porch. I don’t like to be kept waiting, Angus.” A low, throaty, intimate laugh erupted when she heard Angus’s reply.
Josh Eagle happened to be on the loading dock when Angie arrived. He was dressed in jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt, and battered high-top sneakers. Toss your line in the pond and reel him in. He looked good enough to make a girl’s head spin. Not that hers was spinning. Well, maybe it was revolving just a tiny bit. “Hi,” she said brightly, as he reached out to take the box of magazines from her. She went back out to her car to get the other two boxes and they headed to her shop.
“What are you going to do with these?” Josh asked when he set the last box on the counter in the gift wrap department. Angie explained. She liked the sudden twinkle she saw in Josh’s eyes. “Do you think it will work?” His voice was beyond anxious-sounding.
“A homemade, down-home Christmas! Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? I’m almost certain it will work. I really am. But we need a campaign to go with it. I think you might have to call an advertising agency to get it off the ground. We’re just two people, Josh, we’re going to need help. I’m determined that you are going to go out of here with a bang. Along with your father’s respect.” Now it was her turn to sound anxious. “Are you having second thoughts about leaving?”
“No, not at all,” he lied with a straight face. Suddenly the allure of the prestigious Harrods and going to England were losing their appeal.
“I know this is none of my business, but do you have an operating account to draw from? Do I have to run everything by you, or do you trust me to order things without your approval? How do you want me to arrange payment?”
“Yes, no, and just charge everything to the store. I’ll give you a corporate card. And, yes, I trust you. I have phone calls to make and several meetings with some of the old staff. The discount people are here to start moving all the merchandise. Alma Bennett is in charge of all that. The minute everything is out of the store, an electrician is coming in. And then the painters, who promised to do their work at night. A cleaning crew will be right on their tails to clean and polish the new floor. That’s more or less behind-the-scenes stuff. Our real challenge is to get merchandise to fill the space. I’ll call an advertising agency at some point this morning to get that going. You’ll have to sit in on that meeting. How about lunch?”
“I’d love to have lunch with you. How about twelve thirty in the food court?”
“Works for me.” His hands jammed into his jean pockets, Josh started to whistle as he made his way to the second floor. He could hardly wait for lunch.
“Are those stars I see in your eyes, Angie?” Bess asked.
“Nope. Just new contact lenses.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, what’s up? What do you want me to do?”
Angie quickly outlined her plans, then told Bess everything that had transpired since she’d seen her last.
“Wow! Can we do it all in time? What about the vendors? They promise everything and give you zip.”
“I know, I know, so we’re going to insist on penalty clauses. We’re also not really going to count on them. We’re going to make this a down-home Christmas and try…I said try, to get up and running with the cottage-industry merchandise. Today you and I are going to scour these books, call the little companies, and see what we can get here in time. We won’t have to worry about gift wrapping today since the store is closed. Everything is on target with your husband and the decorations, right?”
“John is on it. He loves woodworking. He’s made prototypes and is working off them. It will all be done in plenty of time. So tell me what’s responsible for the sparks in your eyes. Is it Josh Eagle? Wooeee, you’re blushing, Angie.”
“I am not. It’s . . It’s really warm in here. Now, let’s make some coffee and hit these magazines.”
The morning passed quickly as the women consumed two pots of coffee while earmarking pages for further discussion. By noon, Angie’s yellow legal pad was full of telephone numbers and notes on which merchandise she was interested in.
With one box of magazines to go, Angie washed her hands, fluffed up