by Nancy Naigle
The only thing Christmas Galore had in common with Heart of Christmas was that they both had “Christmas” in their names. Christmas Galore was so much more. A one-stop shop for everything anyone needed all year round. Heart of Christmas was no different from the other laser-focused Christmas stores in almost every resort town. They only sold Christmas stuff—year-round. Well, Angela Carson’s average price point was considerably higher than most of the others’. And she brought art and collectibles into the equation, not just a plethora of Christmas ornaments like the majority of the other stores did. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure how any of them stayed open.
He pulled his car into the parking lot of Heart of Christmas, a shell-sand loop around the building. As he did so, he noticed the historical marker in front of the lighthouse stating its relevancy to the community’s history. At least the building was worth something. She had that going for her.
He scanned the cars in the parking lot. There were a few, but not as many as he’d expect the week after Thanksgiving. He didn’t see the car she’d been driving at the merchants’ holiday party. Then again, she could have more than one. Some people did these days. Or maybe she walked to work. If she grew up in this town it wasn’t unlikely that she lived nearby.
He drove around the building to exit onto the beach road.
There she was. Angela. Getting into her car. His heart pounded at a frantic pace, and his palms dampened. Why was he freaking out? Wasn’t this why he’d really come? To maybe catch a glimpse of her again?
He idled on by, and then watched in his rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking space and headed in the opposite direction.
A horn blew, and he slammed on his brakes.
He waved an apology to the man cussing him from the white pickup truck.
“Sorry,” he said, motioning to the truck to go on.
The pickup truck blasted past him. He didn’t need a translator to know what that guy was screaming at him.
He backed up, then drove around to the front of the building and parked.
Was he really getting ready to go inside? Why? He’d already said they weren’t competition. There wasn’t one good reason for him to go inside that store.
But he pulled the handle on the door of his car and got out. The shell sand crunched under his feet, leaving dust on the edges of his brown leather shoes. The brick pavers that marked the path to the front door were probably original to the building.
The front door of the old lighthouse was tall and arched. The top half held wavy glass, and in the bottom ocean scenes were carved into the thick wood. The brass handles and hinges had a patina that could only be the result of years of salt water and wear. He tugged on the heavy door; a soft bell tinkled, announcing his arrival.
Inside he’d expected to see Sheetrock and modern shelving, but surprisingly it appeared to have been kept true to its original design.
“Welcome to Heart of Christmas,” a young shaggy-haired man called from across the room. He looked more like he should be hanging ten under the pier than selling Christmas goods.
“Thank you.” This wasn’t your typical Christmas store. The weathered exterior suggested a lively history, but the old building felt high-end inside.
The display units were all fine wooden pieces. Across the way a cabinet and shelving unit covered an entire wall, at least twenty feet wide, with the most realistic holiday village he’d ever seen. The closer he got the more intricate he could see the details were. The stained glass in the church had lead in the panels. Inside a row of tiny wooden pews complete with hymnals faced an altar. He turned the small red and white tag to see the price, and almost choked.
Wouldn’t have to sell too many of those to have a good month.
In this week’s circular Christmas Galore had a few Christmas village pieces on sale. Santa’s toy shop, a barn and a carousel. Just $19.99 each. The carousel on display in Heart of Christmas put the one they had in his store to shame. Each horse was tacked in unique holiday adornment. The poles appeared to be real brass too. The piece was heirloom quality, with attention given to even the tiniest of details, from the sculpted bells on the harnesses to the texture of the horses’ manes and tails.
Then again, it was originally priced as $442. Even at the marked-down price of $150, that would buy a lot of candy canes.
“That’s one of our most popular pieces,” the salesman said.
“Really? You sell a lot of them?”
“Well…” His lips pulled to one side. “A lot of people really like it. The music box inside is handcrafted. It has a beautiful tone.” Surfer boy climbed up and twisted the key on the back.
“So you don’t sell many.”
“Well, these are not mass-produced,” he said with a smile.
“Ah. It is nice. Very fine sound.” No surprise people liked it. He liked it a lot too, but he’d be hard-pressed to buy something that expensive to only show off a couple of weeks over the Christmas holidays. “Do you have personalized ornaments?” Might as well do some recon while he was here, since his weren’t selling.
“Yes. We do. They’re over here.” He started to walk toward another display near the back. “My name is Jeremy.”
“Nice to meet you.” Geoff followed Jeremy down a long hall. Several nicely framed articles told of the lighthouse and its history.
“We have sixty-three different ornaments that can all be personalized.” Jeremy opened a glass case much like a fine-jewelry case and pulled out samples. “We have wooden, glass, even fourteen-carat-gold ones. We also have some that are occupational-and hobby-focused. What did you have in mind?”
“How about a nice Santa? Something simple.”
Jeremy pulled out three different ornaments and laid them on the counter.
Geoff handled each one, noticing the quality of each.
“Just twelve dollars, unless you like the gold one. The fourteen-carat is thirty-eight dollars and that includes the personalization. How many would you like?”
“One. Just one. How about that one?” He pointed to the 14-carat-gold ornament. It was lightweight but unusual. Mom would love it.
