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Inheritance for Christmas (Holly Ridge Christmas #1) 4. Blake 36%
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4. Blake

4

BLAKE

I press the outstanding bill payment down in front of the estate lawyer, shaking my head in dismay.

“This should have been taken care of with my father’s estate,” I tell Mr. Foggarty, splaying the page over the mahogany desk. “Why is it in collections? Didn’t we deal with all of this already?”

Alan Foggarty reaches for the bill and peers at it, adjusting his wire-rim glasses. He sits back in his chair, examining the letter, pursing his lips as he peruses the very same words I’ve read and reread from the collection agency since last night. “I’m not sure, Blake, but I’ll look into it for you. You know your dad left a lot of debt behind. Some things may have slipped through the cracks, even after all this time.”

He doesn’t need to tell me. The aftermath of Dad’s financial mess has taken years to work out, and these little surprises shouldn’t surprise me anymore. But they’re still blows every time they pop up.

“Can you please take care of this?” I sigh, standing. I know it’s not his fault. He’s done his best to help me, and I appreciate everything he has done. My dad wasn’t a bad guy. He just made a lot of bad choices.

Alan nods pleasantly. “I will.”

We shake hands, and I turn to leave. At the door, I stop, noting the frame slightly askew, the edges separated at the top. I glance over my shoulder at the lawyer. “What happened there?” I ask, pointing.

“An unhappy client got a little too rough with the door,” he admits, flushing embarrassedly. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Give me a second,” I say, and he starts to protest, but I ignore him. I make my way out of the small lobby, a wreath swaying on the door as I let myself into the small commercial parking lot to retrieve my toolbox from my truck parked out front.

“You really don’t have to do that, Blake,” the lawyer tells me when I return, but the task of righting the frame takes me all of five minutes, a quick hammering and two finishing nails later. In the end, the damage isn’t noticeable at all.

“Tell your clients to control their tempers,” I tell him, packing up my belongings to head out again.

“It’s an occupational hazard,” he says nonchalantly. “People are funny with money.”

I arch an eyebrow, securing the black metal box.

“Rightfully so,” I reply quietly. “We need it to survive. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to take it out on you.”

He smiles weakly. “On that note, invoice the office for your time.”

I grin and wave a hand. “This was pro bono,” I joke. “It would have driven me crazy if I had to walk in here and see it like that again.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to come back in here again,” he promises, thanking me.

I say goodbye to him, heading back toward my truck.

Jazzy Christmas music blares from the outdoor speakers, and I climb into the driver’s side, my mind on the collection letter. It isn’t the first I’ve received over the years, but it has been a while. I’d hoped I’d seen the end of them, but I’m not holding my breath.

Dad had bad debt all over Holly Ridge, it seems.

I shake off the stress building inside me, focusing on my workday, but that brings on a new list of concerns.

Pulling into Sampson’s Hardware, I park and sit in the lot for a moment, collecting my mental list for the Christmas tree farm.

As if reading my location psychically, my cell phone chimes with a text.

Avery: Good morning! Are we still on for dinner tonight?

An unexpected fission sparks through me at the question, but it’s laced with apprehension. Avery’s situation reminds me of my dad in some ways, even if she is more open about it.

Me: Yes.

Avery: Are you here? At the farm?

Me: Not yet. I’m just at the hardware store. I’ll be by in a few.

She doesn’t respond immediately, and I climb out of the truck to enter the store, the dusty-sweet scent of sawdust tickling my nostrils on arrival.

Fake trees line the entranceway in a row, followed by a stack of wreaths and boxes of tinsel on sale. I wander deeper into the surprisingly large but charming shop toward the lumber section at the back for wood to reinforce the barn.

My phone dings again from inside the pocket of my flannel shirt.

Avery: It’s my treat tonight . No arguments.

I linger in the aisle, staring at the text for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. She should save her money with the hardships the farm is facing. But this isn’t my place to say. She’s a grown woman, and I’m just the handyman.

Me: I’ll see you soon .

I’m careful to check for sale prices and buy fewer materials to start. I can always return for more if I run out, but for now, I’ll keep costs low and try to make do with what we have. There might be things lying around the farm we haven’t seen yet, and I must have unused supplies in my garage I can bring to the property, even if Avery hasn’t asked me to do that.

I return to the Holly Forest Christmas Tree Farm, eager to see Avery again this morning. Spending time with her is the highlight of my day, her enthusiasm contagious, even if I’m concerned about her end goal.

“Wow,” she comments, meeting me in the parking lot. “You got a lot of stuff.”

