Inheritance for Christmas (Holly Ridge Christmas #1)

3. Avery

3

AVERY

L ike a sign from the heavens, the first snow wakes with me this morning as I open my eyes. It’s not a dramatic flurry of flakes rushing from the sky, but a gentle dance of white, dusting the treetops and pasting a grin on my face as I roll out of the four-poster bed toward the window, throwing open the heavy drapes my grandmother had made by hand.

Yes, it’s the perfect day to reopen the Christmas tree farm.

I hurry to get dressed, ensuring I’m bundled in layers, a thick black turtleneck underneath a knit vest and a pair of cozy cotton pants tucked into my trusty flat boots. Pouring a thermos of warm coffee into my insulated tumbler, I head out to the farm with a bagel, and my grandad’s meticulous hand-kept records for the past year. It will give me something to look over while I wait for customers in the store. Tucking the ledgers into my laptop bag, I make my way out to the garage and head to the Christmas tree farm, excited for the day ahead.

The snow hasn’t affected the roads at all, the drive easy and clear but for the few drifts wafting by. It’s cold, but the flakes might not even last.

I’m disappointed to see Blake’s truck isn’t in the lot, but that’s on me. We didn’t discuss a time for him to come, and I trust that he’ll show up to do the work when he can. And I didn’t see his truck the first day, either. He clearly knows all the hidden nooks and crannies of the forest that I don’t yet, even though I can still hold my own around here. Still, he probably has a lot to teach me.

The more time I spend roaming the forest, the more it comes back to me, the vacations spent here during my parents’ divorce, the escape during their contentious fighting and my father’s infidelity.

Holly Ridge is untouched by all of that, their drama never reaching here, thank goodness. All the memories of this place are unscathed, and I intend to keep them that way.

Flipping the soldered “open” sign over fills me with elation. Now it’s just a matter of sitting and waiting for customers.

I set myself up behind the counter and pull out my laptop and ledgers. To my chagrin, I realize there’s no internet at the shop.

“Oh, Grandad,” I mutter aloud, shaking my head with a small laugh. Why hadn’t I realized that before? Sighing, I set up my hotspot and log onto the internet, checking out the farm’s social media presence. My smile fades quickly. It’s clear to see that my grandfather did not keep up with his online marketing in a long while. It’s almost as if he started the sites and gave up right away.

That explains the lack of internet, I muse. Grabbing a pen, I find a scrap piece of paper and start to make a to-do list, beginning with marketing, and lose myself in the sites, looking for old sales and traditions to uphold through the accounts.

Before I realize it, two hours have gone by, the snow outside stopping without a single customer stopping in. I lift my head from the computer and rub my eyes, frowning.

They must not know we’re open yet, I reason, standing to stretch my legs. As soon as I wander toward the door, the rumble of an engine perks me up, and a truck rolls into the lot, quickening my heart. Amusement floods me as a short, silver-haired woman leaps from the driver’s side, the jump almost a bungee with her stature.

But for her tiny frame, Edna Monroe carries herself with the confidence of a lioness, her shoulders back as she saunters toward the front door where I stand.

“Aha!” she declares as I hold the door open for her. “You are running this place.”

“Hi, Mrs. Monroe,” I greet her affectionately. “It’s been a long time.”

Her mouth curls into a pleased smile, her brilliant blue eyes sizing me up. “You’ve grown a bit,” she concedes. “Last time I saw you, there were far more boogers coming out of your nose.”

I snicker, ushering her across the threshold. She wanders in at her own pace, taking in the shop as if she’s never been before, her wise gaze missing nothing. “I am sorry about your grandfather, dear. He was special to us.”

I’ve never heard her speak so kindly before.

“Thank you, ma’am. He… he was special,” I reply.

“So you’re staying open, are you?” she follows up without missing a beat, spinning around to confront me.

Her question takes me aback, but that’s par for the course with Edna. You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. I blink and eye her, unsure of how to take her sometimes. As a child, she unnerved me, but as I got older, I appreciated her bluntness a bit more. Although I’m not sure in this situation.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask slowly. “Grandad gave it to me.”

“You’re not going back to Austin? To your mother?”

I tense at the mention of my mother. “I don’t live with her. I haven’t since I graduated college.”

She nods, smirking lightly. “I always knew you were a smart girl, Avery.”

“Uh… thanks?” I wander toward the counter. “Are you getting a tree today, Mrs. Monroe?”

She shakes her head and follows me slowly, still taking in the whittled animals, pausing to run a gnarled hand over one of the knotty chairs on display. “He had a raw talent for building, didn’t he? He should have been a furniture maker.”

“I’m not sure Gran would have liked that,” I chuckle. “She complained quite a bit about the amount of time that he was in the garage working on his hobbies.”

