by Nancy Thayer
Let It Snow is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Nancy Thayer
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Hardback ISBN 9781524798680
Ebook ISBN 9781524798697
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Susan Turner, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Belina Huey
Cover illustration: Tom Hallman, based on a photograph by Cary Hazlegrove
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Dedication
Acknowledgments
By Nancy Thayer
About the Author
Christina Antonioni could spot a shoplifter with her eyes blindfolded and both ears stuffed with cotton. You didn’t run a toy shop for five years without developing a certain intuition. Right now her own private alarm system was pinging all over her body.
The girl was about nine years old, a cute child with messy blond hair falling into her shifty blue eyes. On this cold early December day, she wore sneakers, jeans, and a shapeless wool sweater.
“Merry Christmas!” Christina greeted her with a smile.
“Merry Christmas,” the girl mumbled sullenly. She didn’t look at Christina. With her thin shoulders hunched, she slunk around the little shop, casting a brooding glance at the wooden ferry replicas, lighthouses, books, fairies, and mermaids.
She paused at the mermaid book. Christina knew she would. She knew what girls her age liked. The most fabulous item there, a huge embossed book about mermaids with a faux jewel glittering in the middle, was too big for the girl to steal, and so was the ten-inch, beautifully made mermaid doll on a nearby shelf.
Christina bent down to put something in her glass display case. Through the glass she saw the girl swiftly slide a small mermaid sticker book into the pocket of her jeans.
It was only a five-dollar item. She wanted to let her have it, poor child.
But children should be taught not to steal.
“Please put the sticker book back,” Christina ordered in a firm voice.
The girl jumped. She glared at Christina with her mouth bunched up in defiance. Then, to Christina’s chagrin, her face turned red and she burst into tears.
“It’s not fair!” she wailed. “I only took a little thing.”
“It’s still stealing,” she quietly reminded the child.
“It’s Christmas!” the girl blubbered. “My parents are getting divorced, and my mom and I are staying with my grandfather and I don’t have any toys or dolls here and we don’t even have a Christmas tree! I just want something!”
“Oh, honey.” Christina could tell the girl’s grief was genuine. She stepped out from behind the counter, approaching her as if she were a wounded wild animal.
Perhaps the child thought Christina was going to wrench the sticker book away from her. She jerked it from her jeans pocket and threw it toward the shelf. “There!”
“What’s your name?” Christina asked gently.
Warily, she muttered, “Wink.”
“Wink, thank you for returning the sticker book. I’m sorry to hear about your situation. Tell you what. If you’ll come back later today, around three o’clock, I’ll give you a job. The UPS man arrives then and you can help carry the boxes into the shop. I’ll pay you and you can buy yourself a present here. I’ll give you a discount so you can buy something nice.”
Wink stared at her as if she’d just grown another head. “What if you have the police here?” Her voice quavered and she flushed at the telltale anxiety in her voice.
“You didn’t steal the stickers. You put them back.” Something in her wanted to give this girl her dignity. “Wink, this is a serious offer. I need the help.”
She chewed on her lip, thinking. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll be back at three.”
She sauntered out of the shop, her shoulders just a little bit straighter.
* * *
—
At noon, Christina put a WILL RETURN IN THIRTY MINUTES sign on her door, locked it, and went across the brick avenue to Mimi’s Seaside Souvenirs. Mimi Mattes, Jacob Greenwood, and Harriet Colby were already there, gathered in the windowless back room where Mimi had set up folding chairs among the cardboard packing boxes.
They comprised an informal group they called the Shedders because they each rented one of the weathered, shingled sheds on the wharf that extended out over the water.
Their shops were each a single quaint—and quaint was a compliment—room. Years ago, fishermen had tied up their boats to this wharf and lugged their catches into the relative shelter of these shingled buildings to clean and dress for sale. Later, the long pier was surfaced with bricks, the sheds were turned into shops, and the Hy-Line ferry arrived, carrying people to and from the mainland several times a day.
Because of the ferry, the little sheds were great places for tourists to browse and find one last Nantucket gift to take home. The bad news was the sheds weren’t insulated or centrally heated. There was electricity, of course, and behind their counters the shopkeepers each had a small electric oil-filled heater that made the fiercest winter days tolerable.
Mimi had the biggest shed so the Shedders met there for a quick lunch most days, exchanging gossip and helpful information. The chamber of commerce had a message system to alert merchants of potential shoplifters, and Christina wasn’t sure whether to inform them about the girl.
Huddled next to the heater, Christina described her confrontation with the child.
“Poor child,” Mimi Mattes sighed. In her fifties, widowed, Mimi was as round and cheerful as a snowwoman, with short, curly white hair and sparkling blue eyes. “You did the right thing, Christina. I don’t think we need to send out an alert.”
