The Christmas Cookie Crush (Arcadian Falls Christmas #4)

Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Nora

Sophie wakes me up the next morning.

“Nora!” She clambers onto my bed, patting my shoulder as she hisses at me. “Nora, it’s Christmas! Wake up! Merry Christmas!”

Running a hand down my face, I roll over to look at her, and she flops onto me for a hug. With a chuckle, I return her hug. “Merry Christmas, Sophie.”

“Come on!” she urges. “Let’s go see what Santa put in our stockings!”

I sit up and rub my eyes as she scrambles off the bed. “I thought you said you know it’s just my dad who’s Santa.”

“So?” She gives me a look like I’m ridiculous. “He’s still Santa. Our stockings are still full. Let’s go see! Hurry! Everyone else will be up soon!”

“Why is that bad?” But she’s already out the door before I can get the question out.

Climbing out of bed, I put on my slippers and grab a hoodie before following her out the door. “You know,” I say, sitting on the floor next to her in front of the Christmas tree, “everyone being up soon means you don’t have to wait as long to open your presents.”

She nods, her eyes never straying from the pile of gifts clustered at the base of the tree, so many it flows out past the circumference of the quilted tree skirt our grandma made when I was just a baby that we’ve used every year since. It has all our names on it. Well, my Mom and Dad and siblings and I, anyway. Obviously, it doesn’t have Shane and Sophie or Olivia or Lydia on it, though Mom’s made them all stockings as they’ve been folded into our family.

Lydia’s is the most recent addition, and I spot it next to Dylan’s in the line of overflowing stockings leaning against the fireplace. They’re too heavy to hang from the mantle, where they’ve been since Mom decorated after Thanksgiving.

It’s a mismatched hodgepodge set. Mom and Dad’s match—standard red with white trim, their names stitched onto the cuff in red. Ty and Sarah’s coordinate with theirs, though they’re green and white with their names still stitched in red. But Dylan and I have totally different ones. Mom sewed ours, and they’re made from kits that she bought from the fabric store, so they have Christmas-themed prints with our names appliquéd instead of simple embroidery.

She’s made stockings for all the new additions as well, though theirs are generally simpler than mine and Dylan’s. The adults are all standard red, green, and white, though the prints vary. Sophie’s is the standout, and I’m assuming that’s because Mom let her pick the fabric. She has one made of dark purple trimmed in gold. It’s a stocking fit for royalty, which, considering the way my parents spoil her, that seems fitting.

Mom comes out a few minutes later, a warm smile on her face when she sees Sophie and me sitting on the floor. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Sophie leaps up and wraps her arms around Mom. “Merry Christmas! Is everyone else up yet?”

Chuckling, Mom pats her back. “Not quite yet, but I’m sure they will be soon. Do you want to help me get breakfast started? That’ll make the other grownups less grumpy about being awake early on their day off.”

“It’s Christmas!” Sophie says, affronted, and follows Mom into the kitchen. “They’re not allowed to be grumpy!”

I trail behind them, wanting to be useful. And get some coffee. Because Mom’s right, it’s barely six, way early for a day off. Breakfast and coffee will make a world of difference.

The others slowly trickle out until Dad rouses the stragglers around seven. We all grab coffee or hot chocolate and one of the orange rolls Mom and Sophie made for breakfast and make our way to the living room, where we open presents and stockings, everyone oohing and ahhing over their gifts. It’d be fun regardless, but having a kid hopping around, watching everyone opening their presents, asking questions and generally being a ball of happiness makes the day that much better.

We all take leisurely turns in the showers—Mom and Dad let Sarah and me use their bathroom when they were finished so we didn’t have the seven of us all trying to use the other bathroom. Sarah knocks on my door while I’m finishing pulling on my socks—new ones that she got me, the siblings of her reindeer-having-sex socks. I laugh at them every year, so she found me ones with the same pattern in a slightly different color scheme.

She gives me a squinty-eyed look when she sees me putting them on. “You better wear your slippers over those.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “You got them for me. Maybe you should’ve thought of that if you didn’t want me to wear them in front of your kid.”

