An Heirloom Christmas Page 9
Nick half-watched the game, but each scored goal only made him focus on a different goal: to make things right with Chrissy.
For that, he would need to come up with an entirely new game plan.
Chrissy
THE TREE WASN’T an eyesore, but it certainly wouldn’t be gracing the cover of any holiday home magazine. Chrissy wished she hadn’t dropped that box of ornaments, and not just because it left her with a sparsely decorated tree. Those particular ornaments had been her mother’s, some of the few things she had left of hers. It wasn’t like they were handed down in some heartfelt ceremony. In fact, her mom had wanted to donate them, but offered them to Chrissy at the last moment.
Chrissy wasn’t particularly fond of them—they were just silver and gold glass balls, nothing special—but at the time, she grasped onto anything her mother passed her way. Audrey had been sick for a couple of years at that point and Chrissy found herself clinging to any and everything having to do with her mother, whether that be a box of old, secondhand ornaments, or her sage advice.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to call her mom and ask her opinion on things with Nick. Audrey had always loved Nick, but she also knew the heartbreak Chrissy experienced when he left to pursue his hockey career. As moms often do, Audrey had picked up her daughter’s pieces and kept her moving forward, encouraging new hobbies and interests. It was around then that the two decided to open up the candle shop. Audrey had a high school friend back east who had just launched her own small business and a visit out to her store was all the encouragement Audrey needed to set her mind on something similar for Heirloom Point.
Chrissy had always loved candles, so she required little convincing. A candle could represent so many things. They were romantic when placed in the center of a beautifully set dining table. They were cozy when flickering on a Christmas hearth. They provided light when things seemed dark, and they twinkled during long, endless storms.
And they smelled so good. That was probably Chrissy’s favorite part.
Curling her hand around her mug of cider, Chrissy drew in a slow, simmering sip. Her holiday drink reminded her of one of her candles from a few years back: Merry Mulled Christmas Cider. She had sold out of that candle in three days flat. Everyone seemed to love the rich, earthy aroma. She was starting to worry that she’d never come up with something new for this year, let alone top the success of that particular candle.
Hoping to relax and forget about her candle deadline for the night, Chrissy made plans to cozy up with a book and read by the fireplace and recently setup Christmas tree, but her brain couldn’t focus on the words on the page. Paragraph after paragraph muddled into one another until Chrissy had turned several pages without recalling anything that had happened. She shut her book and discarded it to the side table.
She glanced around the room. How she loved this space, mostly for the massive picture windows that took in all of Cresleigh Street. When she had renovated the home, she had wanted to keep many original elements, while at the same time bringing the house’s efficiency up to modern times. She adored the old Victorian for the detailed crown molding and the high ceilings. It felt rich and opulent, which was ironic considering the money pit the home turned out to be. Somehow, Chrissy made things work, but the restoration had drained her savings account. That made her uneasy. Living paycheck to paycheck wasn’t her ideal plan, but sometimes life didn’t go according to plan.
Looking out the windows, Chrissy admired the lights that shone brightly from her neighbors’ rooflines and gutters. Some pulsed with holiday music and others glowed a steady, white brilliance. She appreciated that everyone took the time to decorate their homes for the holidays. There wasn’t a single Scrooge to be found in her neighborhood.
With her mediocre tree center stage, framed in by those prominent windows, she realized she needed to put in a little more effort in the decorating department. There was no sense in showcasing something so uninspiring. The tree needed a theme, one that involved more than just simple, strung cranberries.
Chrissy had been grateful for Everleigh’s suggestion, and even more grateful for the help in making the garland. Just like her burned fingertips during the wreath making, Everleigh managed to jab her finger on multiple occasions while she pierced the cranberries with the needle. Chrissy began to wonder if her sister needed glasses; she seemed so accident prone lately.
Laughing to herself, Chrissy almost didn’t hear the rap on the front door. Another louder knock had her rising to her feet.
“Hope I’m not bothering you.” Chrissy’s father stood on the threshold, a small crockpot in his grip and a wide grin under his mustache. “Sandra dropped off some stew at the station today and there’s more than we can all eat. Have you had dinner yet?”
“I haven’t.” Lee lifted the lid to the pot and the hearty aroma wafted out. Chrissy’s stomach growled on cue. “That smells amazing. Thanks for thinking of me, Dad. I’d love some.”
Walking through the foyer toward the kitchen, Lee placed the pot onto the marble island and reached into the cupboards to retrieve two bowls.
“You’re doing me a favor,” Lee said with a wink as he opened the cutlery drawer and took out two soup spoons. “I think Miss Sandra is trying to fatten me up. This is the third meal she’s brought by this week.”
“I think that woman is interested in more than fattening you up, Dad.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Lee ladled a hefty scoop into each bowl and carried them to the dining table where Chrissy joined him. She handed him an embroidered cloth napkin and then sat down.
“I think she’s got a crush on you,” she said.
Lee flapped the napkin at his daughter. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends. Known each other forever.”
“Yes, but you’re a bachelor now.”
“I certainly don’t feel like a bachelor.”