“We can engrave it. It won’t take long. What would you like on it?”
“Mom?”
“Sure, and how about the year?”
“That would be nice.”
“You got it.” Jeremy looked pleased with himself for making a sale. “Can I talk you into the carousel? I can wrap it for you. You look like just the kind of guy that would buy something that nice.”
He wasn’t sure whether to say thank-you or act insulted that this guy thought he was crazy enough to pay that much for a decoration. Didn’t matter, because he was about to part with forty bucks for a Christmas decoration. That was a first too. “Not today.”
“But you’ll be back, won’t you? You’re our kind of customer. You appreciate nice stuff.”
Not in a million years, he thought. But what came out of his mouth was, “Of course I will.”
“Good. We’re having big sales through the end of the year. Don’t miss out.”
“What’s with all the articles?”
Jeremy looked back down the hall. “The owner. Her great-great-grandfather was the wickie here?”
“What?”
“The wickie. That’s what they used to call the dudes who were the lighthouse keepers back then. He and his wife both worked and lived here. When he died, his wife took over. It was very rare for a woman to have that job. But she managed it until the day came that they upgraded with the tall new lighthouse. Too bad this one got decommissioned not too long after that. It’s been in the family ever since.”
“How did this place become a Christmas shop?”
“When they no longer needed a lighthouse keeper, Angela’s great-great-grandmother decorated the lighthouse for Christmas and sold handcrafted ornaments out of the stockpile of wicks that had been left behind to pay the bills. It kind of snowballed from there.”
“Interesting.”<
br />
“Speaking of snowballs, we have a snow room with a real snow machine.”
He couldn’t have asked for a better lead-in. “Really? Where?”
“Through those doors. It’s the first year we’ve done it.”
Just then a group of kids busted through the doors with red cheeks and damp clothes. “That was the coolest thing ever. I love snow,” a little boy said, as he high-fived his pal.
“Me too. I want to play in snow every day. We need to move to the North Pole!”
Their father interjected, “It’s only fun because you can come out of there and still go without a jacket on your way home. Plus, you don’t have to shovel the driveway.”
The boys looked stunned for a moment, then started laughing, shouting that it would be totally worth it.
Jeremy led Geoff back to the register. “Will there be anything else?”
“Throw in that sand dollar ornament,” Geoff said.
“These are made by Sandy Eversol, a lady who lives in Sand Dollar Cove. She makes a lot of neat stuff for us.” Jeremy lifted the delicate sand dollar from the elegant ornament hanger and carefully wrapped it in colorful tissue paper.
“Nice. While you’re engraving the ornament, I think I’ll check out the snow.”
“Snow Valley,” Jeremy replied. “Yeah. Enjoy. I’ll have this done when you get back.”
Geoff went to the back. He could hear squeals and laughter as he opened the door. Wow. Snow Valley was like a miniature theme park. The film-set-type storefronts with benches in the snow were inviting. He swept a handful of snow into his hand—powdery, but moist enough to form a soft fluffy snowball. Totally different from sno-cone ice snowballs. A few groups of people were busy crafting snow art off to one side. A winter castle, a giant ornament, and a team of boys seemed to be building a snowman on a surfboard. Clever.
He hated having to give Angela the score on this one, but she’d totally outdone him. He moved to leave, his wheels already turning on what creativity they could bring to his stores for next holiday season.
When he got back to the register, Jeremy was polishing the engraved ornament with a soft cloth. He tucked it neatly into a shiny red box, then stretched a ribbon of gold around it.
“All set.” Jeremy handed the package to Geoff, ready for gift giving.
Jeremy rang up the purchase. “That’ll be seventy-seven twenty-eight.”
Geoff started to hand over his credit card, then thought better of leaving his name in the pile of receipts for the day. He fumbled for cash in his wallet, and then handed Jeremy a one hundred dollar bill.
Jeremy counted back his change and then placed the ornament box in a cloth bag with the Heart of Christmas logo on the front. “Are you going to the parade tonight?” he asked.
“I’m considering it.”
“If you’ve never been, you shouldn’t miss it. Everyone looks forward to it.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you there.” Geoff noticed the quality of the bag. After that lecture he’d gotten from Angela he shouldn’t be surprised that it was made out of some kind of recyclable fabric.
Jeremy raised his hand in a wave as Geoff walked out. “Have a Merry Christmas.”
“I intend to.” Outside, suddenly feeling nervous that Angela might pull back into the parking lot before he could leave, he couldn’t get to his car fast enough.
Chapter Twenty-one
Dear Santa,
Do you have a beard all year? Do your elves live at your house? Do you get to eat red and green candy all year long? Did you know peppermint is good for stress? I’m leaving you candy canes instead of cookies so you won’t be stressed trying to get all the toys to all of us all over the world in one night.
Thanks,
Bret
Geoff parked behind Christmas Galore.
The annual Pleasant Sands Christmas parade was set to start at six o’clock. He grabbed his jacket and walked outside toward the beach road. Every lamppost along it was decorated with festive wreaths and bows.
Barricades marking off the parade route were already set up at the intersections, and people flowed toward it from every angle.
