Page 20 of Home for Christmas in July

“Hi, Ms. Winters.”

Despite the fact that Delphina is an adult, a businessowner, and a member of my book club, she insists on calling me Ms. Winters. I get it. She’s known me since she was reading board books on her mother’s lap and wondering aloud if I lived at the library.

“Hey, Delphina. You really can call me Noelle,” I remind her.

“Sorry. It’s a habit,” she says, sliding several chocolate reindeer pops in alongside the peppermint-candy-coated vanilla pops. “What can I get you,Noelle?”

I scan the chalked menu that hangs on the wall behind her. “I’ll have a shakerato, please. A small one.”

The absolute last thing I need right now is a caffeine kick. I’m already buzzing with excited energy, but I can’t resist a good chilled shakerato on a hot afternoon. And Delphina happens to make one of the best I’ve ever had. It’s borderline magical, taking me back to the sultry summer I spent in Ravenna—one of the few pleasant memories of that period of my life.

She pours a shot of espresso and leaves it to cool on the counter while she dumps a cup of ice and a few teaspoons of brown sugar into a cocktail shaker. Then she adds the espresso and shakes the tumbler vigorously for a full minute. While she strains the drink into a glass, I unfold the map and spread it out on the counter.

She hands me my beverage and leans over to take a look. “Cool map. Where’d you get it?”

I’m too busy savoring the sweet, airy crema that tops the drink to answer. “Mmm, heavenly.”

“Thanks. The map?”

“I helped Holly and the gang bring the decorations downfrom the attic. There was an envelope with my name on it tucked in with Carol’s nutcrackers.”

She grins at the mention of the nutcracker collection, then gives in to her curiosity. “What was in it?”

“This map and a note labeled Clue No. 1.” I reach across the map and hand her the clue before she asks to see it.

She scans it and then looks up at me. “It’s a reference toThe Nutcracker, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. So the Sugar Plum Fairy has all the treats dance for Clara and the prince. Which one is strong?” She taps her lips in thought.

“The Arabian coffee dance,” I tell her.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oooh.”

“You still get that Arabica blend for Holly, right?”

She nods. “Yeah. It’s a little strong for my taste. I just used it in your espresso.”

“Where do you order it from?”

“Stonebridge Roasters. All my beans are locally roasted. I just got a fresh delivery yesterday, ” she tells me proudly.

“Was there a message or package for me?” I ask, feeling stupid.

“No, sorry. It was just a regular order. Twenty pounds of beans and an invoice.” Then a thoughtful look crosses her face. “Stay right there!”

She disappears behind the swinging door into the back of the shop, and I sip my drink.

A moment later, she returns, clutching an envelope and wearing a triumphant expression. “Look!”

She hands me another tiny envelope. This one’s labeledClue No. 2.

“When did you get this?”

“I’d forgotten all about it. It was months ago—after last Christmas in July. But it was still hot. So August, maybe? Gray showed up with my delivery from Stonebridge Roasters. This envelope was taped to the invoice. I asked him about it, and he said he’d been asked to deliver it to me. He said at some point someone would come in asking for it and I should give it to them. I guess that’s you.”

“You didn’t open it?” My tone oozes disbelief because there’s no way I could have left an envelope labeled ‘clue’ sitting around unopened almost a year. My curiosity would drive me straight up the wall.

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