“I know you don’t. But I think enough time has gone by since Mom passed that people figure you’re in the market again, you know? And maybe enough time has passed. Have you thought about dating at all?”
Leaning back in his chair, Lee thumbed his chin. “Sure. I suppose I’ve thought about it. But Chrissy, I wouldn’t even know how to ask a woman out. It’s been over thirty years since I’ve had to do that.”
“I get it, Dad. I do. It’s been a decade since I’ve been in any sort of relationship and the thought of going on a date now gives me tons of anxiety.”
“You’re thinking about dating again?”
Chrissy swallowed down the bite of stew in her mouth and ran her napkin across her lips. “I don’t know. I think I might’ve misspoke. I’m not really thinking about dating again, it’s just, with Nick being back and all…”
“Do you think there’s still something there?” Something shifted in her father’s gaze, a glint of hope alight in his eye. Lee tilted his head.
Chrissy sighed. She didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, least of all, her dad’s. She knew he had once thought of Nick as a son. “I don’t know, Dad. I mean, yeah, there’s always been something. I loved him for a long time. I wasn’t ready to end things.” She couldn’t trap the tear that formed. She thrust her thumb to her eye to swipe it away before it had the chance to fall.
Lee reached across the table and covered his daughter’s hand with his. “Chrissy, if there’s anyone who understands that, it’s me.”
“Gosh, Dad. I’m so sorry. I’m being really insensitive.” She sniffed back any other tears that threatened to spill.
“No, you’re not. You had an entire life planned with Nick and that ended. Just like mine ended with Mom.”
“Things ended because we chose to end it, even if deep down, I didn’t want to. It’s sad that it did, but it was still a choice.” Chrissy mindlessly twirled her spoon in the stew. “Things with Mom—there wasn’t any choice involved there.”
“I get that the circumstances were different, but a broken heart is a broken heart,” Lee sai
d, looking at his daughter with affection. “Listen, as a father, all I want in this life is to see my girls happy.”
“I am happy, Dad. I love my candle shop. I love this house. This town. There’s so much to love about my life.”
“And maybe there’s an opportunity for even more. That’s all I’m saying. Don’t wall yourself off when it comes to love, Chrissy. There’s always room for more.”
* * *
CHRISSY COULDN’T LIE. It was nice to have a working heater in the shop again, even if it was only a space heater and even if it only warmed up about three feet of the store at a time. She cozied up next to it in the back room for most of the morning and savored each moment it oscillated her direction, warming her with a gust of hot air.
She had arrived early after a night of tossing and turning. Sleep eluded her. The delicious stew her dad brought over sat well with her, but the conversation hadn’t. Even Chrissy’s father seemed to be glad that Nick was in town again. Was she the only one who hadn’t come to that conclusion yet?
“Mornin’ Sunshine!” Everleigh burst through the door with a sing-song shout. “Actually, there isn’t any sun to speak of, but Mornin’ Snowstorm doesn’t have the same ring to it.” She caught sight of Chrissy who came out to greet her. “Hmm,” Everleigh muttered, noticing her sister’s scowl. “Snowstorm might be a more fitting greeting for you based on the glare you’re shooting at me right now.”
Chrissy’s eyes zeroed in on the white sheet of paper in her sister’s hands. “What is that?”
“Oh, this?” Everleigh held up the note. “I found it stuffed in your wreath. Looks like another note.”
“Give it here.” Chrissy flapped her hands at her sister, requesting the piece of paper.
Everleigh lifted it high, like a game of keep away. “What? Do you have a secret admirer? Is this a love letter? Is that what this is?”
“Just let me see it.”
Arm still stretched, Everleigh unfolded the sheet and began to read aloud:
It’s a tradition that’s been held for many generations,
Where we collect our coats and head down to the station.
So gather up all of your holiday donations
And don’t miss out on this town-wide celebration!
“That’s right!” Everleigh folded the letter and handed it to her sister. “The coat drive is today. Weird that someone would send out a reminder, but I guess it’s necessary because I, for one, totally forgot. Gotta raid my closet and see what I can part with.”
Chrissy’s heart sank. Maybe that’s exactly what these notes were: friendly reminders of Heirloom Point traditions. Why had she assumed she was the only one to receive them? It was a naïve hope to believe they were from Nick. Plus, there wasn’t anything even remotely romantic or date-worthy about a clothing drive. Not that a trip to the tree lot was considered romantic, either, but Chrissy sure did have some fond memories of visiting Nick while he worked there back in the day.
“You seem disappointed,” Everleigh said. “Were you hoping it was something else?”
Chrissy folded the paper. “No. No.” She shook her head. “I figured it was probably some sort of notice. Anyway, I should get back to work. This holiday candle won’t create itself!”
“I’m beginning to think you won’t create it either,” Everleigh teased.
“You might not be wrong.”
Laughing, Everleigh snickered, “I’m never wrong.”
Nick
“THERE’S A BARREL by the door. Would you check to see what we’ve got in there so far?” Grace asked her son as she looked up from the inventory clipboard in her hands.
