The Merriest Magnolia

by Michelle Major

  Avery grinned, her blond hair almost shimmering in the morning sunshine. “I think she uses unicorn tears in all the recipes.”

  He paused in his chewing then huffed out a laugh. “Tell me you didn’t spit on this one or poison it before handing it over.”

  “Tempting,” she admitted, “but no. Aren’t you attending the meeting? The agenda is mostly about Santa at the Shore.”

  He shook his head but fell in step next to her. His office was on the corner across from the town hall, so they were going in the same direction. “I have real work to do. My architect sent the initial plans for the restaurants and shops on my side of the street. If we’re going to open by—”

  “You have a restaurant on your side of the street.”

  “A mom and pop Italian joint isn’t the look I’m going for.”

  “It fits with Magnolia. I don’t understand. You grew up here. How can you not see how special this town is? You need to honor the character we have here, not scorch-earth it in order to build the ubiquitous yuppie playground other towns already have.”

  “No one but you and your sister use the word yuppie anymore,” he pointed out and then popped the last bite of scone into his mouth.

  “Not the point.” She let out a frustrated growl.

  “Why do you even care? You’re new to this town. With what I’m doing, the property you own will increase in value. You, Meredith and Carrie will be able to actually make some money if you sell. And the land out at the beach is going to be worth a fortune by the time I’m done.”

  “This is my home,” Avery argued. “I may not have been here a long time, but Magnolia is important to me. And the town means everything to Carrie. You cared about her once. How can you destroy something so important to her?”

  They’d come to the corner where his building sat. Magnolia’s town hall was across the street, a stately brick two-story that had been built in the middle of the last century. He knew the first floor of the building had been turned into a makeshift community center and wondered if he could convince the town council to sell the property if he built them a state-of-the-art facility in another part of town. The town hall’s location would make it a perfect second phase of his plan to rebrand downtown.

  “I don’t believe it’s important to her,” he told Avery, still thinking of options for the historic building in front of him. He snapped to attention when Avery swatted him on the arm. Hard. “Hey,” he complained. “What was that for?”

  “Not important to her?” she demanded. “Are you joking? Carrie has dedicated most of her life to this town.”

  “She’s hiding behind her reputation as a do-gooder.”

  Avery scoffed. “That’s rude. No wonder you get under her skin so badly.”

  “I’m not being rude. You’re underestimating her or at least allowing her to do that to herself.”

  “What do you mean?” She turned to fully face him. “I love Carrie. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and kind isn’t usually a big draw for me. But she’s different.”

  “And also hugely talented,” Dylan pointed out.

  “You bought her paintings from the gallery show out of spite.”

  “I don’t spend thousands of dollars on art because of a grudge. I purchased those paintings because they’re good. The way she uses light and shadow to elicit emotion is special.”

  Avery stared at him for a long moment. “You’re right,” she said finally.

  “I know.” He blew out a breath. “She shouldn’t be wasting her time heading up small-town festivals or giving painting lessons to book clubs or bunco groups or whatever other foolish customers she has in the studio.”

  “Paying the mortgage isn’t wasting time,” Avery countered.

  “Then sell your property to me. I offered to lease the empty building, but I’ll buy the whole damn block.”

  “And tear everything down?”

  “And make it better.”

  Avery’s blue eyes narrowed.

  “Did you just growl at me?” Dylan asked with a laugh.

  “I thought Gray was irritating as all get out when we first met, but you have him beat by a mile.”

  Dylan winked. “I like Gray, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  She rolled her eyes then her gaze turned thoughtful. “Carrie has a deep commitment to seeing the town get back on its feet.”

  “She’s not responsible for the damage Niall did.”

  “I know,” Avery agreed. “But good luck convincing her. You aren’t going to stop her from working on Merry Magnolia. But Meredith and I will try to get her to focus on her own art. There was a gallery owner from New York City who contacted her after the paper in Raleigh did a write-up on her. I doubt she followed up with him.”

  “That would be a good start.” Dylan nodded. “I wish she could see herself the way the rest of us do.” He startled when Avery smacked him on the arm again. “Seriously, you have a problem with physical violence. What was that for?”

  “Now I’m annoyed because you’ve got her best interests at heart. I want to loathe you outright but that makes it difficult.”

  “Carrie can tell you I’m a difficult person to hate even when you should.”

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come to the meeting?” She lifted the brown bag higher. “I might have a donut with your name on it.”

  “I do like a decent bribe,” he said with a smile then immediately shook his head when Avery’s gaze darkened. He knew Carrie must have shared with her sisters the fact that Niall had given him a check to break up with her. She still didn’t know the truth of why he’d really left town, and he couldn’t share it. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I should go,” she said quickly. “Thanks for the reminder to make sure Carrie takes care of herself as well as everyone else.”

  “She’s got too big of a heart for her own good.”

  “But now she has sisters to help protect it.”

