Page 8 of Never Sleigh Never

I can’t help it. “And don’t forget about the muscles.”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens and then closes again as if she’s suddenly at a loss for words. A warm sensation spreads throughout my chest. Who knew ruffling Cara Livingston’s feathers could be so…enjoyable?

As we get down to business and she reviews the plans so far, I’m torn between admiration for her enthusiasm and exasperation at her impracticality. Snow machines? A giant snow globe photo booth she insists is a must-have to capture the memories of the night? Where does she come up with this stuff?

“Whoa, slow down there, Tinkerbell,” I interrupt. “Have you thought about the cost of all this? Or how we’re going to set it up in two weeks?”

She deflates a little but rallies quickly. “The mayor has given me free rein, and I’m presenting to the city council on Thursday night to ask for a small, but manageable budget. I’m sure if we get the community on board—”

“In,” I check my watch, “thirteen days?” I shake my head, ignoring the twinge of guilt I feel at crushing her dreams, butthis is worse than I thought. “Cara, be realistic. We can’t pull off all of this.”

“Yes, we can!” she insists, her voice rising with determination. “Come on, Thomas. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

Gone a long time ago, sweetheart.

But that’s not what she wants to hear. Plus, something in my gut tells me there’s more to her motivation than she’s letting on. “Why are you so insistent? Where’s this drive to resurrect the Main Street Holiday Festival coming from all of a sudden, anyway?”

She hesitates for a minute, her gaze dropping to the floor before she answers. “I just miss the way Magnolia Point used to be during the holidays.”

I do, too, honey. But the past is dead and buried.

I study her for a minute and can tell she means what she says, but I can’t shake the feeling this girl’s holding something back, another reason she doesn’t want me to know. Before I can press further, she turns the tables on me. “What do you think is doable if you don’t like my ideas?”

I lean forward, spreading out her sketches. “I didn’t say I don’t like them,” I admit grudgingly. “And maybe, next year, we can incorporate some of the more ambitious suggestions, but for now, we need to keep it simple.”

To my surprise, I find myself getting caught up in the planning. As we go back and forth, finding compromise is easier than I thought it would be. With my pragmatism balancing her enthusiasm, a more manageable plan starts to take shape.

“We could use some old wooden pallets from behind my store to build small vendor stalls,” I suggest. “With a fresh coat of paint and some string lights between them, it would create a kind of Christmas market feel.”

Cara blinks at me, impressed. “That’s…a really great idea.”

I shrug, fighting a smile. “I’ve been known to have a good idea or two.”

As we continue planning, I find myself studying Cara more closely. The way her brow furrows in concentration, the excited gleam in those expressive eyes as she describes her vision. There’s more to this woman than I realized, and it’s…intriguing.

No, not intriguing.I mentally shake myself.Remember why you’re here, Crawford. You’re just helping out a neighbor, nothing more.

Finally, after an hour of hashing out details, we have a solid to-do list. Cara stares at it, a mix of excitement and trepidation on her face, and she lays a hand on my forearm. “We’re really doing this, huh? If I can convince the city council to give us the funds?”

I stare at the connection, the gentle way her fingers grip my arm, and can’t help the surge of jealousy that burns hotter than a welding torch at the thought of her boyfriend. I have no doubt Cara could charm a broken chainsaw into purring like a kitten if she sets her mind to it. Her boyfriend is one lucky guy. I nod, resigned but oddly satisfied. “Hope you’re ready for some long days.”

“You’re the one who better try to keep up.”

I chuckle, surprised by how much I’m looking forward to the challenge, although I can already tell not falling for this woman will be harder than any of the festival preparations.

As I get up to leave, I reach for another couple of cookies. “Thanks for these,” I say. “See you soon?”

A light pink flush spreads up her neck as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, see you soon.”

I duck out of the store, the bells jingling behind me as the sight of her standing there in that tight skirt with a rosy hue tinting her cheeks burns itself into my memory.

The night outside feels frigid as I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head of the scent of peppermint, and stare at thehomemade cookies in my hand, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into and why I can’t wait to see Cara Livingston again.

Cara

My wooden folding chairin the front row at the city council meeting creaks as I shift on it, waiting for my spot on the agenda. I smooth my navy slacks, paired with a stylish but professional cream cable-knit sweater, and adjust my necklace to move the clasp behind my neck. I’m not nervous, exactly. I just don’t want to assume this will be an easy win.

I assured Thomas the other night that securing the funding wouldn’t be a problem, but to be honest, I don’t think it will be that simple. It might take some persuasion for these fine folks to approve support for the Main Street Holiday Festival. But I’m here to convince them this isn’t just what I want. It’s what Magnolia Point needs.

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