Just as I say, “Ami mentioned—”
We laugh. I motion him to go ahead.
“Mark said you went to law school.”
“Yes, well, not by choice. My parents are lawyers. I found it hard to get off that particular speeding train.”
“Why quit in your third year though? You were so close. And I’m sure your grades were good.”
At his words, I remember the day after Christmas last year when Gran told me she was dying. I’d never even considered going back to law school. Not as long as she needed me. Then after. . .I counted my blessings to have escaped. But I’m not going to share that with this man, no matter how interested he seems. I shrug. “It wasn’t what I wanted to do. So, Ami said you’re living in Little Rock?”
He stares out the window. “Actually, I’m in the middle of relocating here.”
No way. “Here? To Jingle Bells?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you tell me this town isn’t big enough for the both of us?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Are you sure you can tolerate the fire trucks and the candy cane parking meters?”
He fiddles with the sugar packets then flashes me a grin. “It’s amazing what you can put up with when you cut your cost of living by seventy five percent.”
That’s logical, but there’s more. I can feel it. And eventually I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, never let it be said that I can’t be gracious when the need arises. “Well then, let me be the first to say--welcome to Jingle Bells.”
Chapter Three
Hanging out at places like Candy Cane Lanes is one of the joys of living in Jingle Bells. Where else can you roll a shiny red bowling ball and knock down red and white striped pins? Unless you’re me. Then you can just watch your shiny red bowling ball plop into the nondescript gutter over and over. Funny thing about gutters. They look the same everywhere.
“Kristianna, you’re up.” I have no idea how I got talked into this whole bowling team misadventure. One night a few months ago, right after our best friend, Garrett moved back to Jingle Bells, the three of us were discussing all the things we could do with all of us living in town. Since we love Candy Cane Lanes, one item on the list was we could be in a bowling club together. I can’t remember which one of them had the idea. Probably Garrett, since he loves bowling. Both of them know that even though I like it, I’m a terrible bowler, so either way, it was ridiculous. But here I am.
Step, step, step. Release.
My ball starts out straight, but about halfway down the lane, it veers to the right. Same as always. Amazing how my bowling mimics my life. Everything seemed to be looking up with rumors of a big business coming to town. I was on the straight path to making the store successful again and not having to worry about being forced back into law school. But then at the last minute, the gutter.
I immediately squeeze my eyes shut, but the groans behind me confirm this is not one of those rare lucky times when I knock down two or three peppermint-stick pins.
By the time I turn around, they’ve all composed their faces.
“You’ll get ‘em this time.” This laid back encouragement from Mark who is so competitive he’d challenge Michael Jordan to a free throw match.
I retrieve my ball and give it another try. Release. Gutter. Repeat.
“Sorry, guys.” I slump down in the chair between Ami and Garrett and lean my head against the half wall behind me. Some seventies rock song I can’t identify blasts from the speakers above.
Garrett hands me a water bottle and a grin spreads across his face. “Not that you worked up a sweat.”
I accept the drink and shoot him a mock glare. It’s amazing the way we’ve picked up our easy friendship again. When his mother remarried and moved away while Garrett was in college, we lost touch. He found out through the grapevine about Gran’s death and we started e-mailing. Nobody was more excited than Ami and me when he decided to move back to Jingle Bells shortly after.
“C’mon, sport, you know I’m kidding.”
“And you know who got me into this.” I deepen my voice. “C’mon, sport, it’s just a bowling club, not a league. Nobody cares how well you bowl. It’ll be fun.”
He shrugs, but his easy grin never leaves. “What can I say? I love to bowl.”
So it was him that suggested the bowling team. Figures. “I love oil painting, too, but I didn’t sign us up to be on a team together.”
His brow furrows with mock seriousness. “They have oil-painting teams?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re mad because I’m not on your painting team?”
I don’t want to, but I laugh.
Just a small laugh, a chuckle really, but enough that he makes an imaginary tally in the air. “One for me.”