  “I’m glad for that.” He nodded and turned away, walking into his cold and drafty building. The temperature outside hovered near sixty with the sun shining overhead. But in this dank and dreary space, unused for years, it felt like perpetual winter. It suited Dylan’s mood just fine.

  * * *

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON Carrie stepped back to admire the mural Sam had just finished that would hang at the entrance of the roller rink. They’d gone with a winter wonderland theme, and Sam had painted a backdrop that gave the impression of entering a Bavarian ski village, complete with a sledding hill, skiers on a gondola and groups of snowboarders carving tracks down a mountain.

  “It’s so cool,” she told the boy, marveling at what he was able to do in such a short amount of time. They were in the main art room at the high school, which had been transformed into a kind of Santa’s workshop of festival decorations. Holiday music played from the speaker she’d connected to her phone, and it felt like a scene out of some classic Christmas movie.

  The other students had gone home, but Sam continued to work even when she’d assured him they were ahead of where they needed to be to have everything ready for the central weekends of the festival. Although much of the town was already decorated in holiday finery, Carrie planned to kick up the Christmas cheer at least a dozen notches. Every day she added more lights to the displays around town and continued to receive orders of life-size decorations from online stores around the country. The town was nearly overflowing with cheer.

  Avery had done an amazing job with the marketing campaign, building on the momentum they had from the fall season. Carrie had checked in with the hotel owners and all of them were near or at capacity over the next two weekends. It seemed that the Merry Magnolia activities resonated with folks from up and down the Atlantic coast. They had the chance to create something really special and make Magnolia a premier boutique vacation
destination.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what her dad would have thought about all of this. Much of the spirit of what she wanted for the town emulated the images of American culture he’d portrayed in his paintings. Niall had always wanted the main focus in town to be him and not his work. He liked the fame, craved the recognition and people pandering to his whims.

  Carrie wanted to create an event that would stand on its own within the town. Tourists who visited for the holiday would come back again throughout the year to experience the small-town charm with its homey shops, comfortable hotels and unique restaurants. Once the initial framework was solid, anyone could run the tourism campaigns and activities for each year.

  She had detailed timelines and steps in a folder on her computer and had kept copious notes in the binder she carried almost everywhere. Her efficiency might make her presence obsolete in coming years. She gasped as she realized she was organizing herself out of her role in town.

  Was that the plan? Get Magnolia back on track from some of the damage her father had done and then finally go live a little herself? Not that she didn’t love her life here. But ever since Dylan had mentioned that she needed to pay attention to her own work, the thought had niggled in the back of her mind. What had she been missing? What new adventures might await her if she was willing to grasp them?

  “Does it ever snow in Magnolia?” Sam asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Very rarely,” Dylan said.

  Carrie turned as he walked into the room. He wore dark pants and an olive-colored shirt, looking both professional and a little rugged. “Not true,” she argued. “It snows sometimes. Plus, don’t you remember that one winter when we had the blizzard?”

  “Four inches of snow isn’t a blizzard.”

  “I like snow,” Sam said, dotting flakes onto the night sky of the backdrop. “My dad used to complain about shoveling all the time.”

  “Boston gets a lot of snow,” she murmured, giving Dylan a look when his expression turned stony. She understood it might be difficult to hear reminders of the boy’s parents but believed it was good for both Dylan and Sam to be able to talk freely about the loved ones they lost. “I bet you built a lot of snowmen.”

  “Yeah,” the teenager agreed, his focus still on the mural. “One time we got close to two feet and school was called off for three days. Me and my friends made a whole snowman army.”

  “That’s awesome.” She shot a pointed smile at Dylan. “What do you think of Sam’s work?”

  “It’s great. Very festive and all that. We need to get going.”

  She could almost see Sam’s eyes rolling, but he continued to add details to the scene.

  “Have you been to the beach, Sam?” she asked as she began to put away the art supplies. “Not really an opportunity for building snowmen around here, but sandcastles are a year-round activity.” She held out a caddy of paint supplies. “These go in the cupboard on the far wall.”

  Sam turned to face her. “Are we close to the ocean here?”

  “Of course,” she said. “That’s why the festival is called Santa at the Shore. The beach is really close when you’re out at Meredith’s farm. I’m surprised you couldn’t smell it in the air. You can walk from Last Acre, but there’s plenty of parking right at the public beach, too. No crowds at this time of year.” She glanced at Dylan. “You haven’t taken him to Magnolia Beach?”

  “It’s the first week of December,” Dylan answered with a shrug. “Why would we go out there?”

  “Because it’s still beautiful and fun to walk along the shore.”

  “It’s windy and the water’s cold,” he countered.

  “I’d like to go,” Sam offered.

  Dylan’s mouth opened then shut again. “Okay, sure. Let’s go to the beach this weekend before the festival. Carrie will come with us, so I don’t miss all the beauty.”

  Nerves zinged along her spine at the teasing quality in his tone. She wanted to refuse because spending time with Sam was one thing but adding Dylan into the mix changed the whole equation. “Sure,” she answered instead, mimicking Dylan’s answer.