Her jasmine perfume overwhelms me once more, and I savor it, committing it to memory for later.

She nods approvingly as she takes in the full truck bed, but I think I catch a hint of worry in her eyes, as if she’s silently tallying the cost.

“It’s for the barn, like we agreed,” I tell her cautiously. “There’s nothing extra here. But if you want to put a hold on the plans?—”

“I don’t,” she interjects quickly. “I’ve been working on marketing all morning, getting the social media accounts all up and running properly. A part of the problem is, no one knows we’re open. As soon as word gets out, the place will be busy. You’ll see.”

She flashes me a confident, winning smile. I want to buy into her optimism, but history has dictated otherwise with the tree farm already. What can Avery offer that her grandparents didn’t?

I don’t say any of this aloud, not wanting to dampen her enthusiasm.

“I should get to work,” I say. “I’ll swing back to pick you up for dinner around five?”

Her pretty face brightens, and she nods. “Should I make reservations somewhere or…?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No. I’m sure we can manage. Anywhere but pizza, right?”

She titters. “Right. I’ll see you later.”

Backing away, she waves me off, and I retreat to the truck to head up the back roads toward the barn. I can already tell it’s going to be a long day. I can’t wait to have dinner with her.

Just before five, I pull into the storefront lot again, and I’m surprised to find two cars parked next to Avery’s. A local couple exits as I enter. They nod politely as I hold the door to let them pass, a paper bag between them.

She made sales today, I muse appreciatively. Stepping over the threshold, I catch sight of an older man wandering through the sight aimlessly. He doesn’t acknowledge me as the door closes. Several crates pile over the floor near the counter, overflowing with string lights and decorations, and I carefully sidestep them to join Avery at the counter. She smiles broadly as I stand beside her.

“Hi!” she greets me brightly. “How did it go?”

“Good,” I reply. “You’ve had some business today.”

“I sold three trees,” she declares proudly. “And a couple of my grandfather’s pieces.”

I nod approvingly. Avery lowers her voice and raises her chin toward the elderly man still shuffling around the rows of whittled goods. “We’ll close up after he goes,” she promises.

“I’m in no rush,” I reply.

“Would you mind if we deliver this chair to Mrs. Monroe before we go to dinner?”

“Oh, was Edna here?”

She bobs her head. “I think she was making her rounds.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

I lean on the wood counter casually, taking in the height difference between us with some amusement. She’s so small and dainty, like a little fairy beside me, and she cocks her head back up.

“Thanks for pre-cutting all those trees for me,” she adds. “If I had to go out there and do it myself… well, I don’t think I need to tell you what would have happened. You’ve seen it firsthand.” She grimaces, and we both laugh.

“I’ll give you a proper lesson,” I offer. “If you want.”

“I want! I want!” she pleads.

The last customer wanders out of the shop without making a purchase, and Avery cashes out her register. After carefully recording her sales in the ledger, we load Edna’s chair onto the back of my truck and lock up the storefront, leaving only a string of fairy lights on over the rooftop on the Holly Forest Store.

An owl hoots in the night, as if calling us off, and we roll onto Maple Lane, heading south into town again.

“Did you get much done today?” she asks as we drive. “Or is it too big of a task for me to even ask at this point?”

I ponder the question, my desire to voice my opinion again overwhelming me. “I got some of the holes repaired,” I answer honestly. “But it is a big task. I don’t think you’re going to see too much of a difference for a few days yet.”

She nods thoughtfully. “With all this downtime, I’ve been thinking about what else I can do with the property. It’s a lot of land to sit unused all year.”

I cast her a sidelong look. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe the barn can be repurposed as something else, year-round.”

My hands tighten around the wheel, but I wait, listening as she continues, the handcrafted chair shifting slightly as we bounce down the unlit road. Up ahead, the first lights of town glimmer in the near distance.

“It could be a petting zoo, or maybe horse boarding?” she laughs. “I’m just spit balling here. I’m not committed to any of these ideas, but I made a whole list of things barns can be used for.”

Interest piqued, I glance at her, but I’m not convinced she should invest in a place which is already so far gone. It’s only going to spiral her deeper into debt.

“Those things will take money to get going,” I offer tentatively, and she shrugs.

“I know. But you have to spend money to make money, I guess. If the tree farm brings in a bit of profit, I can put money into these other things slowly…” She trails off, her voice faltering, and I can tell she hasn’t really thought it through. It’s more of a pipe dream, and every word she speaks is stressing me out more.

