Small Town Christmas (Blue Harbor #4) - Olivia Miles Page 0,23

from what he’d come to do here. What he had to do.

“I see you’re going to have a very pink tree!” She motioned to the items in his basket with a laugh.

“Not exactly traditional,” he said ruefully, but Cora just shook her head.

“Everyone has their own traditions, however unconventional. Pink ornaments will be yours.” She smiled at this, and despite everything, he joined her. “That is, unless you have other traditions?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Christmas was never a big deal for my family.”

Cora’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, it’s a very big deal for mine! We have special activities planned all season long, started as far back as I can remember. My mother would always make the smallest parts of the season special, beginning with the decorations. We came to love all of it so much, that we couldn’t even change up the dessert come Christmas Eve.” She laughed.

“My mom always makes a cake for Christmas,” Georgie announced.

Phil had forgotten that, but it was true. Usually he was working too late to taste any—she would send the leftovers home to her sister and three boys. Georgie would already be in bed, and the presents were already wrapped and under the tree. He was always there for the opening, of course. The swift destruction of paper that no doubt took hours to wrap.

So inefficient.

“We always have cranberry pie, and only for Christmas,” Cora said, smiling wistfully. “It’s nice to have something to look forward to all year, I think. Something to rely on?”

She blinked at him, as if waiting for confirmation. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—that might get them on the subject of the store itself—but he was jostled to the side by an elderly couple.

He moved toward the wall for more space. And privacy. Now was as good a time as any to broach the subject of selling this old building. Best to get it over with. Really, he’d never had a problem conducting such straightforward business before. But then, it was never personal before.

“Daddy, look at that angel!” Georgie said, coming up to them. She was pointing at an angel on the tree next to where he stood, and he craned his neck to look at it. Old and used, if anyone were to ask him.

“That one is not for sale, I’m afraid,” Cora said. “Actually, that angel was one of our traditions. I have three sisters, you see, and each year we would argue over whose turn it was to put the angel on the top branch.”

“Strange tradition. Arguing?” Exactly what Phil didn’t understand about the holiday. From where he stood, it just brought out the worst in people. His mother used it as an excuse to drink too much, to turn charitable events into social scenes. And his father saw it as an excuse to hide, to work more. But there was no arguing. They were never all together long enough to argue.

Cora tipped her head. Her eyes were bright as she stared up at the angel. “You’d think so, but that angel brings back some of my happiest Christmas memories, and we all need some of those.”

Phil’s smile felt tight. He had one happy Christmas memory. Just one. And he’d tried his best to forget it.

“Why isn’t it on your tree then?” Georgie asked.

“Good question.” Cora sighed heavily. “My family grew up and changed, and so did this tradition. I love Christmas the most, they all say, well, other than my mother, but I got it from her. So I brought the angel here, where she can always be with me and remind me of why I love this holiday, and this store so much.”

Phil felt his mouth go dry. He could swear the temperature in the room just went up a couple degrees.

“Well, we should probably let you get back to your customers,” he said. He took Georgie’s second basket from her hand. Normally he’d wade through the stuff. Half of it was dust-catchers that would either break or be forgotten come the day they took down the tree. The money would be better off in a high-interest college savings account, practically speaking.

But he was about to single-handedly shut this place down. The least he could do was buy a few ornaments.

Cora rang them up, and Phil couldn’t help but gape at the figure she told him. Another problem with a small store like this. Most people would only buy one or two things at these prices, and now that he looked