I don’t even remember how many years ago we started trying to make each other laugh at odd times. Another thing we picked up easily with his return. Unfortunately, like bowling, he’s much better at it than I am. He has a smile that makes everything seem like it’s going to be okay. The other team is a group of retired elementary teachers in navy blue bowling shirts with ABC and 123 appliquéd on them. Their weakest bowler, who also looks to be the longest retired, takes down four pins and they excitedly congratulate her.
Mark picks up a spare and we cheer.
“Not bad for an accountant,” Garrett calls.
Everyone laughs. The blaring rock song has been replaced by Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle,” and for a minute, I remember why I went along with this harebrained idea. Even with the uncertainty of the future, I feel safe and content with these people.
Ami isn’t as strong a bowler as the guys, but she manages to add seven to her score.
“Wish me luck,” Garrett says as he pushes to his feet.
“Like you need it,” I mutter.
He just grins and bowls another perfect strike. Mark and Ami go wild. I make a “rah, rah” motion with my hand.
Thanks to me, we lose, but true to what Garrett said, nobody seems to care.
By the time we move to a round table in the snack bar above the lanes for our customary nachos and root beer, Ami is scrutinizing Garrett’s hair.
“You are going to get that mop cut in time for the wedding, aren’t you?” Ami asks.
He reaches back and grabs his blondish brown curls.
I take a sip of my root beer and smirk. “Afraid she’s got shears in her purse?”
“With her, you never know.”
“She does like to micromanage, doesn’t she?” I turn to Garrett like Ami isn’t here. “You should have heard her at the North Pole the other day, harassing poor Barry Stewart about the flowers.”
“I was not harassing—Hey! No fair ganging up on me.” Ami puts her hand on Mark’s arm. “Mark, you’re not going to let them talk about me like that, are you?”
He laughs. “No way I’d get between you three.”
“Wise man.” I relax in my chair. “I think we’ll keep you.” For a second fear clutches my stomach. What if I can’t keep him? What if I can’t keep any of them? When Gran decided to leave me the store, she knew it wasn’t breaking even, but we’d both counted on this rumored new business coming to make that happen. Now, the new business is the enemy instead of the savior, and it feels like I’m rolling one gutter ball after another.
Garrett looks over at me, apparently reading my expression correctly. “Hey, sport. Things not going any better at the store?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Christmas rush? More like a Christmas plod at my place.” I shrug when I see the concern on their faces. “But right now I have to think about keeping the town.”
Garrett frowns. “Maybe—”
“Is this a private party or can anybody join?” A deep voice behind us interrupts. I turn to see Shawn Webber.
Mark jumps to his feet. “Glad you made it, man.” To us he says, “I told Shawn to drop by and check out the lanes.” He waves an arm at the bowling lanes. “What do you
think?”
Shawn looks over at the candy cane motif. “Jingle all the way,” he intones dryly.
Surely he’s not seriously standing in a perfectly adorable bowling alley with two Jingle Bells natives and two happy transplants and being sarcastic about our town. Is he?
Maybe I’m overreacting, because Garrett has apparently already met Shawn and seems genuinely glad to see him. They chat for a minute then Shawn takes the only empty seat. Beside me.
For a few seconds, the table is quiet.
“Shawn’s moving here,” I announce. Not sure why. I always have an urge to fill in silence. Maybe because when I was growing up, there was so much silence to fill at my house. Jared and Emily Harrington communicated on a need-to-know basis, and I rarely ever reached that level.
Garrett smiles at Shawn. “Do you bowl?”
“Looking to replace me?” I growl under my breath.
“Why in the world would you think that?” His green eyes widen with mock innocence. “I was just curious.”
“Sure.”
“Actually I do bowl,” Shawn volunteers.
Short of snapping, “Who cares?” which would undoubtedly prove that I do, I have nothing to say.