Working at the hardware store wasn’t Nick’s dream for this new chapter in his life, but the holidays were their busiest times and they needed all the extra help they could get. Nick looked at it as a transition period until he figured out how he wanted to spend his days. For now, it paid the rent and he even enjoyed the extra time spent with his mom and dad. It was a literal Mom and Pop Shop and he was grateful they’d been able to keep it running all of these years. That hadn’t been the case for all stores like this, and he knew it was a blessing that its doors were still open.
Peering into the donation barrel, Nick was shocked to see it stuffed to the brim with new and slightly worn coats and jackets. He couldn’t count them all just by looking, but he guessed there were upwards of twenty crammed into the bin.
Grace came up behind him. “Wow! Look at that! You’re going to have your arms full!” She reached in and started to retrieve the coats from the large tub, pulling them out one by one and shoving them into her son’s arms. “Take these on down to the station for me, will you?”
The Heirloom Point Police Station was just a block up from McHenry Hardware. It made no sense to load things into a car and drive, but there were more jackets than Nick could carry in one trip. And the snow had been falling steadily all afternoon, coating the pavement with a thin, but hazardous, overlay of sleet. He had visions of tumbling down the sidewalk while negotiating such a load. At least he would have plenty of cushioning to pad his fall.
Grace seemed to get a kick out of stuffing the coats into her son’s arms, giggling the entire way through. When she ran out of room, she draped them over his shoulders, and even used the hood of one jacket to hang from his head. Stepping back, she covered her mouth as she took in the sight.
“That’s perfect!” She couldn’t contain the laugh at the end of her words.
“I look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.”
“Yes! That’s exactly what you look like, but it’s all for a good cause.” She shooed him with her clipboard after she picked it back up, ready to continue her work. “Now get on down to the station before this storm gets worse. We’re expected to get six more inches by nightfall.”
Waddling his way toward the door, Nick shook his head, but doing so caused the jackets to slip, so he kept his outward grumbling to a minimum. As his mom had said, it was all for a good cause.
Keeping his gaze forward, Nick reached for the handle and opened the door, careful to maintain purposefully slow strides so as not to drop everything onto the slush-coated pavement. The air that rushed at him was stinging cold, but with all the layers, Nick scarcely felt it. In fact, with each step, he found himself working up a sweat. His knee bothered him again—always seemed to lately—and it didn’t care that he had such a precarious task ahead of him. He ignored the ache and looked straight ahead toward the brick station at the end of the block, needing to focus on a goal. Luckily, the town square was quiet and empty, the rest of the population wise enough to stay indoors. He really didn’t want any spectators for this particular task.
It took three times as long as it should have, but Nick reached the station intact, every jacket still in place. He was unreasonably proud about that. Through the glass door, Lee caught sight of Nick ambling up the walk and rushed forward to open it before he had a chance to.
“Hey there, buddy,” Lee greeted. “Looks like you’ve got your arms full. Let me get that for you.”
Tumbling into the lobby, Nick breathed a huge sigh of relief. He thought his hockey uniform had a lot of padding, but this took the cake. “I’m here with our store’s donations,” Nick said cheerily, even if it wasn’t as heartfelt as he hoped. “Where should I put them?”
Nick turned around as the door opened again.
It was Chrissy, and when she took in the ridiculous sight, she pinned her lips between her teeth to stifle the laugh Nick knew was coming. He couldn’t blame her. He looked absurd.
“Hey, Nick,” she said as her mouth edged into a slow smile. “That is you in there, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Nick answered. “Somewhere in here.”
“Let’s get those off of you, son. Must be getting awfully toasty.” Lee stepped forward and took Nick’s shoulders into his grasp as he navigated him toward the row of barrels lined up along the south wall. “We can put everything in those collection barrels.”
Nick gulped back his embarrassment and laughed. “All the barrels have wheels on the bottom?”
“Sure do,” Lee said as he removed the jackets—one by one—from Nick’s silly ensemble. “It was your mom’s idea, actually. Your store supplied them, too. Really nice of your parents.”
“So this whole getup”—Nick waved a hand up and down his body—“was purely for my mom’s entertainment. I could have just wheeled our barrel on over?”
“Seems to be the case,” Lee said, grinning.
“And for our entertainment, too,” Chrissy chimed in. “I’m glad I decided to come down here when I did. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”
Nick looked over at her now that he could move more easily without the cumbersome layers. “Where’s your donation barrel, Chrissy?”
Like she’d seen the Ghost of Christmas Past, Chrissy’s face drained of color. “My barrel?”
“Yeah, your collection for the coat drive? You didn’t just wheel yours on down the street like everyone else?”
Stammering, she swallowed and then said, “I just have the one,” as she slipped an arm out of the purple wool coat she had been wearing. She folded it over her arm and then passed it to her father. “Looks like everyone used your drop-off location instead,” she said to Nick.
“Looks like,” Nick agreed, his eyes squinting as he tried to figure her out. She wasn’t offering much to work with. He placed the last jacket into the barrel, double checking to make sure the one he was left wearing belonged to him and wasn’t meant for donation, too. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Aren’t you going to be a little cold walking back to your shop without a jacket?”