She grins and shakes her head. “I’m just saying. It was hard enough to keep her from paying attention while we were opening presents.”

I hold up my hands. “Don’t worry. I planned on wearing slippers anyway.”

“Good.”

She studies me for a moment, still leaning in the door with her arms crossed. So I make a big show of putting my slippers on, standing, and doing a little turn to show off my yoga pants and Christmas sweater combo—my Fair Isle one that I love. It’s warm and cozy and colorful without being too much. “Happy?”

That gets a chuckle from her. “Yes. Very. Thank you.”

When she still doesn’t move, I raise my eyebrows. “Is there something else you need?”

She takes a deep breath, blows out her cheeks, and holds it. Which has me a little worried. Sarah only does that blowing out her cheeks thing when she wants to have a serious conversation.

“Okay, I’m starting to get worried,” I say. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No.” She straightens, making a quelling gesture with her hands. “God, no. Everything’s fine. I just, uh. I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

“Okaaay.” But that doesn’t do anything to assuage my concern.

Laughing, she shakes her head. “I swear, it’s nothing bad. But come to my room. Let’s talk there.”

I follow her down the hall, taking a seat on her bed as she closes the door and running my hands down my thighs, still feeling nervous, like she’s going to spring something terrible on me. Sure, she doesn’t think it’s bad. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t think it’s bad.

“Thanks again for having Sophie sleep in your room last night.” She shuffles some papers around on her desk. “She was so excited when you offered, and she’s talked about it nonstop today.”

Laughing, I cross my arms. “I’m not sure what she even has to talk about. She conked out right away.”

Sarah flashes me a smile. “Oh, good. The way she’s been going on, I was worried she kept you up past midnight and woke you up at five.”

“Nah. She went to sleep right away. I was up past midnight all on my own. And she woke me up at six.” I grin.

Sarah’s brows pinch. “What kept you up?” she asks softly, a folder in her hand.

“Oh, you know. Just … life.”

She studies me for a moment, her lips pressed together, but she nods like she’s decided something. “Right. Well, maybe this will help with that.” Sitting next to me, she opens the folder. “I’ve been running numbers and looking over the store’s growth the last few years. I know Mom and Dad have always said you could come home and work in the store after graduation?—”

“But you can’t afford to have me work full time?” I cut in, a well of dread flooding my gut. I thought she said this wasn’t going to be bad.

Clutching my wrist, eyes wide, she shakes her head. “What? No! The opposite, in fact. I was going to see if you wanted to be my assistant manager.”

“What?” I freeze, stunned, staring into her eyes, making sure she’s not trying to pull some kind of prank. Not that Sarah’s ever done that to me—that was Dylan’s thing. But … assistant manager?

“Look.” She points at the papers in front of her. “I know you’ve mentioned wanting to find a job in Portland after you graduate, and maybe I’m wrong, but it never seemed like you were particularly excited about that. But more that you just didn’t see a real place for you here, living at home and working part-time at the store. But it doesn’t have to be like that. I can pay you a decent salary. Enough that you don’t have to live with Mom and Dad unless you want to so you can save money. You’d be making as much as I did when I became the assistant manager before Mom and Dad mostly retired from the store. We haven’t had one since then, but between the town’s growth, the increasing tourism, and the addition of other seasonal decor, I need more help than hourly employees can provide. I need someone with some ownership.”

“Why not just promote one of the people you already have working there?” I ask, my voice little more than a croak. When Sarah came and stared at me from my open door, this wasn’t what I was expecting at all. “Why me?”

Now she peers into my eyes, her face perplexed. “What do you mean, why you?”

I throw my hands in the air. “I know what everyone thinks of me, Sarah.”

“What are you even talking about?”

My brows raise. “You’re really going to make me spell it out?” When she just keeps staring at me blankly, I go on. “Fine. I know I’m just a screw-up, okay? I’m unreliable and take too long to make decisions, then I bail on things before they’re even done.”

Her head jerks back like I just slapped her, like I said those words about her instead of myself. “Uhh, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but none of that is true.”