I want to ask her if she has any money to spend, but I don’t. It’s none of my business.

We drive silently to Edna Monroe’s house, and the old lady’s dogs lose their collective minds as we approach with the chair between us. Edna steps on the porch to meet us, her white eyebrows reaching her hairline when she sees us together.

“Handyman!” she bellows. “And there you were playing innocent when I asked you about the tree farm. You sly dog.”

I catch Avery’s confused look.

“Here’s your chair, Mrs. Monroe,” she says sweetly. “Where should we put it?”

“Right here will do, dear. I just unleashed the self-cleaning vacuum, and it’s gone rogue again,”

I guffaw and set the piece down on her porch as she scrutinizes us intently, a small, knowing smile touching the corners of her mouth. “Let me get you some hot chocolate,” she declares, turning toward the door, but we refuse in unison.

“No, thank you.”

“We’re heading out to eat, Mrs. Monroe,” Avery explains, and her wise eyes flicker with interest.

“Is that a fact?” she coos.

Avery blushes and looks at me as I shake my head.

“Blake is helping me around the farm,” she rushes on. “We’re discussing some of the work that needs to be done.”

“Over dinner, hm? Well, make sure not to drink too much business wine with that business talk,” Mrs. Monroe purrs. “Have fun.”

She waves us off, and I smother a laugh, noting the bright crimson of Avery’s cheeks as we walk back to my truck.

“That woman never changes,” she chuckles once we’re back in the truck, heading toward downtown, but she sneaks a nervous glance in my direction.

“No. She really doesn’t.”

We’re silent the rest of the way to Main Street, and when I park, I notice that Avery’s face remains flushed as she avoids looking at me directly.

“Is the Evergreen Diner okay with you?” I ask, stepping onto the cobblestone. An icy blast of wind hits my lungs, and Avery wraps her red coat tighter around her. She nods eagerly, her face lightening when she takes in the familiar Pinetree signage across the road, and I raise an arm behind her back without touching her to herd her toward the warmth of the restaurant.

For a weekday, it’s busy, the dinnertime rush in full swing inside the cozy, well-lit diner. I remove my gloves, and Avery looks around, a wistful smile touching her lips.

“My Gran used to bring me here for breakfast,” she recalls.

“They do have good breakfast,” I concede.

A huge Christmas tree sits at the hostess stand, with a sign in front of it that reads, “Please Wait to Be Seated.”

Hints of coffee and hamburger waft through the booths, and a bubbly server flitters by to seat us. “Window or booth?” she asks.

I look to Avery, who requests a window seat, and I allow her to sit facing the full-length view of the mountains, admiring her thinly veiled looks of awe.

“I never get tired of this sight,” she admits when the waitress leaves us with the menus. “And I forgot how much I missed it until I came back. I mean, I think about it all the time when I’m back in Texas, but the feeling—I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

She shrugs and flushes, embarrassed.

“You don’t get many mountains down south, huh?” I tease, opening my menu.

She flashes me a grin. “It’s not just the mountains, though. There’s a whole feeling here, a sense of peace that I’ve never felt anywhere else. Maybe you don’t feel it because you’ve lived here your whole life, but it’s like the second you get here, an entire weight gets lifted off you.”

I lower the laminated menu in my hand and peer at her, the impassioned speech touching me slightly. She lowers her eyes sheepishly.

“I probably sound like a teenager,” she laughs nervously. “But this place was a real escape for me during a rough time in my youth.”

I nod understandingly. “I probably take it for granted,” I admit. “But I do appreciate living here. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I’ve never considered it, honestly. Some of my friends couldn’t wait to graduate and go to college in the city. I never wanted to leave Holly Ridge.”

She smiles appreciatively at me, leaning forward, her hand extending toward me. Avery’s fingers brush against my hand.

“That’s why I could never let go of my grandparents’ land,” she explains, lowering her voice slightly, the words barely audible over the din of the restaurant. “I want to hold on to a piece of that feeling, even if it’s hard right now.”

Our eyes lock for a moment, my pulse quickening.

But at what cost? I want to ask her. The sentiment is beautiful, but she’s going to ruin herself if she’s basing the choice on that alone. Right now, she’s all sunshine and rainbows, but what about in a year, in five years, when the debt collectors come knocking?

“Do you know what I’m saying?” she presses when I don’t speak.

I’m saved from answering as the waitress returns to take our drink orders, a slight disappointment overtaking me as Avery pulls her hand back.

That’s for the best. I shouldn’t get involved. It’s going to be a bumpy road for Avery if she continues on this path.

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