“I agree,” Jacob chimed in. He was in his thirties, an odd, handsome, yet somehow dorky guy who ran Nantucket Wind Man. Jacob sold kites, wind chimes, weather vanes, and scientific equipment such as barometers, thermometers, and anemometers. “In fact, I have an idea,” he continued. “Let’s give the kid a real Christmas. Let’s each put a gift in a bag. Christina can surprise her with it at the end of the day. I’ll donate a handheld electronic weather gauge.”
“Lovely, Jacob!” Mimi clapped her plump, dimpled hands. “I’ll give her a Christmas sweatshirt. Sounds like she can use it.”
Christina nodded enthusiastically. “You guys are the best
. I’ll give her the mermaid sticker book she was drooling over.”
Three expectant faces turned toward Harriet, who gazed sourly back. Harriet was new to the wharf. She’d come from Connecticut, and one evening when they all went out together for drinks, she confessed she was there to find a wealthy husband. Her shop, Nantucket Couture, was a bit of a joke to those who lived on the island, since the island’s couture pretty much consisted of a bathing suit and flip-flops. Still, people needed something for the summer parties, and Harriet made a killing then. This season she concentrated on clever gloves, shawls, and caps.
“I don’t carry merchandise for children,” she reminded them, shuddering delicately at the thought of the little savages. Harriet could get away with her attitude because she was gorgeous. Blunt-cut blond hair brushed her shoulders, sea-green eyes slanted like a cat’s, and her figure was exceedingly vavoom.
Christina admired Harriet’s looks, and some days she envied them; who wouldn’t? Still, Christina’s own abundant brown curls tumbled romantically down her back; she’d been told she resembled a Pre-Raphaelite heroine. In college, she’d almost gotten engaged to a man she’d dated for a year, but at graduation they decided to go their separate ways. At twenty-five, she’d dated a really good guy, Jamie Locke, but when he proposed to her, she turned him down, as nicely as she could. Christina believed in true love. She was holding out for what she privately called the Big Bang. If the universe could start that way, so could her married life. She wanted to meet The Man and know at once, with a kind of emotional explosion, that he was The One.
Harriet shifted on her chair. “All right. I’ll give her some money.” She reached into her Prada bag and pulled out a dollar bill. “Here, Christina.”
“A dollar?” Christina snorted with laughter. “Don’t go wild, Harriet.”
“Look, if I gave every pathetic kid a dollar, I’d be bankrupt,” Harriet argued.
“I’ll tell you what,” Christina said. “Give me another dollar. I’ll give you a discount on the mermaid sticker book and you can give her that.”
Harriet drew back in horror. “Well, I don’t want to see her!”
“You don’t have to interact with her,” Christina promised. “I’ll tell her it’s from you.”
“Whatever.” Harriet sighed, ferreting around in her bag for another dollar bill.
* * *
—
At three, the UPS truck trundled over the bricks and stopped outside Christina’s Toy Shop.
“Hey, there, Christina, how are ya?” Chuck, the driver, jumped down and began to unload boxes.
“Good, Chuck. You?” Christina came out of her shop with a smile for the driver but a sinking heart. Wink hadn’t returned.
“Lots of work these days. It’s a busy season,” Chuck told her, heading for the back of the truck. He slid the panel door up.
A cough caught Christina’s attention. She turned to see Wink standing at the corner of her shop, staring down at the bricks, shoulders clenched.
“Wink!” Christina called brightly. “You’re here. Thank heavens. Chuck, this is Wink. She’s going to help carry in the boxes for me.”
“Good for you, kid!” Chuck said. “But you know, I can carry them inside.”
“Not today, thanks,” Christina said firmly.
“Okay with me. Here, take this one.” He handed one of the smaller brown boxes to the girl.
Christina went inside. She showed Wink where to stack the boxes behind the counter.
The girl’s face turned red with effort, but she didn’t complain, and Christina refused to feel pity, because the merchandise was mostly small objects, and the brown boxes they arrived in were small, too.
After Chuck left, a customer stopped by, so she asked Wink to wait a moment for her pay. The woman bought a miniature wicker picnic basket with child-size plates and utensils strapped neatly in place for her granddaughter and left.
“You worked about fifteen minutes,” Christina said to Wink, who was leaning on one of the boxes, looking expectant. “At twenty dollars an hour, that makes your pay one quarter of an hour, which is five dollars.” She put a five-dollar bill on the counter next to her.
“Five dollars?” The girl’s shoulders slumped.