Edna smiles thinly. Abruptly, she spins around. “I’ll take this. Have it delivered to my house,” she announces, unzipping her purse.

“I… okay,” I sputter, trying to keep up with her.

She whips out a fistful of cash, and I gawk at it, watching as she lays several bills on the counter. “There you are, dear. You know where I live?”

I nod, my head bobbing dumbly. “Y-yes.”

“Good. You take care now. Good luck with all this.” She swirls a gnarled finger around and spins to march out, leaving me staring after her in amazement.

What was that?

Slowly, I collect the money from the counter and tuck it away in the empty cash register, shaking my head in bemusement. Picking up the ledger, I finally open it for the first time and pick up a pen to record the sale. But as I start, my eyes travel over the numbers, and my brow furrows. My hand falters, and a gasp falls from my lips as I read the data, the pen falling onto the page.

This can’t be right!

I flip back the pages to the beginning of the year, blood draining out of my face as I read the sales and profits. Dumbfounded, I turn through the book faster, over and over, sure I’m missing something. But there’s nothing to miss. There’s almost nothing there. There are no sales, no profits. The farm shows no income at all.

Staring straight ahead, my mind whirls. There has to be another ledger, another record. Maybe Grandad has an accountant I haven’t heard about. I have to go through the books more thoroughly, check the accounts.

But deep down, I think I already know the truth. Surely Mr. Foggarty would have mentioned this to me if there were.

The farm is in real trouble and has been for a long time.

My mother’s words reverberate through my head. “Don’t waste your time out there. It’s a Christmas tree farm. Your grandparents struggled their whole lives with that place.”

And Edna’s unexpected visit today…

“So you’re staying open, are you?”

It’s why Grandad didn’t bother keeping up with his online presence. He was struggling. Was it Gran’s passing? Or had they always been suffering? My heart breaks knowing that he was out here with this burden, and I was never the wiser.

My head bows sadly, and I don’t hear the door until footsteps tread across the hardwood floor.

“Oh!” I choke as a figure looms in front of me. My hand flutters to my heart nervously, and I struggle to regain my composure.

“Are you all right?” Blake asks, his intense blue eyes shadowed with concern. Pine needles stick to the wool of his cap, dark hair curling around his strong jawline, which locks with worry. He’s so handsome, even covered in dirt from working all day. I swallow thickly, nodding automatically, but he doesn’t look convinced. “You don’t look okay.”

“I think…” I press my lips together, unsure if I should tell him what I learned. It feels disloyal sharing it, but if I can’t tell Blake, who can I tell? There’s no one else in Holly Ridge to share it with, and if I keep it inside, I might burst.

As if he’s reading my thoughts, Blake ambles closer, splaying his gloved hands over the counter, his head lowering. “You know, sometimes, two heads are better than one. If you tell someone else, we might be able to brainstorm a solution together.”

I want to hug him.

“The farm is in financial trouble,” I blurt out. “Did you know that?”

He exhales slowly, and I realize I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know.

Does everyone in town know? Am I the only one who didn’t?

“This is the kind of place that doesn’t really have big profit margins,” he offers gently. “One bad season can do a lot of damage.”

“Did we have a bad season?” I press. “Is that what happened?”

He gives me a sympathetic look and ambles around the counter to sit with me. “Look, I’m not sure if I should say this, but after your grandmother passed, I don’t think your grandad’s heart was really into much,” he tells me. “His zest for life wasn’t the same. I mean, he was still a great guy, but the spark wasn’t there anymore. He was just doing the bare minimum.”

This saddens me more, but I’m beginning to get a clearer picture of what was going on.

“I think he tried his best, but he let a lot of things go,” Blake continues. “I guess a broken heart will do that.”

“Like marketing and the barn,” I say, more to myself than Blake. We’re both quiet as I mull this over.

“Do you still want to open the farm this year?” he asks after a long moment.

I blink at him. “What else would I do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe take some time to reconsider your options,” he suggests.

“My options?”

“I think everyone will understand if you choose to sell the land?—”

“What? No!” I interject. “I’m not selling this land or closing down. I’m just thinking about what needs to be done to get it back in the black again.”

His eyes widen. “Oh.”

I grin at him. “You’re still able to help me, right? With the renovations and maybe some other things?”

He smiles weakly at me. “Sure,” he agrees. “If you think it’s worth it. But I think you should talk to an accountant first before you start throwing good money after bad. You have no idea how fast these things can spiral out of control.”

“It’s my grandparents’ legacy,” I insist. “It was successful once, and it will be again. I just have to devise a good, strong plan. And I will. We will, right… partner?” I nudge him teasingly. “I’ll buy the pizza next time,” I joke.

He chuckles. “Yeah, okay. I’ll help you figure out how to save the farm. But next time, I want something better than pizza—even if there’s pineapple on it.”