Page 38 of Any Girl But You
“Absolutely,” I say, and follow Debbie to the car. She pops open the trunk and a gust of hearty smoked meat hits me. Not only does Debbie have a few crockpots, I’m pretty sure she’s emptied the grocery store. I see buns, bags of chips, a cooler, fruit salad, paper plates, and…No way. “Did you make Minnesota sushi?”
Debbie’s grin rivals Noah’s. “Of course I did. When was the last time you’ve been to a potluck? We’d have a mutiny on our hands if I didn’t.”
The last time I was at a potluck, I was probably in diapers. My mouth is salivating at the dill pickles wrapped in cream cheese and deli ham. I wonder if I can sneak one before the rest of the crew arrives.
“I am so happy to talk to you,finally,” Debbie says as she loads up my outstretched arms. “Ever since you and Zoey met, she’s been Chatty Cathy about her time with you. I haven’t heard her so excited since we finally gave in and bought her a custom skateboard when she was twelve.”
Not only does my heartbeat speed up, but I also have so many questions. Skateboard? Zoey? What other little details is she hiding? Every morsel I uncover about her makes me want to dig for more intel. “Oh, really?”
“Oh yeah. She calls me at nights on the way home from being here with you. And well, I just think whatever you two have is something really special. It’s the happiest I’ve seen Zoey in a long time, and just warms my mama heart, you know?” She grabs a crockpot, and we stroll towards the barn. “I’m just glad she met someone so special to her.”
I am swooning at this information overload, and bite back the urge to learn more. I smile at Debbie, but a small pinch grows in my chest. Zoey is special to me, too. So much so that I can’t do anything that will harm what we have. For today, Ineed to stop thinking about all things Zoey and focus on the craft bonanza about to occur.
Inside the barn, Debbie stops in the doorway and drags her gaze across the space. “Quinn. Oh my gosh, this is beautiful!” She steps further inside, sets her crockpot on a table, and rests her hands on her hips, doing a full turn. “I really can’t believe it. You’ve done such a fantastic job.”
The place is coming together, finally. And thank God, too, because we are at t-minus three weeks before opening day on Thanksgiving weekend. Besides severe lack of inventory—which will hopefully get supplemented today along with the shipments of wreaths, cloths, and candles coming in next week—I can almost see the holiday spirit fill the place. The huge, artificial trees in the corners of the barn drip with light, Santa’s photo op station is nearly complete with the large wooden chair and painted signs, and the display stand is built and ready to get filled.
“Thank you.” I’m beaming so hard it’s embarrassing. I plug the crockpots in at the prep station and reach for some serving bowls for the chips. “I could not have done all of this without Zoey’s help.”
“Oh gosh, stop. You totally could have. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast in all my life,” Zoey calls from where she’s sitting by Noah at a craft table.
“Well, you two are certainly capturing the magic of Christmas,” Debbie says. “And that is something to be really proud of.”
It’s official. I am asking Debbie to adopt me.
Within a few hours, the space fills quickly with kids from Debbie’s school, parents, grandparents, and the church ladies. The children scatter among two tables, most painting small wooden ornaments of Santa Claus. Debbie assumes a teacherstance and bounces between tables, helping kids, wiping hands, and filling up paint stations.
The church ladies are almost louder than the children, and it cracks me up. One, with the help of her husband and few other folks, even lugged in this insanely fancy sewing machine that auto-sews a Christmas message on dishtowels. Another small group is in the corner, ironing embroidery stencils on dish rags, and others are either painting ornaments or putting together foam snowmen with top hats.
As the chatter sounds below, and Alexa booms holiday music, Zoey and I are on ladders on the opposite edges of the room, wrapping the last string of lights across the beams.
“Higher?” Zoey calls out to her mom, who dashes to each corner of the room to check the angle.
Debbie cups her hands around her mouth. “Yes, a few inches, no, lower… There! Perfect.”
“Thank you!” I call out and carefully lower myself from the rungs. The very last thing I need is to pull a Zoey and crack my foot before opening night. When I reach the bottom, I clap my hands off and allow my gaze to fall over the room.
This…is life. People chatting, BBQ and sloppy joe scents swirling in the air, Christmas music, the children proudly putting their ornaments on the drying table. The church ladies stack towels and rags in a corner, some hang things on a tree, others decorate the display case. My heart is so full I think it’s gonna burst.
It feels like a family. An actual family. Support, community, the type of environment people talk about, probably what Frankie felt like on her sports team, but I’ve never had this. It feels full. Wonderful.
My chin trembles. I can’t believe I almost risked this all by kissing Zoey.
“You doing okay?” Zoey says as she steps to me and hands me a bottle of water.
“I am. I just… I’m shocked all these people came here.” My voice cracks and I suck in my cheeks. When she lays a warm hand on my back, filled with some sort of power that transfers healing messages to me, I sigh. Before she got here today, I thought I screwed everything up with her. But right now, as I lean back into her touch, I’m so grateful that the kiss didn’t ruin anything. And I vow that I will never do anything stupid like that again. This, right here, is enough.
We lean against the back wall, shoulder to shoulder, and watch the scene.
“I can’t believe this is my last day here with you,” Zoey says, twisting the cap back on her water. “I’m having visions of figuring out how I can create a craft station at my bakery so you can be there with me during the day. Or maybe make Zoey’s a chain, and I’ll open a second location in your shed.”
“I fully support both those ideas. Give me a week to develop the business plan, and we’ll go to the bank together.” Even though I’m grinning, my gut is dropping, twisting low and sad inside me. Something about this feels so final. Will we stay friends? It’s easy to build a relationship when you are together ten to twelve hours a day. But I can’t help this aching sense in my stomach that this chapter is closing.
Might not be a Christmas miracle after all.
TWENTY
QUINN
