street to check out the snow globe, she kept herself in check. First order of business: find a phone charger. She forged ahead, walking past a fake snowman that had to be ten feet tall. She raised her hand in the air to give him a friendly high-five. She used to love building snowmen when she was a little girl. Like her Christmas trees, she loved her snowmen as tall as she could possibly make them. With Dad’s help, she’d made some real jumbos in the past. So tall that Dad would have to lift her high in the air so she could reach high enough to put the hat and scarf in place.
Each of the shops down Main Street had its own unique look. Some tall and squared off, others more Victorian in style with pretty gingerbread or scrolling trim. The varied styles and colors added to the charm. She must’ve lifted her phone a dozen times to capture some of this scenery to use as part of her research before remembering the battery was dead. She was dying to take pictures.
Her long white scarf swished nearly to her knees. She lifted one end and wrapped it around her neck to chase the nip in the air.
In the middle of the square, a huge banner was being hoisted across the road. A curly-haired woman stood on the sidewalk in heels and a pretty wool coat, directing two men in an effort to get a giant banner hung straight.
Unfortunately, it hung precariously at an angle.
The woman stood with her head cocked, motioning up and then back down without much luck.
Katie walked over to see if maybe they could help her find a charger. As she stood there, she too found herself leaning—first to the left, then the right—as the men hoisted and lowered the banner.
“Up,” the woman said. “Wait. Right there.”
The banner hung almost straight for a brief moment before it slipped again.
“No. Back down a smidge.”
Finally, Katie and the woman looked at each other and shrugged. “Easier said than done?”
“Apparently.”
Chapter Three
Michelle took a giant step back, eyeing the 50th ANNUAL EVERGREEN CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL banner across Main Street.
“Why is it so hard to get this banner straight?” She watched Ezra cling to the lines while perched on the top of the ladder.
Ezra hunched his shoulders as he hung tight to keep the banner from dropping all the way back down to the street. “I don’t know.”
Joe Shaw, owner of the Chris Kringle Kitchen across the street, steadied the ladder for Ezra.
There had to be a better way. Maybe one of those little bubble levels in the middle of it to help them see where they needed to adjust? It sloped so drastically at the moment that a bird couldn’t even perch on it without ending up across the street. That image gave her a brief stress relief.
“Let’s try it again,” Michelle said. “Up, like, two inches, Ezra.”
“Excuse me. Hi.”
Michelle spun around. A blonde wearing a deep green coat with a suitcase in tow stood right next to her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “My name is Katie. I just got to town, and I need to find a place I could find a phone charger, and—” She pointed to the sign. “Wow. Fifty years, huh?”
Michelle glanced back up at the banner, wishing it was straight. “Yeah. It’s the highlight of the holiday.”
“Looks like a lot of work,” she remarked.
“That the town has been able to pull it off for that long without missing a single year feels like a miracle sometimes.” Michelle hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “But no matter what happens, from pipes flooding our venue to snow drifts so high we couldn’t get across town, we always manage to make it wonderful.”
From up on the ladder, Ezra called down, still pulling on the rope with two hands in a failing attempt to keep the banner taut. “Crooked?”
Michelle gave him the stink-eye. “You say that every year, Ezra.”
“And every year, I’m right.”
“Which is the most frustrating part.” Katie and Michelle both looked at the sign, then tilted their heads. “Yes, the sign is crooked.”
Ezra shifted his footing. “Well, if Thomas was here, he’d have it up and straight in no time.”
Probably true. Thomas was a foot taller and probably outweighed Ezra by more than fifty pounds easy. He’d have no trouble managing that sign. Michelle felt a little pang of loneliness. “I know. Don’t remind me. They’re racing to close that logging camp before that storm rolls in.