Christmas on Main Collection

Prologue

Prologue

ALLEGRA

The lawyer’s words blow up my carefully laid plans for the future.

“Seriously?” I say in unison with my sister Aurora, who is seated next to me in Mr. Griffith’s small but cozy office.

Only, while my younger sister sounds like we’ve won the lottery, my single-word question comes out strangled. As if someone just elbowed me in the gut.

“That’s what it says right here.” Mr. Griffith perches his glasses on the tip of his nose and raises the folder of paperwork closer to his face. “The last will and testament of your Great Aunt Doris clearly states that she’s left her store in the township of Central Coast, California, to the joint ownership of one Allegra Melody St. Clair and Aurora Alice St. Clair.”

Those are our names, of course. And our great aunt’s. A woman neither of us has seen in years, but who I have fond memories of visiting when we were both in French braids and matching plaid dresses picked out by our mom.

More than a little jittery, I set down the cup of coffee his assistant foisted on me earlier and rub my palms against my slacks. I came here directly after a meeting with my boss, so I’m dressed a little more informally than Aurora. It’s serendipitous that our Great Aunt Doris happened to live in my boss’s hometown. Though our operations are based in Los Angeles, we’ve been spending more time in Central Coast since she reconnected with a former classmate at her high school reunion last summer.

We’ve been here enough times that I really should have stopped by to say hello to Doris. A wave of guilt rushes over me.

I take a shaky breath. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It means you own her store, Christmas on Main, as well as the adjoining parking lot.”

I release my breath in a whoosh. That’s what I thought he—and the statement he read to us—meant. It just… doesn’t seem possible. Who inherits a year-round Christmas shop in a town they’ve only visited a handful of times from a relative they met equally few times?

It’s the sort of thing that only usually happens in the movies.

“So how much is that in dollars?” Aurora asks.

My first urge is to chastise my sister, but I stop short. Ordinarily, I’d tell her it’s rude to ask a stranger about a business’s value. But considering we now own said business, well, it’s a fair question.

One I should have thought to ask. I am the Type-A numbers girl in the family, after all.

“The building and lot alone are worth a pretty penny. But when it comes to the business itself, it’s hard to put an exact dollar amount on it, but it’s easily worth four or five times as much as the property alone.”

My eyes widen.

“Seriously?” I ask, barely aware of the same question once again coming from my sister.

While I’m not an expert in California real estate, I probably have a better understanding than the average person. And if the store itself is worth more than the property… Let’s just say you don’t have to be an expert in mergers and acquisitions—or real estate—to appreciate how much money is at stake here.

“Your Great Aunt Doris knew what she was about.” Mr. Griffith opens another folder and leafs through a pile of papers. “I don’t mind telling you, there have been some big-name investors eyeing it, but she refused all their offers.”

“Why?” I dart an annoyed look at Aurora. Not that I fault her for asking the question at the same time as me. But older sisters everywhere will understand the auto-irritation that comes from having your little sister parrot you again and again.

“Sentiment. The desire to leave a legacy. That store was Doris’s life's work.”

She spent her life building a legacy. For us. Great-nieces she seldom saw or heard from.

It raises even more questions. I open my mouth to ask one, but Aurora beats me to it.

“Does she still have that little village with ice figures skating around in the front windows?”

He gives a short nod, and I chime in with my own question before Aurora can ask something else.

“What’s been going on with the store since she passed? Did she have any employees? Has the store been open at all?”

“Doris had a part-time gal who came in a few times a week.” Dueling waves of relief and concern wash over me. Relief that there’s someone around who knows what’s been going on with the store’s day-to-day. Concern that said person maybe hasn’t been paid for her work.

“And I’m sure she’d be glad to help you out for a couple of weeks during the transition.” The concern takes a lead over the relief at this remark. “But she’s due to have a baby the week before Thanksgiving, so she won’t be available to help you this Christmas season.”

Well… crap. It sounds like our part-timer is about to become a no-timer in a few short weeks. Which leaves us in… well… crap.

I’m more than a little tempted to grab a handful of candy corn from the bowl on Mr. Griffith’s desk. I don’t even like candy corn, but my urge to stress-eat doesn’t discriminate.

“There are also a couple of young men around town who would help her out as needed. I think it was some farmer and handyman, but that was all off the books.”

Neither of us immediately responds to this announcement. Even Aurora must realize that a couple of random off-the-books workers won’t be much to help us manage our new inheritance.

Who has time to run a store? Technically, Aurora has nothing but time. She’s been floating from temp job to temp job since she graduated from college last May. Not that she’s the sister who knows anything about running a business.

That would be me. Kind of. I’m the personal assistant to one of the leading mergers and acquisitions consultants in the world. I’ve helped her settle deals between billion-dollar companies.

I could figure out how to sell Christmas ornaments.

If I had the time.

But I don’t.

I have a job that I love. I have an exciting life in L.A. Not that I do much of anything but work. But I have the option to have an exciting life there if I had more free time.

What kind of excitement could a small town no one has ever heard of offer?

Not that I’m seriously thinking about spending more than a few days—a week tops—here figuring out what to do with the store. Maybe we can hire a manager to run it in our absence. Maybe we can contact one of those interested buyers.

Either way, it’s going to be a headache.

