Small Town Christmas (Blue Harbor #4) - Olivia Miles
1
Cora Conway popped open the box for her window display with the same sense of thrill that she experienced each year when it was time for the task. She knew that some people might think it was silly to put such effort into her annual Christmas window when she ran a year-round holiday shop, but it was tradition, and Cora loved nothing more than upholding traditions.
And that was why, every year, on Thanksgiving Day, when the store was closed, she spent the better part of the afternoon putting out the personal decorations that would not be on sale come tomorrow, when the shoppers decided to come in by the dozens, stuffed with turkey and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, ready to think about their next holiday. She had many decorations that were passed down from her grandparents to her mother and then, because she loved them the most of the four sisters, to her.
There were the nutcrackers and the porcelain village pieces, and the angels with delicate, gilded wings. There were the snowmen, and the snowflakes that sparkled when they caught the winter light.
But first, there was mistletoe.
Cora pulled her ladder to the front of the store, careful not to bump one of the many display tables that were overflowing with seasonal items, and stopped just beside the front door where she always hung a giant ball of mistletoe by a thick, velvet ribbon. She purchased it from the tree lot next door (yes, another tradition), because the only fake greenery she liked were the twelve-themed trees that filled the meandering rooms of her shop, and even then, she always kept a pine-scented candle lit to set the mood.
She climbed carefully, knowing from her father’s recent experience that it wasn’t always wise to climb a ladder when no one else was around unless you wanted to end up with a broken bone or two, but she had done this many times before, and besides, she was due at her childhood home for dinner in less than an hour. Surely, one of her sisters or cousins would come looking for her if she didn’t show up—especially since she was in charge of the butternut squash casserole this year. She was no cook, and it was hardly her favorite side dish, but it was the only bargaining chip she had with her father’s girlfriend, who loved nothing more than decorating a table. If Cora could only have one holiday to be in charge of overseeing, she called Christmas, leaving Candy with Thanksgiving, and Cora with…squash.
Of course, Candy had already thought of a wonderful idea for Christmas. Candy had hoped to create a candy cane theme, no surprise there. She’d been sure to let them know every chance she had, but Cora was planning on something more elegant. Something that went with the theme of this year’s window display at her shop: White Christmas, just like the snow that was already started to fall outside, covering Blue Harbor’s Main Street in a quiet blanket, and filling Cora with all the feels that she lived for, year-round. Here at Harbor Holidays, she was always surrounded by carols, and the smell of cinnamon and cloves. Even on the hottest of summer days, when tourists flocked to the small, lakefront Michigan town, they came into her store and smiled.
Christmas made people happy. It brought out the best in them. And it brought out the best in this town.
And maybe, Cora thought, as she reached her arm as high as she could, feeling for the hook, with the help of this mistletoe, it would eventually bring her a little romance, too.
She finally felt the ribbon catch when there was a jostling of the ladder and the jingle bells over the door jangled, and Cora felt herself get precariously close to losing her step. She cried out, her arms reaching for the tree topper on her nearest themed tree (also White Christmas, just for this year) but instead, she felt a strong hand on her wrist.
She looked down to see warm gray eyes staring back at her with the slightest sheen of amusement when it was established that she was, indeed, okay.
Her heart began to beat quickly, and this time, it had nothing to do with nearly falling off a ladder. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Swoon-worthy grin.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man apologized.
“We’re not open today,” she said, regretfully, knowing that she would gladly make the exception and not wanting him to make a quick departure, either.