Page 3 of Never Kiss a Krampus
I resisted the urge to snatch it from his hands. “There’s always a market for quality.”
“Quality doesn’t pay the bills, Miss Green.” He set the ornament down carelessly. It wobbled. My heart wobbled with it. “Foot traffic does. Sales do. And from what I can see…”
He let the sentence hang there, suspended in the cinnamon-scented air like a noose.
“I appreciate your concern.” I moved around the counter, subtly positioning myself between him and my displays. “But I have everything under control.”
“Do you?” His sneer was almost sympathetic. Almost. “Because I’ve been watching the comings and goings on this block. Your neighbors—the bookshop, the café, the tailor—they’re all struggling just like you. One by one, they’ll realize what you’re going to realize. That holding onto the past isn’t noble. It’s just stubborn.”
“This isn’t about being stubborn?—”
“It’s about being practical.” He pulled out another envelope from his jacket. “This is my final offer, Miss Green. It’s enough to set you up somewhere else. Somewhere with better… prospects.”
I didn’t take it.
“The deadline’s Christmas Eve.” His smile never reached his eyes. “After that, well. I can always wait for the bank to foreclose. But I thought I’d give you the dignity of choosing.”
Dignity.From a man who probably looked up the word in a dictionary just to make sure he was using it ironically.
“I’m not selling.”
“We’ll see.” He placed the envelope on my counter, right on top of my grandmother’s ledger. “Two weeks, Miss Green. Think about it. Really think about it. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is let go.”
He left before I could respond, the jingle bells sounding more like a death knell than a greeting.
CHAPTER 2
Istood there after Grinchly left, surrounded by twinkling lights and unsold dreams, and felt the weight of it all pressing down on my shoulders. I had to do something, anything, to keep my mind off of the impending disaster. The window display needed refreshing, and a new display always attracted attention.
That will help, I told myself, trying to sound convincing.
I spent the next hour crafting a winter wonderland scene—vintage snow globes arranged on fake snow, white lights twinkling, with a family of stuffed penguins looking charming and not at all desperate for someone to buy them. By the time I finished, my knees ached from kneeling on the floor and my hands were covered in glitter. But it looked good, really good.
I stepped back to admire my work and nearly collided with someone standing behind me.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Mrs. Haversham stood there, a large shoebox tucked under one arm, her silver hair perfectly coiffed despite the December wind.She’d taught English at the high school for forty years before retiring, and she still had the posture of someone ready to correct your grammar.
“The bell didn’t ring,” she said, which seemed impossible but I’d learned not to question Mrs. Haversham. “That’s a lovely display, dear.”
“Thank you. Can I help you find something?”
“Actually, I brought you something.” She set the shoebox on the counter and lifted the lid with careful reverence.
The box was filled with dozens of vintage ornaments wrapped in tissue paper. I recognized the style immediately—1950s, hand-blown glass, the kind collectors paid good money for.
“Mrs. Haversham, these are beautiful.”
“They were my mother’s. I thought perhaps you could sell them on consignment.” She pulled out a delicate silver bell, turned it so it caught the light. “I’m downsizing, you see, and moving to that new senior community on Maple Street. My children don’t want them, and I don’t want them locked away in someone’s attic collecting dust.”
“I’d be honored.”
We spent the next twenty minutes going through the collection, me carefully noting each piece while Mrs. Haversham shared the memories attached to them. Her mother decorating the tree while listening to radio carols, and her father pretending to be annoyed but secretly delighting in the ritual.
“Your grandmother loved these,” Mrs. Haversham said softly. “I brought them in once before, about ten years ago, just to show them to her. She held each one like it was precious.”
My throat tightened.
