Christmas on Main Collection

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

ALLEGRA

Stomach still stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner, I unlock the back door to the store and slip inside.

Our parents drove back to L.A. after we’d cleared the dishes from the table, and Aurora fell into a food coma. I tried to follow suit. Tomorrow is going to be a big day—the biggest day, in fact. We need our rest.

But every time I closed my eyes, I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that I’d forgotten something at the store. Something like not getting enough change for the cash register.

Or leaving the safe unlocked.

Or leaving the cash out on the front counter for anyone passing by to see, causing them to break in leaving us without change and damages that we have to spend the whole day cleaning up while simultaneously filing a police report.

Basically, something that would screw up our earnings and ruin our plans of building the business to maximize our profits when we sell.

So it’s with bated breath that, after locking the door behind me, I make my way to the front of the store. I find all of the doors and windows tightly sealed. The counter is free of anything besides the little knick-knacks we upsell as last-minute purchases at the register. The change—all of it—is securely stashed in the safe where it belongs.

And no one, besides me, is stirring. Not even a mouse. Thank God for that. I don't want to have to deal with a rodent infestation today of all days. How would that look to the customers or prospective buyers?

Releasing a sigh of relief, I drop down on the stool behind the counter and remove the laptop from my bag. I might as well check that our social media ads are up and running—and performing—while I’m here and wide awake.

I’ve moved on from tweaking ad sets to checking our scheduled newsletter blast when I hear it. A creak in the back of the store.

I close my mouth and hold perfectly still. Waiting to find out if it was just my imagination or if someone—or something—is here.

Another creak and a thud, followed by a mumbled expletive.

My eyes widen. Someone is here.

Ice floods my veins and my breath catches. It’s lodged so firmly in the back of my throat that I can’t manage a squeak, let alone call out for help.

Not that it matters.

I reach for the store’s phone on the counter, but it’s dead. Belatedly, I recall that I left my personal phone tucked in the cup holder in my car.

Maybe if I can sneak out and get to my car undetected, I can call the police. Let’s hope they have someone on duty during the holidays in this small town.

There’s probably only one person on the desk. It could take them forever to respond.

I’ll have to protect the store for myself.

Legs shaky, I stumble to my feet, gripping the side of the counter for support as I do. I glance around for something—anything—that I might be able to use to protect myself from an intruder.

My gaze lands on a display of hand-carved nutcrackers. Pulling a face at the thought of damaging one of the pieces, I resign myself to the possibility and grab one of the least ornate and sturdiest. Hopefully, the artisan can fix any nicks to it. Maybe I could even ask the handyman next door if he could give this guy a buff if it comes to that.

There’s another thud.

I tighten my grip on the nutcracker and inch toward the door that leads to the storeroom. Back pressed as close to the wall as it can be with the wooden Christmas village display in my way. Ready to ward off my would-be attacker if it comes to that. What I lack in strength and agility, I’ll hopefully make up for with the element of surprise.

I’m almost to the door when a dark shadow fills the frame.

Jaw clenched, I take a deep breath through my nose and jump out. Arm—and nutcracker—raised high.

“Hold it right there!”

The intruder spins around and my arm freezes in the air seconds before I bash Van’s face in with my nutcracker friend.

“Whoa.” His eyes widen and he takes a step back. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” I hiss, my heart pounding in my chest. “What are you doing? I could have killed you.”

“Ms. St. Clair. In the showroom. With the nutcracker.” He shakes his head with a grin. “At least it would be an interesting case for our local sheriff to solve.”

I lower my arm. “You still haven’t told me what exactly you’re doing here.”

“I saw the light on. Thought I’d check out and make sure no one was burglarizing the joint.”

“Oh.” I suppose that was nice of him. Except for one thing… My eyes narrow. “How did you get in?”

“With a key.”

“What key?”

He holds up a ring filled with half a dozen keys, similar to the ones Mr. Griffith gave Aurora and me. Only his set has, of all things, a Christmas tree keychain. “One of these.”

“Where did you get those?”

“Doris gave me a set. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“You always have so many questions.” Chuckling, he shakes his head as if I’ve asked something ridiculous—instead of totally fair. “She always worried about me staying out there in the camper overnight. She gave me the keys in case I got cold or wanted to use, as she put it, ‘real running water.’ But I also looked after the place for her. Made sure the heat was running during cold spells and such.”