  Sam nodded like it was no big deal that she’d been invited and agreed to join them. He took his brushes to the sink.

  “I like the way you varied the brush strokes,” Dylan said suddenly, stepping forward. “It really makes the stars in the sky pop and the Christmas trees look real.”

  Sam went stock-still for a moment. Carrie could see the boy digesting Dylan’s words, trying to decide if there was a veiled criticism somewhere in them that he was missing. “Thanks,” he muttered, sounding almost breathless. “It’s sort of decent.”

  “I called the school counselor today,” Dylan told him, “to see about adding an art class to your schedule for the second semester. She said Intro to Drawing is available the period you have study hall if you’re interested.”

  Carrie squeezed together her hands, resisting the urge to clap. Happiness flooded her chest at the thought of Dylan helping Sam pursue his art.

  “That’d be fine, I guess,” Sam said with a shrug. His tone might be casual but the twin splotches of color on his cheeks showed how moved he was by Dylan’s gesture. She hadn’t talked to him about the comment he’d made that his dad hadn’t supported his art but understood what it meant. She knew it could destroy his confidence or push him away from something that could help him in the process of healing.

  “You can leave your brushes soaking,” she said. “I’ll take care of them. I appreciate the extra help today, Sam.”

  “It was fun.” The boy glanced around the studio. “I must have left my backpack in my locker.”

  “The hallway with the freshmen lockers should still be open because of basketball practice. You can go through the door by the gym.”

  “I’ll meet you out front at the car,” Dylan told Sam.

  The boy nodded and disappeared out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

  “He really does have talent,” Carrie said, hugging her arms around her waist. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played softly in the background. With the murals and the twinkling lights she’d strung around the perimeter, it felt as though she and Dylan were in a curious holiday escape.

  “I can’t believe I haven’t taken him to the beach.” Dylan ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t ask him about memories from his childhood because it’s too difficult. I still barely know how to interact with him.” He laughed without humor. “A few hours working with you after school and he already seems happier than he has since I can remember. It just shows how ill equipped I am for taking care of him.”

  “Don’t compare the two.” She stepped closer, unable to resist comforting him when he was so obviously trying to hide his distress over the situation. “What I’m doing with him is an easy diversion. You’ve got all the hard stuff. You’re trying, Dylan, and not taking the easy way out. Give yourself a break.”

  “I can’t,” he whispered, sounding miserable. “I’m so damn afraid of failing him.”

  She pressed her palm to his cheek, the rough stubble along his jaw tickling her skin. She heard his sigh and felt the gentle easing of some of his tension as he relaxed into her touch.

  When he reached for her, gripping her waist and pulling her closer, she went without hesitation. Every cell in her body seemed to awaken at his touch.

  It was difficult to know whether he kissed her or she initiated it. Their mouths joined as if pulled by the same invisible force.

  The kiss started slowly but quickly ramped up in need and intensity. She’d never not wanted more with Dylan. More heat and closeness.

  He lifted her into his arms, his strength enveloping her. He moved forward until her bottom hit the edge of the worktable. Markers and pencils skittered to the floor as he lifted her onto the hard surface. She threaded her fingers through his hair. Her
body buzzed with need.

  She’d been completely inexperienced when she and Dylan had first dated, a sheltered high school senior overwhelmed by what he made her feel. She’d dated since then, nothing serious and nothing that came anywhere near the level of her feelings for him.

  But she at least understood how special it had been. She was suddenly grateful for the table because her knees might have given way under the force of her desire. His mouth trailed along her jaw, down her neck to the sensitive nook at the base of her throat.

  She tried to hold back a whimper, tried not to think about ripping off his clothes right there. Anyone could walk in and he needed to get to the car for Sam.

  But still she shifted, pressing her palms to the tabletop for support so she wouldn’t melt into a puddle of lust. And then—

  “Tell me that’s not your idea of mood music.”

  Carrie realized the sound of Judy Garland’s crooning about making the yuletide bright had gotten progressively louder until she could barely hear Dylan over the song.

  Moving her hip, she realized she’d put her weight on her phone, inadvertently adjusting the volume to its highest setting. The Bluetooth speaker at the edge of the table practically vibrated with the chorus.

  Stifling a laugh, she quickly turned down the sound. Silence filled the space, and heat colored her cheeks.

  When she glanced up, Dylan was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

  “Oops,” she whispered and they both gave in to the temptation to laugh.

  “I hated holiday music before this moment,” he told her. “Now I’m worried that for the rest of my life the sound is going to turn me hot and bothered.”

  Her grin widened. “You’re hot and bothered?”

  “In all the best ways,” he confirmed, leaning in for another quick kiss.

  That was both gratifying and dangerous, just like everything seemed to be with this man. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him to want her, but her own desire made her feel too exposed. After her dad died, Carrie promised herself she’d never let any man derail her life in favor of their own goals. She’d wasted too much time subjugating herself for her father and his needs and his art.