But Garrett does. He starts talking bowling with Shawn. After a minute, I consider offering either to trade seats with one of them or allow myself to be decapitated so that they can quit leaning around me. Mark and Ami have slipped back into couples’ world, and I figure Garrett knows exactly how I feel about lawyers, so he’s doing me a favor. I scoot my chair back and silently prepare my argument for the town meeting. I need to be passionate, but not fanatical. Persuasive, but not with the emotion all polished out.
When I zone back in, Ami is saying, “Shawn, if you really want to see Jingle Bells the way it’s meant to be seen, you have to get Kristianna to show you around.”
I blink at Ami. Have I wandered into Stepford Wives world? I thought you were my friend.
“Sounds great.” Shawn smiles at me and the dimple in his chin deepens. At least he didn’t hem and haw and stammer around. “You busy Friday night?”
Danger, Will Robinson, Danger. Friday night is too much like a date. “Actually if you want to see the town, it’s better to do that in the daytime.”
“Yes, I did notice the crank handles sticking up from the sidewalks.”
He is so not being sarcastic about my town again. I open my mouth to tell him to forget it.
But he speaks first, “Saturday afternoon then. I’ll be there when you close at four.”
He knows my store hours. How? Why? I shoot a pleading look at my best friends. “Y’all want to come?”
“Can’t,” Ami says, intertwining her fingers with Mark’s. “We’re spending the day with Mark’s parents.”
“I’m gonna have to pass, sport.” Garrett slaps me on the shoulder as if I were a football buddy. “I’m setting up an online bookstore for Scott, and I promised I’d have a dummy ready for him to look at by Saturday afternoon.”
I consider waving my arms in the air. Want a dummy for him to look at? I’m the obvious choice. I should have cut and run as soon as Shawn showed up.
~~~~~
“Fruitcake Five and Dime – Where Everything’s a Dollar?” Shawn reads the sign aloud, then turns to stare at me. “This makes sense to you?”
“Perfect sense.” I knew this tour was a bad idea. “It used to be the five and dime, but who could sell at those prices these days?”
“So why not just change the name?”
What is it with people thinking names are just expendable? I cross my arms in front of my chest. “It wouldn’t be the Five and Dime if they change the name, would it?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you say.” He points over to Rudolf’s. “Want to get a bite to eat?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to make fun of the big red nose on top of the cash register?”
“Probably.” His dimple flashes. “But my brother’s a chef, so I always check out the local food when I go somewhere new.”
An hour later, we’ve hit most of the food joints in town. Sounds fun, I know. But I’m like the royal taster out of control. I try it all—of course—in order to recommend the best culinary delights for our guest. And he nibbles daintily at those. Good thing we’re not a couple. A few dates, and we could give Jack Sprat and his wife a run for their money.
By the time the funnel cake is half gone, I’ve forgotten that I didn’t want to show Shawn around town. I pass the flimsy paper plate to him. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“Are you quite sure?” He pinches the plate between his forefinger and thumb as if it were a particularly nasty Exhibit A.
I consider holding my stomach and moaning, but I just nod. “Positive.”
I think my expression gives me away because Shawn frowns. “Does the phrase trans fat mean anything to you?”
I check out my reflection in the Deck The Halls Home Decor window and dust the powdered sugar off my short green jacket. “You’re not going to sue Santa’s Snack Shack for using the wrong oil, are you?”
Shawn meets my gaze in the glass. “I sense some latent lawyer animosity here.”
“Shawn, you’re so wrong.” I can’t hold back the grin. “There’s nothing latent here.”
He turns to look at me then laughs.
At least he can take a joke. Sort of a joke, anyway. I nod toward the plate in his hand. “You didn’t try the funnel cake.”
“You didn’t save me any powdered sugar.”
Oops. “Powdered sugar is way overrated.”
He raises an eyebrow. I think he’s onto me.
“I’m serious. Real men eat it plain.”
He pinches off a bit and pops it in his mouth. “Not terrible.” He smiles. “It’d be better with sugar, though.”
I motion toward Santa’s Snack Shop. “Want me to go—”
“No. There will be other sweet things.”