Christina wanted to explain that she hadn’t even worked fifteen minutes, and the UPS man would have carried all the boxes into the shop by himself, and in this economy she cherished every five dollars she possessed.
But it was Christmas. “Also, I have a present for you, Wink.” She handed her the gift bag.
Or tried to. Wink drew back, as if afraid to touch the bag. “I-I-I don’t have anything for you,” she stuttered.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s all right. Here. Take it. I think you’ll like it.”
Wink took the bag, peeking down into it as if afraid a snake hid there, coiled to strike. Her eyes widened as she spotted the weather gauge, sweatshirt, and sticker book. She took the sticker book out, setting the bag down so she could hold it with both hands. Her lower lip trembled. Furiously, she blinked back the tears welling in her eyes.
“Awesome,” she breathed. “Thank you, um, Miss Christina.”
“You are most welcome, Wink. Merry Christmas.” This is what Christmas is all about, Christina thought. She almost cried, too.
Wink’s face brightened even more. “And I can use my five dollars to buy my mom a present!”
“Excellent idea,” Christina said.
Wink turned to face Christina, her chin high, her dignity fully restored. “Miss Christina,” she asked, “could I hug you?”
“Miss Wink,” Christina replied, “I would like that very much.” She crouched to be eye level with the girl.
Wink threw her arms around Christina and squeezed her hard.
Christina swallowed a big gulp of emotion. Someday she would have her own children. Until then, this was one of the sweetest embraces she’d ever known.
Wink released her, grabbed her presents, took the five-dollar bill from the counter, and headed for the door. “Merry Christmas!” she called, and raced away down the wharf, out of sight.
“You guys are a pair of suckers,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes.
It was the next day. The Shedders were eating lunch again at Mimi’s, huddled around the heater. Christina had described giving Wink her gift. Mimi and Jacob were delighted, but Harriet scoffed at their sentimentality.
“She’s probably a little scam artist,” Harriet continued. “She probably does this at all the shops.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Jacob told her.
Harriet glanced at Jacob and sighed. “I’ll try, but it’s hard.”
Christina changed the subject. “I’m not going to take an entire half hour today. Tomorrow the Christmas Stroll starts. The shoppers are out. Are you guys doing good business?”
Mimi nodded. “The sweatshirts are flying out of here, especially the ones I had made up with Santa riding the back of a whale.”
“I’m almost sold out of pinwheels,” Jacob reported.
“Pinwheels are hardly going to pay the rent,” Harriet reminded him.
“True,” Jacob agreed. “But the expensive science stuff is selling, too. Plus, lots of people are taking pamphlets about wind energy.”
“Oh, groan,” Harriet said. “Can’t you stop saving the world for one day? Don’t you need to make a buck?”
Mimi smoothly intervened. She stood up, which never failed to get attention, since all two hundred and some pounds of her was clad in her wildly patterned Christmas sweater. “Children,” she said sweetly, “no fighting. It’s Christmas. I, for one, am going to finish my sandwich at the counter. I can hear people milling about outside.”
Christina, Jacob, and Harriet packed up the remainder of their lunches, said goodbye, and braved the frigid December wind as they cro
ssed from Mimi’s Seaside Souvenirs to their own shops.
A gaggle of mothers waited outside Christina’s shop, stamping their feet to keep warm as the wind off the sea flapped their scarves and mufflers.
Christina threw open the door. “Come in!” she called cheerfully.
Christina never did finish her sandwich. Stroll Weekend, the first weekend in December, brought in crowds.
The mothers bought mermaids, pirates, seagulls, and seals. They bought treasure chests, books, puzzles, and wooden lighthouses. Shrieking with happiness at finding the perfect stocking stuffer, they seized up sticker books, wooden pull-toys, and replicas of the Nantucket Rainbow Fleet sailboats.
Christina rang up sales, tucked gifts into bags, answered questions, pointed directions, and chatted with her customers. At one interlude, she found time to flick on her CD player, filling the air with Christmas carols, and the music gave her the energy to work as fast as she could all afternoon.
It was after five when the crowd thinned out. Christina usually closed at six, but today and tomorrow she’d stay open until no one else arrived.
Night had fallen. Darkness surrounded the wharf, while the winter wind increased, blustering and shoving against the thin walls of the shop, splashing harbor water loudly against the wooden floor. Out here on the wharf you could feel the full force of winter, the depth of the dark. Christina was grateful for the cheer of the Christmas lights outlining the other shops, twinkling companionably in the blackness. Everything would be much more romantic if it would snow. Snow always laced and frosted the windows of homes and shops, turning them all into presents. But no snow yet.
Christina walked around her shop, straightening the shelves, getting ready for the next day. She was just thinking of locking up for the night when a woman entered.
