Page 17 of Mistletoe & Magic
The door to the farm stand swings open, and Ivy steps out, a bright green scarf looped twice around her neck, hair in a messy knot. I catch myself wanting to reach over and release it and run my fingers through that dark red hair that catches my breath every time I look at her.
What is she doing here at the farm store?
She’s dragging a display table by herself, and it’s heavy. She braces her boots and nudges it an inch at a time.
Finn jumps out to help her. He turns and yells with a smirk, “You gonna help or keep admiring the view?”
I shake my head and glare at him as I climb out of my truck. “What are you doing?” I clip as I watch her make herself at home, decorating the farm store.
She looks up, her bright green eyes catching me off guard. “Rearranging. Your flow is weird. Customers bottleneck at the candle shelf and never make it to the hot drinks, which is now cocoa since the cider urn was on life support. Finn’s going to fix it.”
“My flow is what?” I ask, confused. And we don't have a candle shelf. What is she talking about?
“Come see.” She waves us in as if we work for her. And I follow because, honestly, I’d follow Ivy anywhere. She could rearrange my trees out in the grove, and I’d probably let her. But I’d definitely gripe and complain and not admit that I really like it to anyone.
Inside the farm stand, the air smells like oranges and chocolate. She has pulled the old wire racks into a long loop that actually makes sense. Small items like stuffed reindeer and Santas are displayed near the register in woven baskets, which makes me even feel more inclined to buy them with the heavier things against the walls. Someone cleared the counter. The ancient tip jar has a ribbon tied around it and a small sign that says ‘Thank you’ in Junie’s handwriting, accompanied by a snowman doodle.
A big circular candle display is in the middle, with candles in boxes around it. Where the hell did those all come from?
I hate that I dropped the ball in not making this look better. I have two high schoolers from town who help part-time, but they just run the cash register and keep the drink station filled. I haven't been able to really make this space look better, but Ivy did this in one morning. And I’m not a bit surprised. She’s the most efficient person I think I’ve ever met, and I didn’t expect this from her.
Finn whistles, impressed. “How did you know to do all of this?”
“I learned it from working retail,” she says, straightening a row of mugs that say Tree Hugger. “And common sense. I like to shop, so I organized it based on how I would want to shop.”
I pause at the far end of the counter. The cider counter isn’t there anymore. It is an actual station set up in the corner now. She found the good carafes, and they’re shiny and clean. There’s a stack of paper cups and a jar of candy canes. The electric kettle is set on a wooden board, not teetering on a milk crate, which before was probably a safety violation. Handwritten labels sit in clear frames. Classic cocoa. Peppermint. There is even a bin of mini marshmallows beside a bowl of the fancy homemade ones, in bags labeled with flavors and ingredients. The old outlet along the wall that wasn’t working is now open, and a fresh plate lies next to it ready to be fixed.
“Did you mess with that outlet?” I ask, alarmed.
“I texted Finn to check the connection and replace it. It wasn’t working.”
I look at Finn. He shrugs and gives me a grin, baiting me. “She was persuasive with homemade marshmallows and dinner.”
She isnotmaking him dinner.
Heat fills my cheeks. I don’t like her asking Finn to help. I want her to ask me, dammit.
“You could have asked me,” I say. It comes out sharper than I intended.
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second. “You were up hauling trees at dawn or whatever else you do. I didn't think it was worth bothering you over a minor issue. Plus, Finn wanted homemade marshmallows and a casserole.”
Of course, she thinks I don’t like her. I have given her every reason not to. It is not that I don’t like her. That is the problem. I like her too much. And instead of saying something halfway decent, something that might make her feel welcome or seen,what comes out is the same defensive garbage I always fall back on. My jaw locks. The words snap before I can soften them.
“This is not what we agreed on,” I say, sharper than I mean to be. “You are the nanny. You are not supposed to help with the business.” Her face flickers. I hate that I did that. I hate that I know why. If I let her get any closer to the parts of my life that keep me upright, I am not sure I will know how to keep my hands off her. So I push. I make it cold. I watch it land and pretend it is necessary.
Finn coughs into his fist. “Asshole.”
Ivy studies me as if she is deciding which version of me is standing here. The cooperative one. Or the asshole one. And I hate that I’m being an asshole right now. The place looks freaking great. And I’m grateful. I’m just surprised, and I don’t like that she talks to everyone but me.
“I am not trying to step on your toes,” she says. “I’m trying to keep customers from tripping over everything in here. Plus, I’ve done everything I need to do at the house, and I’m bored until Junie comes home from school. I like doing this. Please let me help,” she pleads, with stormy green eyes that do things to me.
“Look,” I say, jaw tight. “If you need something, you ask me. This is my shop, not Finn’s. If you keep overstepping, you’re fired.”
“Understood.” She nods. “So do I have approval to make it not a fire hazard?”
Finn glares at me and shakes his head.
I exhale and rub a thumb over the edge of the counter. The new layout works. I know it. She did in one pass what I put off for months, and pride stings.
