Page 117 of The Crush of Christmas Past
As she should.
“I can come by in a few days to discuss a plan,” Isla offers. “As a returning client, you will still benefit from my special discount for locals.” She adds the last part with the confidence of someone who knows her worth, but also loves her community.
“We appreciate that, dear,” Mrs. Patel says. “You’re as kind as you are hardworking. We’re very grateful to be able to grow our relationship with your business.”
“Grow—get it?” Mr. Patel laughs.
Isla’s smile stretches even wider. A great privilege lies in watching her recognize her success. She’s building something special here. Something that matters. Not just a portfolio, but a fresh start. And I’m lucky enough to get to witness it.
I thank the husband-and-wife team for their time, then slide my arm around Isla’s waist, drawing her closer. “Ready for our next stop?”
“Yes,” she whispers back. “If we don’t get going, I’m afraid you’ll end up with a full-time job arranging boutonnieres.”
“Come on, Sunshine. We’ve got a packed schedule ahead of us.”
I’ve closed multimillion-dollar brand pitches with less prep than today’s date.
This moment with my girl, though? It’s worth more than any contract I’ve ever signed.
“Looks like Santa made someone’s wish come true!” Nicholas Nightingale may have traded his red suit for a pink button-down and heart-covered suspenders, but he’s just as jolly today.
The atmosphere inside the old Sugarpine Springs Library, though, is decidedly anti–Valentine’s Day. All tables are decked out in dim lamplight, a vinyl record spins something jazzy in minor-key, and Isla’s red-and-black posters add a dramatic flair to the gloom. Each is stamped with bold typography and cheeky taglines like:Heartbroken? Come rage-read with us!andForget meet-cutes! We’ve got meat cleavers!
A cluster of attendees sit on fold-out chairs in a semi-circle, sipping tea from mismatched mugs and chattering with the kind of camaraderie only mutual disdain for the holiday can inspire. They’re deeply engrossed in dissecting a gory scene from a new horror release—something about a serial killer yanking the hearts out of newly engaged couples.
No judgement.
Last year, I would’ve been an ideal candidate for the club.
“I’d invite you to join our Bleeding Hearts Brigade meeting, but I fear you two will not fit in wearing those big grins.” He turns to Isla, eyes gleaming, chest puffed with pride. “Your posters brought in a whole new crowd.” He plucks one fromhis desk. “Cupid missed. Our villains have better aim. That one was a hit! We’ve had a great turnout of bitter singles looking to drown their sorrows in a little stabby action—of theknifevariety.”
“The prints look great,” I say. “Creepy enough to hook scare-seekers without spooking more delicate patrons.”
“And the lovely lady did it all for free!”
“I couldn’t charge a public library!” Isla looks genuinely aghast. “We all know how much of your own time and money you put into maintaining this place, Nick.”
He shoots her an appreciative smile, then turns to me. “Did she tell you she volunteered to revamp the children’s section next week? We’re doing a spring refresh that will hopefully engage some of our middle-grade demographic.”
“She did.” I look down at Isla, anticipating her usual deflection—something self-deprecating and charming—but she’s too caught off guard to downplay it this time.
“You’re really doing it, Sunshine,” I say softly. “Leaving your mark on this whole town. On your terms.”
When Nick runs over to answer someone’s question, Isla pins me with a wide-eyed look.
“I know what you’re doing!”
I arch a brow. “Yeah? What am I doing?”
She hesitates, then glances around the room again—the posters, the people, the buzz. Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re showing me off.” A small frown creases her brow. “But not to other people. You’re showing me off to…me?”
I nod. “And what do you think?”
She blinks. “I think…” A small puff of air passes her lips. “I didn’t expect it to feel this big. So special.”
“Itisbig, Isla. You’re so brilliantly special.”
Her breath stutters, and her entire body stiffens. But instead of flinching away from the weight of my statement like she once would have, she stepsintome. Grabs hold of my jacket and yanks me toward the shadowy maze of the nonfiction section.
