Page 2 of Mad About Yule

“I will.”

To be clear, I absolutely will not. Mom bringing in her contractor—no doubt at her own expense—would be the opposite of what I’ve been going for on this endeavor.

I hang up and do a quick walk-through of the three aisles of handmade goods in my sliver of a gift shop, making sure everything looks just right. Full of handmade jewelry, purses, pottery, and screen-printed T-shirts with quirky sayings on them, The Painted Daisy is my happy place. It’s a spot to connect with and support local artists of all kinds, even if I don’t have the guts to put my own artwork on display. Just standing in the store clears my head.

Lately, I haven’t spent nearly enough time in here.

Volunteering to organize Sunshine, Oregon’s Christmas festival seemed like such a great idea back in September when I made the offer at a town hall meeting. Downtown’s holiday event needs a refresh, and small businesses like mine could use the sales boost.

I’d camped out in City Hall, cornering council members to make my case every time they walked by until I’d secured their approval. I can’t let them down now. If I think being known asHope Parrish, Well-Intentioned Screw-Upis bad, being known asThat Girl Who Ruined Christmaswould be so much worse.

Wren pops her head in the open doorway between The Painted Daisy and Blackbird’s next door. Up until a year ago, The Daisy’s tiny space used to be an overflow seating area for the Krause family bakery, but I convinced Wren’s mom to let me sublet it. I painted the walls a soft butter yellow and hung floating shelves—well, Mom’s contractor installed all the shelves. I hadn’t minded accepting help with that. But I haven’t bothered to close off the Daisy from the bakery. Customers can wander from one shop to the other, ideally increasing business to both. Mostly, Wren and I use the pass-through to keep an eye on each other.

“What’s with the pacing?” she asks. She smooths her blond hair along the ponytail she typically wears in the bakery, trying to tame the loose strands. “I can hear you sighing all the way over here.”

I pause my third loop of the store. “I’m thinking about running away to that commune up in Bigleaf Canyon until Christmas is over.”

I could use a little Zen. Isn’t that what they find at retreats like that?

“You’ll never last that long. It’s clothing-optional. What’s wrong?”

I stop myself mid-sigh. “Mom heard about my handyman’s injury. She offered to help find someone to replace him.”

“We all know how much you hate help.”

“Not true. I just dislike help from my mother, especially since her advice is mostly to ask Lila for help.” Nothing saysI have confidence in youlikeGo ask your sister what to do.

“Yeah, Lila would probably turn your Winter Wonderland into a holiday-themed fashion show or something.”

“And it would be amazing, but not remotely what I’m going for.”

“Aw, come on, she’s got some great tips for accessorizing for fall.”

I stare hard at my wonderful, beautiful, traitorous friend. “You follow her on Instagram now?”

“What can I say? She’s an unstoppable juggernaut whose sphere of influence can’t be contained.”

I snort-laugh at Wren’s over-the-top description, but she’s not far from the truth. My sister has amassed a small army of followers eager for her lifestyle posts and chic selfies. Meanwhile, I’ve mostly made fans of bots and trolls. Not that any of that matters. I don’t care about the online popularity contest. Even if it makes me unaccountably sad when my bot friends unfollow me.

I grab my purse from behind the counter. “I have to go meet Kat and get my new handyman up to speed, but I’ll be back in time to open the store.”

“I’ll just be snooping around and adding to my Christmas list,” she calls after me.

Keeping watch for patches of ice on the sidewalk, I scurry down Maple Street to Perk Me Up, the coffee shop where I agreed to meet Kat. I need to make a good impression here—her contact is my last hope to save face with my Winter Wonderland. I should have had my volunteer handyman start on the buildings as soon as the town council gave the okay, but instead, I’ve spent most of the last few months arranging everything else: decorations, the choir, refreshments, the Christmas market.

But for me, the Winter Wonderland means everything. Those buildings will be my artistic stamp on the festivities, proof I’m capable of more than just being Lila Parrish’s little sister. My plans for the renewed festival will still be a huge step up without the Wonderland, but those little buildings will be the icing on the Christmas cookie.

Thank goodness for Kat. When I see her, I’ll probably pull her into a bear hug and raise her up into aDirty Dancing-style lift to show my gratitude.

I walk through Perk Me Up’s doors and spot my handyman-producing angel bundled in a slick brown parka. Kat’s at the counter chatting with a tall man who has his back to me. As I get closer, he turns around, and his eyes hit mine.

Holy jawline, Batman.

My heartbeat goes into red alert, one heel skidding awkwardly on the floor, and I almost fall over my own feet.

Wait.

Oh, heck no.

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