Page 56 of Mad About Yule

“We,” she says, gesturing between the two of us, “are going to set up a Christmas scene in the picture window. I got permission from the bank to use the storefront during the festival. I convinced them it was free advertising for possible buyers of the building.”

“Smart.”

“My mom’s the agent, so it made sense. Anyway, I have this whole classic Christmas toy store idea in my head, and New to You has offered some of their vintage toys to display in the window, also up for sale.” She frowns at the array of boxes spread across the floor. “But I’ve never set up a train before, and I don’t know the first thing about it.”

“That’s where I come in,” I deadpan.

“Exactly.”

I’ve never had a little white lie bite me in the butt so fast. I probably know less than she does about trains at this point, but I kneel in front of one of the boxes and start to open it. “Might as well see what we’re up against.”

“Wait!” Hope grabs my shoulder and kneels down next to me on the shabby carpet. This floor has seen some things. “Mr. Deckard has ground rules about the trains.”

“Ground rules,” I repeat, wondering what possesses a man to spend his life collecting trains nobody’s allowed to use. Mostly though, my thoughts focus on Hope’s warm hand resting on my shoulder and the way her arm drapes casually against my back. In this moment, I’m not thinking much about rules of any kind.

“Yes, ground rules,” she says, oblivious to the direction of my thoughts. “All the boxes are catalogued, so anything we take out of one has to go back in the same box when we’re done. There’s no mix and match. Also, he’s very concerned about them getting damaged, so we have to be ultra-careful or I think he might sue me.”

“Why didn’t he set them up himself if he’s so worried?”

“He said he doesn’t have the energy for it. Butyou,” she says, gently shaking my shoulder, “you’ve got loads of energy.”

“You don’t have to keep buttering me up. I’m already here.”

She puts one hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling okay? It doesn’t seem like you to turn down praise.”

My smile is probably the smuggest. “I am feeling warm.”

She shoves my shoulder and carries on.

I’m feeling warm?I sure hope my brain is in one of these boxes.

We open each box to assess the contents and decide which trains will be best for the display Hope has in mind. Along with the assortment of train pieces, Mr. Deckard loaned her bins full of little buildings, trees, and tiny figurines to complete the scene.

There’s no halfway with Hope. I can’t help but be drawn to that.

The big display window is about fifteen feet across and three feet deep, giving us plenty of real estate to fill. Using the window during the festival is a clever choice on her part. Sitting dark and empty, it would just accentuate the vacant spaces downtown, but bright and filled with Christmas-themed spectacle, it can only add to the magic.

Sunbeams cut across the floor, peeking through tiny strips between sheets of craft paper taped to the windows. The department store has been vacant for a while, but the paper is crisp and new.

Now that I look at it, the entire display area is freshly scrubbed. The woodwork shines, and although I’d expect a network of cobwebs to lace the upper reaches of glass, the corners are spotless.

“Did you clean all this?”

“Yeah.” She pulls a bundle of green felt out of one of the bins. “It was pretty disgusting. I don’t think anything has been touched in here since Henderson’s went out of business. Just pretend there weren’t mouse droppings all over the floor up until eight this morning.”

No wonder the carpet looks so rough.

She gasps and pulls something out of the bin. Hurrying over to me, delight dances across her face. “He has a tiny Christmas tree! We have to use this.”

“A Christmas scene within a Christmas display within a Christmas festival. This is getting too meta for me.”

“It’s perfect, and you know it.”

“I have to say, boss, I’m starting to enjoy your sassy side.”

“It’s one of my better features.” She smirks and returns to the box of tiny treasures, bending over as she searches. I ponder her other fine features for a minute before she turns around to show off another find. “A truck hauling a Christmas tree!”

“If anything goes missing out of that box, I’m ratting you out to Fred Deckard in a heartbeat.”

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