Yeah, maybe, but by now, I’m looking for any place that doesn’t have food. “Want to go in Deck the Halls?” I ask, veering toward the front door.
“Okay. You’re the guide.” Shawn drops the paper plate in the Santa hat trashcan and follows me through the doorway into the warm shop. It’s divided into two halves. One side features room displays with tastefully arranged furniture and accessories. The other side contains several aisles of household items, towels, sheets, rugs, dishes, kitchen gadgets, and of course, a huge section of Christmas decorations.
There are maybe five other shoppers in the whole store, but less than thirty seconds after we enter, a loud siren goes off and then a creepy sounding Santa voice blasts out from behind us. “Ho, ho, ho. Ho, ho, ho.” I jump, even though I knew it was coming. A red and white light flashes one aisle over. “Attention shoppers, it’s time for your Deck The Halls five-minute special on our stainless steel tea kettles.”
I tug on Shawn’s sleeve. “C’mon, let’s go.”
He follows me to the next aisle and glances around. “You’ve got to be kidding. Is there a hidden camera?”
“You don’t like it?” I can’t stop grinning. The five-minute special always does that to me.
Shawn shrugs. “It’s a little offbeat, but that’s what I expected when I decided to move here, I guess.” He picks up the display kettle and runs his hand over it thoughtfully. “I lose points for not liking the Ho-Ho-Ho surprise, don’t I?”
It’s going to take some time to get used to him but I’m having fun. And it’s kind of cool that he cares about “losing points” with me. “Who’s keeping score? I’m just showing you around town.” I snag a box and tuck it under my arm. “And getting a good deal at the same time.” As we approach the cash register, I glance at him over my shoulder. “Besides, if I were keeping score, you’d gain points for being so honest.”
I feel an honest lawyer joke coming on, but I force it down and a few minutes later, I even invite him to the Come One, Come All, Christmas Dinner at my house. If I’m honest, I’m not thi
nking of him as a “lawyer” anymore.
Chapter Four
“So how did it go with Shawn?” Ami asks as we walk toward City Hall.
“Fine.”
“Fine fine? Or just fine?”
I pull my hood up. “Ames, you’re the only person I know who can get so much meaning out of one word.”
“Stop stalling and answer the question.” Ami waves at Mrs. Bright as we pass her house.
“Yes, Your Honor. Hi, Mrs. Bright,” I call. When we’re out of earshot, I say, “Hey, have you ever noticed that Mrs. Bright sits out on her porch year round?”
Ami pulls my hood back and peers at me. “Ohh, it must have gone really well. You’ve moved beyond stalling to distraction.”
She knows me too well.
“It was fun.”
“That’s a nice variation on ‘fine.’ You got along well?”
“I think we might be getting together again. Oh and I invited him to Christmas Dinner.”
“You invited him to the Island of Misfit Toys? Hmm. . .sounds promising.”
“The more, the merrier. Especially if people have no where else to go.” City Hall is straight ahead. I put my hand to my stomach. “Butterflies.”
Ami jerks her head to look at me. “Oh. About the meeting. Do you have a speech?”
“No. I was going for impromptu, but impassioned.” My stomach clenches. The butterflies are rioting. “Not preparing a speech seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have to worry too much. Who’s going to want to change the town name?”
“Good point.” But I can name ten families who are still suffering from the distribution center closing. And that’s just the ones I know very well. What will they be willing to sacrifice for a paycheck?
As soon as we are in the door, Mark and Garrett motion from the back row, and Ami gives my arm a squeeze. “Knock ‘em dead.” She hurries over to sit between her fiancé and Garrett.
I start up the aisle and the first person I notice is Jack Feeney. As an “ace reporter” his words, not mine, trust mehe thinks himself above the monthly arguments about zoning issues and fences erected too close to boundary lines. But the press does always have to be notified of our meeting agenda, so I’m not surprised to see him here tonight. At twenty-five, Jack thinks his journalism degree from the community college and his tell-all reporting style are going to get him world acclaim.
Forever Christmas Page 3
