Page 39 of Christmas in Paradise

When Carson comes back, he’s shaking water off his hands and the towel is nowhere to be seen. “You’re out of paper towels in there.”

“What did you do with the rag? She’s going to make more messes. That’s why she’s here instead of home. Doesn’t matter if she pees on this floor.” I scan the rest of the space for more messes I might have missed.

I meandogmesses. The whole place is a mess of my own making.

“I threw that gross thing away,” Carson says.

“Good call,” Bear says, suddenly Mr. Clean, despite the fact he’s tracked mud through my entire store and office.

“Why? What am I supposed to use now?” I turn in a circle, looking around for Radley who’s disappeared again.

Bear points under my desk, then lets out a sharp whistle. Radley’s ears perk up, and when he whistles again, she comes running. He picks her up and hands her to me.

“Don’t let her down.” He takes me by the elbow and leads me toward the hallway. “Come with me.”

I don’t argue as he walks me to the front of the shop. This area is more organized since customers come in here. I’ve got indoor lighting fixtures, unique light switch covers, outdoor lighting… lights. I’ve got a lot of lights and stuff.

And, of course, a tray of dessert bars, freshly baked. People who don’t know me assume Mrs. C. bakes them since they started showing up after she retired from teaching and hired herself to be my assistant. And probably because she’s a woman, even though there’s plenty of famous pastry chefs who are men.

I’m out on calls most of the day, so Mrs. C. is here to help any customers, answer phones, and schedule appointments. Most of my retail business comes from online orders, but occasionally people come in.

“Hello, boys,” she says, barely looking up from her knitting. “Have we got the puppy situation under control yet?”

“You’re in on this surprise attack too?” This is the final blow.

“She’s the one who planned it,” Bear says, like this kind of betrayal is an everyday thing. Without missing a beat, he turns his attention to Mrs. C. “Let’s see today’s work.” Now his voice is bright and cheerful.

Mrs. C. holds up the project she’s working on for all of us to see.

To be honest, a lot of Mrs. C.’s “assisting” comes in the form of sitting at the front register knitting. But not just knitting. The thing she does with big needles to create little animals, like foxes and frogs. Deer and moose when she wants to do something a little bigger.

She uses leftover wire for their bodies, so after she’s done her needle stuff, she can pose them. In clothes. Because she makes those for them too.

And I’m man enough to admit, they’re adorable.

“I’ve just started this little guy, but when I’m done, he’ll be a squirrel with pilot goggles and a leather jacket. A flying squirrel.” She flashes the same pleased smile she used to give me when I was in her second-grade class.

“I love it! That one willflyoff the shelves.” I wink at my joke, and she laughs. She’s generous about laughing at all my jokes, so I’ll forgive her betrayal.

In addition to desserts, I’ve got shelves full of Mrs. C’s creations. People love them. Sometimes they come into Sparks Electric just for desserts and little posable animals.

“Does that one go on the shelf too? Or can I buy it from you right now?” Carson asks while examining her other creations.

“This one is for Lynette. You know how she loves squirrels.” Still smiling, she goes back to needling—or whatever it’s called.

“Oh, I know.” I rub the back of my neck, thinking about the last time I encountered one of Lynette’s squirrels.

She may be afraid of aliens and doesn’t live in reality but every squirrel in town will eat from Lynette’s hand. The problem is, now they expect everyone to feed them, and they get a little aggressive when their target doesn’t freely offer up a snack. I had one run up my leg and try to grab a pumpkin bar from me the other day when I was walking down Main Street.

It was terrifying, yet somehow cute at the same time.

“I hate to interrupt your work, Mrs. C., but could you do something for Seb?” Bear picks up the little frog sitting on the register.

Mrs. C. stops her work long enough to watch him as carefully as she used to watch me when I was anywhere near a girl. I loved to tease them. Despite his size, Bear is surprisingly agile. He moves its arms into a different position that somehow makes the animal look more real, and Mrs. C. smiles with relief.

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for!” She sets down her project and stands.

“He needs the right equipment to train this puppy.” Bear sets down the frog and grabs a pen and piece of paper from in front of Mrs. C.

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