The banners that normally welcomed people to Pleasant Sands now boasted bright red flags with shimmering snowflakes on them.
Families and friends huddled, talking among themselves as they waited. Some folks had chairs set up along the parade route. Children squealed and bounced around in excitement. It looked like peak tourist season. He took a picture of the crowd to share with his mom. He felt a bit lonely in the crowd. He wished now he’d asked someone from the store to come along.
The ratta-tat-tat from the high school band drum line sounded in the distance. Chatter slowed and people edged closer to the street.
The boom from a bass drum pounded too, and then the brass section joined in with a blast of horns, and the familiar melody of “Jingle Bells” filled the air. By the time the band was within a few blocks, everyone was singing along.
The shiny instruments bounced from left to right in perfect unison, and cheerleaders wore shiny light-up fingered gloves. Probably bought from his store. They’d had one heckuva run on them recently. After this, more would probably sell. He took out his phone and texted Chandler, saying, “Move the display of those finger LED lights, and the black finger light-up gloves to the front of the store or near the register. They’ll be a hit after this parade.”
“On it,” Chandler texted back.
The band major puffed out a triple-tweet from his whistle and the group started their high-step marching and choreography for about thirty feet before a switch to “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
A young woman standing in front of him yelled, “Look! It’s Mayor Jessup.”
An old ’47 Chevrolet pickup truck idled along with its shiny chrome grill making a splashy background for the wreath hanging from the front hood ornament. The sweet cherry-red paint was so glossy that Geoff could practically see his reflection all the way from over here. The mayor waved from the driver’s seat. In the back, a blue spruce stood tall and proud with shiny silver garland draped around it, and exaggeratedly large ornaments adorning it in a rainbow of colors. Santa Claus stood in the back, waving and tossing candy canes into the crowd.
Kids scrambled for the candy canes, one of them walking over to offer one to Geoff.
“Thank you,” he said to the young red-haired boy.
“You’re welcome, mister.”
Along the edge of the crowd fancy four-wheel-drive golf carts driven by brightly dressed elves zipped along doing loop the loops as the elves tossed treats into the crowd too.
Geoff laughed at their shenanigans. Mom would have loved this. He snapped off more pictures. It would be fun to share this with her. They hadn’t been to a parade together in years.
He sidled closer to the parade route, leaning out to get pictures, when all of the sudden he felt something nudge him. He wobbled then caught his balance and spun around. A big dog stared up at him, drool hanging from one side of his mouth, his tongue lolling as if he had just had a good laugh. “What the—” He brushed his hand across his pants. The dog had left a swath of drool across them. “I just had these dry-cleaned. Man.”
“You?”
He lifted his gaze from his lap. Standing right next to the huge dog was Angela.
“Should have known you don’t like dogs,” she said.
“Everyone loves Rover!” A little girl threw her arms around the big dog’s neck. The dog had to weigh 140 pounds. He was huge, and even wearing a silly holiday bandanna he was a bit intimidating.
“This is your dog?” He looked at Angela and then the dog.
“No. It’s my sister’s dog.” Angela rubbed the dog’s head.
“He’s mine!” Chrissy yelled.
Angela added, “And my niece’s dog.”
“I love dogs, just not the ones the size of ponies.”
“He’s a Newfoundland, and he’s certified.”
“Well, I�
�m glad he has a job, because Rover can pick up the dry-cleaning tab on these slacks.”
“Rover doesn’t have a job,” Chrissy said. “Who are you?”
“I own Christmas Galore. I know your aunt.” He raised his left brow and waited for her to jump in and explain.
“Ohhhhh. You’re in trouble, mister, because my aunt wrote a letter to Santa about you. You’re a bad man.”
“I try to always stay on the ‘nice’ list,” he said.
“Then you need to be nice to dogs,” Chrissy insisted.
Geoff couldn’t believe he was arguing with a child. “I like dogs.”
“Probably about as much as you like Christmas,” Angela said with a sneer.
Geoff reached down to pet Rover. “There, there, buddy. I’m sorry if I offended you, but you did make a mess of my pants.” Rover took his nose and nudged it under Geoff’s hand, then lifted his paw to shake hands.
“You are a smart dog,” Geoff said.
“You!” Angela gulped air, then stabbed a finger in the air in his direction. “Quit trying to win over our dog.”
The throaty noise that followed sounded more like pain than a sound.
“We are leaving,” Angela finally spit out.
Marie, who had arrived at the scene, grabbed her sister’s arm. “That’s a good idea.” They started to walk, but hadn’t gone two steps before Angela spun around to face Geoff again.
“You put me out of business,” Angela said.
“I didn’t put you out of business. We’re totally different.”
“My store is special. It’s an important part of the history in this town.”
He nodded in agreement. “You cover a very nice niche market.”
“Don’t reduce what I’ve spent my life doing as some insignificant niche. It’s not a niche. It’s a whole business.”
“I would never call your store insignificant, but clearly it is full of its own virtue.” As was she.
“Who do you think you are? You don’t know anything about Heart of Christmas, or me.” She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “I’ll have you know … the people of Pleasant Sands are very proud of our history. And people love my store.”
