Page 21 of A Christmas Spark
“Thank you,” Imogen said, as he sat down next to Katie, across from her. “I don’t have any cash on me, but I’ll bring you some when I drop off the next hot cocoa order.”
Lincoln shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just a little treat on the house.”
“Alright,” Imogen finally relented. “Katie, say thank you to Mr. Blackwell for the pizza.”
“Thank you,” Katie mumbled through a mouthful of cheese, and Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Blackwell?”
“We’re working on politeness,” Imogen said, and Lincoln nodded with an understanding expression—but she thought she saw the tiniest bit of disappointment there too.
Her heart flipped the tiniest bit in her chest, at the thought of what that might mean, but she quickly dismissed it.
After all, she’d just managed to put the conversation with Katie about Christmas husbands to bed, and she hoped that it would stay that way.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
George Lowery stood in the office at his Christmas tree farm, hands on his hips, staring up at the strangest Christmas tree topper he’d ever seen.
At the very top of the tree opposite the register, the one facing the window that overlooked the main parking lot of the farm, was a small tabby kitten perched precariously in the branches. It blinked down at him with alarmed green eyes, clearly replaying all the life choices that had led it to this particular moment.
“How in the blazes did you get up there?” George ran a hand through his gray hair, shaking his head as he stared up at the small cat.
It was obviously the same rascally little kitten that had clawed the dickens out of him at Mabel’s toy shop, when he’d found her asleep. Now it stared down at him with those owlish eyes, letting out a small pitifulmraowas it did its best to hang on to the uppermost branch with its tiny paws.
The tree swayed slightly, sending a scatter of pine needles down to the floor, and the kitten yowled with alarm.
George sighed heavily, wondering how he was going to get the thing down without getting clawed again. He’d have to grab his work gloves, for sure.
This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his Friday afternoon. He’d had some help coming in for a little while, so he’d intended to get a couple hours work in on the gazebo before the evening tree pickups rolled around. Now, instead, he was rolling over ideas in his head for how to fetch a kitten down from the tallest Christmas tree in his office.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” George asked, staring up at the kitten. “She sent you here to spy so she could get more ideas for her pranks.”
The kitten let out another plaintive meow, the top of the tree swaying as it scrambled to keep its grip on the branches. This time, the meow sounded just desperate enough to tug at George’s heartstrings.
“Alright, fine. Hold your horses—or your whiskers?” George chuckled, then immediately felt embarrassed for talking to a cat. “Just hang on there, you little rascal. We’ll get you down.”
The tree was nearly seven feet; the tallest one in the office and one of the tallest trees on his lot. The kitten was well beyond his reach even on his tiptoes, which meant he needed a stepladder at the very least to fetch it down. With another exasperated sigh, he pointed sternly at the kitten.
“Don’t you move. Stay right there, and I’ll be back.”
The kitten blinked owlishly again in response, and George gave it a narrow look before heading out of the office and to the adjoining shed to get a stepladder.
He flicked on the light, looking around. The shed was packed full of tools, ladders of varying heights, netting for Christmas trees and twine to tie it up with, cords for tying them down to trucks, saws, and pretty much everything else that could be imagined, including three rolls of lights and some additional boxes of Christmas decorations that he hadn’t yet found a use for this year.
The stepladder was toward the back, leaning against the wall. George maneuvered around the boxes of Christmas decorations, only to knock over all three spools of light as his foot nearly caught on the last one.
He reached down to grab the lights, only to smack his head on the underside of the workbench along the shed wall. “Son of a nutcracker!” He rubbed at the spot on his head, which he suspected might turn into quite the bump, and picked the lights up a second time to put them back where they’d been sitting.
Still rubbing at the newly sore spot on his head, he made his way to the back of the shed and fetched the ladder, hoisting it over one shoulder as he picked his way back toward the front door.All that little cat’s fault,he thought, grumbling to himself. “Mabel should have managed to keep the little stinker inside,” he mumbled, heading back toward the office.
She was probably frantic about it by now, he thought. Honestly, he knew at least half the reason he was so concerned with getting the kitten down and safely back home was because it belonged to Mabel… temporarily, at least. He had a soft spot for Mabel, and while he’d never denied that, the thought of her being frantic and upset over the kitten did something strange to his chest. He rubbed absently at it, feeling like there was a sore spot there too.
“Need some help there, George?”
He nearly jumped at the sound of the voice, turning to see Jackson trudging up the path toward the office. “Oh! Hey there, Jackson. Just fetching a ladder to get a kitten out of a tree.”
Jackson frowned. “A kitten out of a tree? What, you take up firefighting now?”
