he could assign to her. “Other girls make pretty snow angels. Me? Boob prints.” She sighed. “How attractive.”
Yeah, you’re a lot more fatale then femme, Fireplug. Savor the kiss you got because whether you want them or not, it’s doubtful there are more where that came from.
Chapter Eleven
“Since you’re too busy juggling two businesses to head down to your folks’ place for the big meal, why don’t you come on out to the house for Thanksgiving?” Logan asked, right before elbowing Ben hard in the gut and driving in for the winning layup.
Snowflake Bay Page 12