“Really? How many times did I bail on an elf shift and make you cover for me?”

She looks all around the room. “Um, I don’t know? But it’s been ages since the last time. And you were what? Sixteen? Seventeen? Like, it’s not that deep, Nora. You were a high school kid acting like a high school kid. Since then, you went to college?—”

“Where I took an entire year to settle on a major. I went through three before finally picking psychology!”

“Right. And then you did the fast-track degree plan, so you’re still graduating early.” She looks at me like she’s boggled by the things coming out of my mouth.

“Yeah. But I’m not going to grad school.”

“So?”

“So what am I supposed to do with a psychology degree without grad school?”

She flicks the papers in her hands. “That’s what I’m saying. You’ll be the assistant manager. You understand people really well, and your psychology degree helps with that a lot. You handled the ChristmasFest schedule like an old pro. Mom kept me up to date. I didn’t do half as well when I was doing that.”

I snort my disbelief, but she ignores me.

“Seriously, Nora. I constantly asked Mom for help when I did it, especially at the start. To the point she got so frustrated that she asked why she even gave me that job in the first place. That’s when I started trying to do it on my own more. But you just grabbed it and ran and made it work. That’s why I know you’ll be perfect. I want to work with you. I know you have options, and I’m not expecting you to answer immediately. I just want you to know what the real option here is before you make a decision. And believe me, no one still sees you as the dumb teenager doing dumb teenager things you seem to think you are. I did dumb things as a teenager, too. Everyone does. It’s part of growing up. You’re smart and capable and responsible when you need to be. You’re my top pick for assistant manager, and not just because you’re my sister, though that certainly doesn’t hurt.” She wraps an arm around me and drops the folder in my lap. “Think about it, okay? You don’t have to answer right away. Take a few months. I can wait a while longer. But I’d like to have someone in place and fully trained before next fall.”

“Uh, okay,” I whisper, hoarse.

“Seriously, though,” she says as she stands, looking down at me with her hands on her hips. “Whoever’s got you believing you’re a screw up is a dick.”

“Dylan,” I croak. “He told me I’d be setting Austin up for heartbreak if I stayed with him since I’m leaving and don’t want to live in Arcadian Falls.”

Her eyes grow wide and round, then she sucks in a deep breath. “Right. So. Yeah. I stand by my earlier statement.” She shakes her head, eyes narrowing. “Want me to get him for you? I’m still his big sister. I can still make him suffer.”

That makes me laugh, and she lets out a relieved breath. “Seriously, though,” she continues. “Is that why you’re sad? You let Dylan get into your head, and you broke things off with the guy you really like?”

At my nod, she sighs and flops back down on the bed, rubbing my back. “Okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to push for an answer, but what do you think of my idea? About you being the assistant manager?”

“Uh … I’m still in shock, honestly.”

She chuckles. “I kinda gathered that.”

Chewing on my lip, I look through the papers. A lot of it is business stuff I only vaguely understand, like profit and loss sheets, sales summaries, that sort of thing. But there’s also a page with a bullet point list of things I’d be responsible for. “I don’t know anything about marketing,” I say in a hoarse whisper.

“You can learn,” she says. “You’re smart. And this is somewhat negotiable. These are the things I’d ideally like to unload or at least share with an assistant manager. It doesn’t mean I’m dumping them on you without any help or guidance. But with you, especially, I’d be willing to make adjustments as needed. I need someone I can trust to help with the workload. This year was bonkers. I need more than just seasonal help for next year.”

“I mean …” I shake my head, not sure if I should tell her what I’m thinking. But then I decide to go for it. “I’ve always loved the shop.” My voice is hoarse, tears threatening. “I was always jealous that it was going to be yours. But by the time I realized I’d want that too, you were already being prepped to take it over someday. There didn’t seem to be room for me.”

“There’s always room for you,” she whispers. “Always.”

I draw in a deep shuddering breath, tears leaking down my cheeks. “Yes,” I whisper. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She squeals and hugs me then tugs the folder from my hand and closes it. “Well? Then all your reasons for breaking up with Austin seem to be solved. Go get your man.”