Small Town Christmas (Blue Harbor #4) - Olivia Miles Page 0,7

suppressing one of her own sighs as Gladys gave her an obvious glare. A former shop owner herself, Gladys was likely to give Cora some unsolicited advice on customer service. Of course, of all times, Cora’s seasonal assistant was on break.

“Be sure to check out all the rooms,” she told the child. “In fact, I have one room of all pink ornaments.”

“Pink for Christmas?” The little girl giggled.

Cora shrugged. “Did you ever see The Nutcracker?” She received an affirmative nod of the head. “It’s the land of the sweets!”

Now the little girl scampered off without another word, and Cora was left to tend to Gladys, who made sure to pinch her lips long and hard enough for Cora to finally acknowledge her wait.

“Ah, a beautiful choice this year!” she said instead, refusing to have anyone muddle with her holiday spirit, even if she was starting to get in her own way of it.

She eyed the door again as the bell jangled. Nope. It was just one of her old schoolmates and her husband, not that she wasn’t happy to see them.

Gladys cleared her throat again, and Cora snapped back to her duties. Each year, Gladys added to her Christmas village, and this year’s piece was one of Cora’s personal favorites: a skating rink surrounded by snow-frocked trees.

She wrapped it carefully, secured the box with the red bow that was signature to the shop, and handed over the equally red bag. “Have a merry day!” she said, as she did on occasion. Today, it felt a little forced.

She helped a few more people, all of whom she knew, of course. That was life in Blue Harbor for you. The small, lakefront Michigan town was far north, and didn’t see many tourists this time of year. Her mind wandered back to the man from yesterday. He was probably passing through, in town for the holiday, probably in need of a last-minute gift for the hostess. No sense in pinning her hopes to anything there. Really, she should know better.

She should. Except when she finally finished ringing up the last person in line and then scooted to the front display table to straighten some of the miniature trees, her breath caught when she saw the door swing open and the very man from yesterday appear.

Her heart was beating faster than the drum in the carol playing over the speaker, and she swallowed hard, hoping she didn’t look quite as pleased as she felt, as she grinned.

“Welcome back!” she said warmly. Play it cool, Cora. But her cheeks were warm, and thanks to her fair complexion, she knew that they were probably bright pink, too. No poker face for her.

“You remember me,” he observed, seeming amused by this.

Yep, city stock. As if that wasn’t obvious by his attire, yet again. Meaning that he would probably be gone by Sunday. She stifled a sigh as the disappointment landed squarely in her chest.

“Small-town life,” she said with a shrug. “Everyone knows everyone.”

“Then you have me at a disadvantage,” he said, removing an expensive-looking leather glove and extending his hand.

“Cora Conway,” she said, slipping her hand in it. Oh, it was warm and smooth and large enough to cover her own. She could have lingered there half the day, but instead she did the professional thing and pulled it away, her gaze still holding his.

A little furrow formed between his brow, and he studied her for a moment. “Do you own this shop?”

“I sure do,” she said proudly. “And now I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

He laughed, a low, deep sound that she liked. A lot.

“I’m—” He hesitated. “Phil.”

“Phil…” She waited for his full name, but at that moment, the little girl from earlier burst to the front of the room, another cookie in her hand, and a cup of hot chocolate, too. One that looked like it could spill at any minute, and hopefully not on one of the white lace tablecloths or velvet Santas.

“Daddy! They have hot chocolate! And cookies! And there’s an entire room of pink ornaments! And it all sparkles,” she added, wistfully.

Phil laughed, and Cora could only look on with interest. This was the child’s father? She tried to remember what the little girl had said. About Thanksgiving. About the dog. About her family situation.

She glanced back at Phil, who was taking in his daughter’s excited chatter with a look of bewilderment and confusion.

“Watch the hot cocoa, Georgie,” he urged. “You don’t want to mess up anything in this pretty