Tic-Tac-Mistletoe - N.R. Walker Page 0,4

would be full to brimming. Her own four kids and their spouses plus the sixteen grandkids and a great-aunt from the nursing home, was a little too full to brimming for me. I wasn’t up for that kind of family holiday.

Not this year, anyway.

“I really appreciate the offer, Mrs Barton,” I said. “But I’m fine, thank you. And I won’t be alone. I have Chutney.”

We both turned to look at my dog Chutney who was laying by the service counter. She tilted her head at her name, the cute way dogs do, and Mrs Barton turned back to me and sighed. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. Again. “Now, you better get going before this storm hits.”

“Yes, yes,” she said as she pulled on her overcoat. “And you should too. It’s really starting to come down now. Don’t stay late today, promise?”

“I promise,” I said, smiling.

And she was right. There was a storm rolling in from the east, and it was supposed to dump a few feet of snow overnight. It was midday, December twenty-third and it was already getting dark and gloomy outside. Snow had been falling pretty steadily all morning, and all the last-minute Christmas shoppers had left Main Street an hour ago. Hell, my last customer was about an hour before that.

It had been a busy week though, with everyone getting their homes ready for Christmas, fixing things around the house before guests arrived. And vacation time was a good excuse to do those chores they’d be putting off all year. The holidays were always a busy time of year in the hardware business.

I followed Mrs Barton to the front door and made sure she got her car started okay. I waved her off as she drove away and glanced down the snow-covered street. It was empty; not a car or a customer in sight. Main Street, Hartbridge, didn’t have much exactly: a hair salon, convenience store, electronics store, auto shop, library, a few clothes stores, and town hall.

Hartbridge’s one and only diner, which was directly across from my hardware store, was still open, though I doubted they’d be open for long. I took out my phone to put a lunch order in, but there was still no service.

Dammit.

I threw on my coat, pulled on my knitted hat, and went out the front door. I didn’t even lock the door. The good folks of Hartbridge were as honest as the day was long, but there was no one around for miles. I could see if anyone drove up anyway and be back in the store in just a few seconds.

The diner was warm, and pulling off my hat, I smiled at Carl who came out to see who had made the front door chime. He was a middle-aged man, kinda round in the middle, and he made the best homemade pie in the state. “Ah, Ren,” he said, smiling. He nodded to the front windows. “Looks like it’s settling in out there.”

“Yep. Gonna be a good storm, I’d say. Think you’ll be open for long?”

“Nope. Was just clearing out the fridges now. I saw McGee pull his shutters down about an hour ago.”

McGee was the mechanic down the road. “Not many folks out driving in this weather,” I replied.

“Nah, suppose not. What can I get for you? Did you want something to take home? You know, I think I have some of that berry cobbler you like.”

“You know me too well.” I grinned at him. “Have you got any of that roast beef left over from lunch yesterday?”

“Sure do! Let me go see what I can find.”

He disappeared back through the swinging doors into the kitchen and I turned to the front windows, watching the snow in front of my shop. Hartbridge Hardware had been there for almost seventy years now. My grandfather’s boss had started the store way back then and sold it to my grandfather, who passed it on to his son, my dad.

And now it was mine.

I grew up in that store. I knew every grain in those wooden floors; I knew every bolt and screw, every pipe, every creak in the stairs. My earliest memories are of being in there with my dad, sitting up on the counter, all of four years old. I stacked shelves when I was not much older than that and worked there after school and on weekends.

And still, every morning when I’d unlock the doors and flip on the lights, that familiar smell