Page 94 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

We pull up to the tents. A midfifties woman comes out of the building, arms full of light strings. “Oh, good. I wondered where you’ve been. I need you and Jack to hang these.” She glances at me. “Who’s your lady friend?”

Lady friend!

I hop off the seat, landing with what I hope is at least a modicum of grace. “I’m happy to help. I love Christmas in July.”

“Except it’s only going to be June,” says a younger woman, frowning as she tries to step around two collies that keep weaving around her legs. “Georgie, Finnegan, please!”

The dogs sit for a moment, as if trying to prove they can behave, but within three steps are back to getting in the woman’s way.

Randy rounds the back of the cart. “That’s Mom and my sister, Gina. She’s not thrilled with our summer endeavor.”

“I’ve barely recovered from Christmas. July makes more sense, but I know, I know. We want to make it an end-of-school thing.” Gina sets a pile of heavy wire rings on a long table outside the closest tent. “Am I really making pine wreaths in this heat? They’ll wilt in a day.”

Their mother looks up at that. “You’re right. Don’t do natural wreaths. Maybe make some out of ribbon. And maybe not Christmas colors. Summer.”

Gina separates the wire circles into piles. “Did we order ribbon for this? And I guess I can google how to make them?”

Their mother places the light strings onto the table. “Isn’t the internet full of tutorials?”

“Kelsey here’s good at decorating,” Randy says, and if he were anybody else, I would have kicked him. I’m not ready to perform in front of future in-laws!

His mother turns to me. “Excellent. You and Gina figure out some sort of wreath that will hold up for seven days. We need a dozen of them to decorate the light poles on the main path.” She gestures to the narrow road that extends from the buildings to the forest. Each row has an old-fashioned lamp pole at the end.

“Happy to,” I say, even though I’m anything but. I might kick him after all.

“Kelsey grew up on a dairy farm in Alabama,” Randy says. “She’s staying at the homestead.”

“How lovely,” his mom says, walking forward to extend a hand. “I’m Carrie Hanover. How long will you be in Glass?”

Her hand is rough and strong, like my mom’s once was. It knocks me slightly off center. “We’ll be here a week, maybe a little more.”

“We?” Carrie’s head tilts.

Oh, crap. I quickly add, “My coworker, Zachery, and I.”

“I mentioned them the other day after I accepted the reservation,” Gina says to her mother. “A man and a woman, separate rooms.”

“Is the master bedroom downstairs still getting renovated?” Carrie asks.

Gina nods. “We have to fix the shower.”

Carrie turns to Randy. “You should get to that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gina turns to me. “You’re from Hollywood?”

And there it is.

I think fast. “Zach grew up there.” Still true while admitting nothing.

But Gina is persistent. “But you two work together?”

“We do.”

“Don’t grill her, Gina,” Randy says.

“The girls can talk about things while they make wreaths,” Carrie says. “You and Jack are hanging lights.”

---