Page 4 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“She had that gift,” Mrs. Haversham continued. “The gift of making people feel like their stories mattered. You have it too, you know.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Haversham settled herself into one of the armchairs I kept for browsing customers, her back ramrod straight and her sharp eyes fixed on me. Avoiding that knowing gaze, I picked up a glass sphere, deep blue with hand-painted silver stars. Light caught it, throwing tiny constellations across the wall.
“Your grandmother loved the stars. She used to say they were God’s way of decorating for Christmas year-round.”
The ornament blurred. I blinked rapidly and set it down before I could drop it.
“How is business, Noelle? Truly?”
I opened my mouth to lie, but something in her expression stopped me. She’d been my tenth-grade English teacher. She could spot bullshit from a mile away.
“Not great.”
“I see.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “Your parents called me last week.”
My hands stilled. “Did they?”
“They’re worried about you.”
“They’re always worried. It’s their natural state.” I picked up a Santa ornament, examining his rosy cheeks and white beard.“They think I should sell the shop. Move back home. Get a ‘real job.’” I made air quotes with one hand, nearly dropping the ornament.
“Would that be so terrible?”
I looked up sharply to meet her concerned gaze.
“This shop is Gran’s legacy.”
“Your grandmother would want you to be happy, dear, not drowning.”
“I’m not—” I stopped and took a breath. “I’m handling it.”
“Are you?”
The question hung between us. Outside, someone laughed. A car drove past, radio blaring pop music that clashed with my Christmas playlist. The world kept turning, completely indifferent to my small crisis. I put down the Santa and gripped the edge of the counter. “She left this to me. Gran spent forty years building this place, making it magical. I can’t just… give up.”
“Letting go isn’t giving up.”
“It feels like it.”
Mrs. Haversham stood up and took my hand in both of hers. Her skin was paper-thin, spotted with age, but her grip was firm.
“Your grandmother loved this shop, but she loved you more.” She squeezed my fingers. “She’d never want you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of her dream.”
“It’s my dream too.”
“Is it? Or is it the only thing you have left of her?”
“It’s both. Business will pick up.” I did my best to sound certain. “It’s always the busiest right before Christmas.”
“Perhaps you’re right, dear. Sometimes magic happens when you need it most,” she said softly. “You just have to be open to it.”
“Magic.” I laughed, then winced at the bitter edge. “Like a miracle customer who wants to buy ten thousand dollars’ worth of Christmas ornaments two weeks before Christmas?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Not in my life.”
