The Complete Christmas Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
define the grocery section from the sporting goods. Using the big armoire to promote local artisans wasn’t a bad idea, either.
Still, there was no denying the reluctance in his agreement. He could practically hear it himself. He also couldn’t help but notice the small smile Rory immediately stifled.
It pleased her to know that her first instincts and efforts toward her new business were good ones. It didn’t feel good to him, though, to know he’d deprived her of sharing that pleasure with the only person available. He was her mentor. He was supposed to be encouraging her. Showing a little enthusiasm.
Before he could tell her just how good her instincts probably were, she’d crossed her arms over the glittery designer logo on her hoodie and moved on.
“Before we start the inventory,” she prefaced, “would you tell me about the customs your grandparents had here? One of the ladies I met said she hoped I’d have a farmers’ market on the porch like the Sullivans did every summer. The other one said that the Harbor Market lighted walking kayak was missed in the Chimes and Lights parade last week.”
She hadn’t realized such an object even existed until Edie Shumway, the fortysomething community volunteer and, Rory suspected, neighborhood busybody, had explained what it was. Apparently Erik’s grandfather and one of his cronies from the local lodge provided propulsion for the Christmas-light-covered kayak—which explained the two holes she’d finally noticed in the bottom of the one hanging from the ceiling in the back of the store.
“I’m going to call the lodge and see if I can get a couple of volunteers to walk it in the parade next year. I’ll provide candy for them to throw to the kids, and get elf hats like Edie said they wore. But I need to know what else your grandparents did that I should do, too.”
Erik hesitated.
“I’m not totally sure what you’re after.”
“Anything they did for holidays, or for community events. Or things they did every year that people looked forward to.”
“Like the kayak and the elf hats,” he concluded.
“Exactly. I want to belong here,” she explained, as if that need meant as much to her as financial success. “I want us to fit in. The other day, your friend implied that this place was sort of an institution around here. If there are customs your grandparents had that their neighbors and customers looked forward to, then I’ll keep them up the best I can.”
“You want to maintain my grandparents’ traditions?”
“If you’ll tell me what they were.”
Erik was not a man who impressed easily. Nor was it often that a woman caught him so off guard. Even as the businessman in him commended her approach to public relations, a certain self-protectiveness slipped into place.
Resting one hip on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest, conscious of her honest interest as she waited for whatever he might be willing to share.
“They always gave suckers to the little kids.” A few innocent memories would cost him nothing. And possibly help her bottom line. “And ice cream bars. Locals always got a free one on their birthday.” His grandma had kept a calendar under the cash register with the regular customers’ birthdays written on it. Anniversaries were there, too.
He told her all that, ignoring an unwanted tug of nostalgia as he began to remember traditions he’d taken for granted, then forgotten. Or noticed but overlooked.
“They always opened the week of the spring sailing regatta in April, so they hung nautical flags along the porch and a life preserver by the door. For the Fourth of July they hung bunting and handed out flag stickers,” he said, memories rushing back. He’d loved the Fourth as a kid. Lying on his back in the grass to watch the fireworks over the sound. Or better, being out on the water in a boat, watching them explode overhead.
“And every fall,” he continued, thinking her little boy would probably like it, too, “the porch would be full of pumpkins and hay bales and they’d serve cups of cider.”
With her dark eyes intent on his, she seemed completely captivated by the small-town customs he hadn’t considered in years. She also appeared totally unaware of how close she’d drawn to him as he spoke. As near as she’d come, all he’d have to do was reach out and he would know for certain if her skin felt as soft as it looked.
As his glance slid to the inviting fullness of her bottom lip, he wondered at the softness he would find there, too.
Her lips parted with a quietly drawn breath.
When he looked back up, it was to see her glance skim his mouth before her focus fell to his chest and she took a step away.
“What about Thanksgiving and Christmas?” she asked, deliberately turning to the file on the counter. “Aside from the kayak.”
Forcing his attention back to her question, he stayed right where he was.
“Thanksgiving was just the fall stuff. But the day after, Gramps would string lights along all the eaves and porch posts and set up a Christmas village with a giant lighted snowman.” There had been a time when he and his dad had usually helped. That was back when Thanksgiving dinner had always been here. Christmas had been at his parents’ house, around the bend and in town a couple of miles. After the aircraft company his dad worked for had transferred him to San Diego a few years ago, he’d headed south for that particular holiday.
“The store was closed for the season by then, so I don’t think they gave anything out. At least, not the past several years.” He hadn’t been around to know for sure. Seattle was only twelve miles as the crow flew, but he lived his life what felt like a world away. Unless his grandparents had needed something before they’d moved south, too, he’d given this place and the areas around it as little thought as possible. And he’d never given it as much thought as he had just now. “But a lot of people drove by to see the light display.”
Whatever self-consciousness she’d felt vanished as she glanced back to him. “Where are the lights now?”
“They were sold.”
“The snowman, too?”
“Everything. They had a garage sale before they moved.”
For reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, he wasn’t at all surprised by her disappointment. What did surprise him was that he actually felt a twinge of it himself.
“Tyler would have loved to have a big snowman out there,” she said. “And the village. He gets so excited when he sees Christmas decorations.”
Threading her fingers through her hair, she gave him a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, I’d thought I was moving somewhere a lot smaller, so I sold everything for outside except a few strings of lights.”
With the lift of her shoulder, she attempted to shrug off what she could do nothing about now, anyway. “What else is there I should know?”
From the pensiveness in her voice, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was still thinking about how her little boy would have loved what his grandparents had done.
“I can’t think of anything right now.” Wanting to get her mind off what she couldn’t do for her son, and his thoughts off her mouth, he rose from his perch. “But if I do, I’ll let you know.”
“One more thing,” she said as he turned to his briefcase. “Everything I’ve heard so far tells me this will be a good place to live. But what do you think about it? The community, I mean.”
Just wanting to get to work, he opened the case with the snap of its lock. “It is a good place. I grew up in town, but I was around here a lot, too. I even came back after college.” Paper rustled as he pulled out a sheaf heavy enough for a doorstop. “Pax and I first went into business about a mile down the road.” The stack landed on the counter. “You and your son should be fine here.”
Considering that Erik had