“You’re living in the camper?”

“Just for the season.” He cocks his head to the side. “It’s a safe town, but it’s always small busia good idea to protect the inventory.”

That does make sense. “I suppose it’s especially important to keep everything safe when a year of work comes down to a few weeks of retail sales.”

This is something Aurora and I would have to keep in mind if we planned on running the store after Christmas.

“Pretty much.” He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and rolls back on his heels. “So you never answered. What are you doing here burning the midnight oil?”

“Not that it’s any of your business”—he arches an eyebrow—“but I wanted to check on a few things before we open tomorrow.”

“The official start of your first holiday season as a small business owner.” He nods. “It’s a bit like Christmas Eve. Isn’t it?”

My lips twitch into a half smile. “Or the first day of school.”

“A mix of excitement and nerves. I get that.” He studies me and my pulse once again quickens under his gaze. He really is a ridiculously good-looking man. “You know, I might have just the thing.”

“For what?”

“To help you relax.” I open my mouth to object, but he silences me by holding a hand up as a white flag. “Not that I’m saying you need to calm down. But you might want to get a little shut-eye before your big day.”

Now it’s my turn to give him a study. Much as I hate to admit it, I am curious what he might suggest in the ways of offering me a good night's sleep.

A good, thorough bone session in his camper would be just the thing to work off some of this excitement.

I nearly gasp at my own thought and dismiss it. Where the hell did that come from? It’s just the nerves. The excitement.

It has absolutely nothing to do with my curiosity of seeing what those broad shoulders of his look like without the flannel shirt hugging them. To feel that beard of his scraping against my skin.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask, flinching inwardly at how my voice squawks.

He holds up three fingers. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Van disappears through the storeroom. While he’s gone, I return the nutcracker to its place and fuss with the placement of the display. Like all of the handmade wooden decor in the store, it's clearly made by a master. Aurora and I have been trying to figure out the identity of the artisan behind them. But the only note we could find from Aunt Doris was that we should ask Pascal, the guy next door when we need to place another order.

I doubt we’ll need to do that any time soon. I suppose it’s a puzzle for the next owner to solve.

Van reappears carrying a small tray with two mugs and a plate.

“Here.” He sets it down on the counter. “Two cups of my grandma’s blend of chamomile and?—”

“Kringle.” I step forward in delight. “I love Kringle.”

“Then help yourself.” He pushes the plate toward me.

I reach for a piece without wasting a second. Even though I’m still full of turkey, potatoes, and pie, I take a bite. The warm, flaky pastry melts in my mouth, flooding my senses with the buttery, almond goodness.

“Oh my God.” I groan, closing my eyes to savor the flavor.

I’m transported back in time. Back when my biggest concern was whether or not Santa was going to be able to find us if we spent Christmas Eve at a B&B in a small town instead of at home.

I take another nibble and release another moan of pleasure. “This is so good, I want to cry.”

Van makes a strangled sound and I open my eyes in time to catch him swallow hard and cross his hands in front of his hips.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It tastes just like the Kringle my aunt used to give us on our visits.”

“Maybe she got it from the same place.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I shake my head mournfully. “She never told us where.”

“Then I suppose it’ll remain a mystery.”

“Maybe you can help me solve it.”

“Maybe.” He steps up to the counter and unfolds his hands to take a mug of coffee. “Maybe I want to keep my secrets.”

“Right, because you’re so mysterious.” I giggle and shake my head at him. “You’re so weird.”

“Says the woman who thought a nutcracker would defend her from a burglar.”

Still laughing, I pick up my own mug and raise it to him. “Here’s to a profitable holiday season for us both.”

“That’s an awfully commercialized view of the most wonderful time of the year.”

He really is the weirdest. “Cheers to a Merry Christmas then.”

He taps his mug against mine. “A Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”

Raising the mug to my lips, I keep my gaze on him as the warm liquid flows down my throat and heats my already warm belly.

Despite what I said, Van Fox really is a mystery to me. Maybe that’s why I can’t help but want to spend more time with him. It’s that or his shoulders. Either way I wouldn’t mind bumping into the guy parked around the corner this Christmas season.

And isn’t that a change of opinion since yesterday?