My stomach churns again, and I clutch it. If I’m not careful, this will become a stomach ache too.

“I’m sure you ladies will have more questions,” Mr. Griffith says in his gruff way. “It’s a lot to process, but your Aunt Doris left you her store for a reason. I know she had every confidence in you both.”

That makes one of us.

I really don’t understand why she did this.

Unfortunately, that’s an answer I doubt we’ll ever receive. Not unless she’s written us a letter. Or maybe left us a video explaining her last will and testament, like you see in the movies.

Unless either of those arrive—and I highly doubt they will—I’ll keep wondering what on Earth she was thinking.

“You’ll be needing these.” Mr. Griffith slides a folder full of papers across the desk. Aurora gives me an expectant look, and—with a sigh—I take them. It’s probably for the best. We both know I’m the one with an affinity for paperwork and bottom lines.

With a jingle, he places two sets of keys in front of us. Reaching for the one in front of me, I take note of the charm on the end of the chain. “Look, there’s even two little angels. One for each of you.”

I give a startled laugh that sounds more like a snort. It’s probably the first—and only—time in history we’ll ever be referred to as angels. Even by implication.

Just ask our mom about the time we showed up to her office Christmas Party with our dresses covered in mud because we thought we’d try to make it snow outside using a hose and every bag of ice we’d discovered in the restaurant’s kitchen.

Finished with his duty, Mr. Griffith ushers us out of his office. As we pass through the small lobby, I note his secretary isn’t at her desk. She must have stepped away for a moment because the little figurine perched at the end still reads “The Witch Is In” instead of being flipped over to say “Out.”

I tug my peacoat jacket more tightly around my frame. Aurora is wrapping an oversized sparkly scarf that offers more aesthetic than warmth around her neck.

It’s a good thing the weather is always pretty mild around here. Aurora would be freezing if we were somewhere like Nebraska or Iowa.

“Should we grab a coffee or maybe some hot apple cider?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I sigh. Even though I have a bunch of unread emails to get through, the situation we’re in is just as important. “We do have a lot to talk about.”

She beams at me brightly, as if I’ve just agreed to play hooky for the day and take her to Disneyland. And… honestly, my agreeing to take another hour away from work midday is probably just as improbable as that to her.

A fresh pang of guilt darts my gut. I really haven’t made much time for my family lately. Not even my baby sister.

I’d barely taken a half day to attend her college graduation. And my boss practically ordered me to take some time off.

When did I become so obsessed with my job that I couldn’t even make time for my sister?

Well, I can change that now. Starting with a drink. I turn to ask if she saw any coffee shops on our way here and nearly run into the door. Fortunately, a tall, bearded stranger is there to save me from embarrassment. I flash him a grin of appreciation and he nods in acknowledgment. As we pass him, I catch the distinct scent of pine.

A shiver of pleasure runs down my spine.

Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as he disappears into Mr. Griffith’s office. Huh. He’s dressed pretty casual for a meeting with a lawyer—with the denim and flannel outfit complete with a cuffed beanie. Then again, this is a small town. I suppose he can get away with it.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s tall and brawny and exudes a sexy masculine energy.

By some small miracle, we find a cute cafe a short walk from the lawyer’s. The even greater miracle is we both find something we like to order. I get my standard green tea with a slice of lemon. Aurora orders some sort of super sweet—and social-media-worthy—pumpkin drink. The guy standing in line behind us snorts when she asked for an extra dollop of whipped cream and nutmeg shavings to really make it pop on screen.

As we settle into a corner table, I notice the place is pretty busy for a weekday afternoon. I always wonder if—and how—small-town shops can do enough business to stay afloat.

Then again, Aunt Doris kept a year-round Christmas shop going for decades. So I must not know as much about the business world and profitability as I like to think.

Which brings us to the heart of the matter.

After Aurora gets several photos and videos of her drink from various angles—including one of her sipping it and another of her reacting—I take a deep breath.

“I’m just going to say it. What do either of us know about running a Christmas store?”

“I don’t know? How hard can it be?” Aurora licks some of the whipped cream from her drink. “It could be fun.”

“It could also be a lot of work and lead us both into debt.” I open the folder from Mr. Griffith and scan the top sheet. There are a lot of zeros—and very few of them in red. “I will say, he wasn’t kidding. We could make an awful lot of money if we found the right buyer.”

Aurora’s hand pauses with the drink midway to her lips. “How much money?’

“Enough money to cover a couple of years of living expenses in New York City while you ‘figure things out.’”

“You mean enough money to impress that boss of yours into giving you a promotion.”

I arch an eyebrow. How did my sister know I’ve been looking for a way to capture my boss’s attention for just that?

And how did she come up with the perfect opportunity for me to prove my business savvy once and for all? I mean, wouldn’t Samantha be impressed if I could secure us an offer on the business that blows all of these others out of the galaxy.

I meet Aurora’s gaze. She matches my arched eyebrow, and I can’t help but grin in response.

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking. Right?” Aurora asks.

“If you’re thinking we make this the most profitable holiday season ever at Christmas in Main so we can flip it in the new year and with our pockets full…” I give a shaky laugh, almost not believing I’m saying what I’m about to say. “Then, yes.”

“So we’re doing this?” She raises a mug to me.

I nod and lift mine to meet hers. “We’re doing this.”