Page 25 of Mad About Yule

Maybe I’ll get him on my team after all.

“Santa’s going to be set up right out front at the Winter Wonderland. We’ve got some people bringing in patio warmers, and the Diaz family offered the use of one of their horse teams, along with their sleigh. We haven’t had sleigh rides on Maple Street in years.”

And I’ll want to be first in line, but I’ll do my best to show some restraint.

“We’ll have carolers wandering downtown, stopping to sing songs at every corner, plus the choir to lead the audience during the tree lighting. The Christmas market is new—I already know a lot of the artists from my store, so that was the easiest part to arrange.”

I hold a piece of plywood steady as he screws it into the frame. It looks more like the little building of my dreams every hour. If he can keep up this pace, we might actually finish with time to spare. Even though I think he should rest after his injury, I’m secretly grateful for his relentless work ethic.

“The carolers used to wear Dickens-styled clothes when they went around doing their thing, but the costumes are long gone. We didn’t have enough budget for a dozen new costumes, so they’re all going to wear Santa hats instead. Cheap, but festive.”

I’d had to make a lot of concessions, like it or not. At the moment, we’re running on pocket change, but that seems like an awful lot to admit to my reluctant volunteer.

“Whatisthe budget going to?” Griffin asks, plucking another screw from a box.

“Most of the ads, and any supplies I couldn’t get as donations. Some of the set-up for the Christmas market, and little things like the candy canes Santa will hand out.”

His eyes flash with something I can’t name. “No money for you, though.”

“It’s a volunteer position.” Just like his. If he’s angling for some kind of reimbursement, he’ll walk away disappointed. He’ll be lucky if I don’t have to ask him to pitch money in. He sure won’t get any out.

“What’s the endgame then? People come to this Christmas thing, they see Santa, pet the reindeer. What then?”

“What do you mean? Then the tree will be lit, and everyone will sing songs—”

“After that.”

“Ideally, they would shop at the stores on Maple Street, which will be open late every weekend of the—”

“After that.”

I get up on my knees and toss my hands out. “Everyone has a wonderful holiday experience?”

I’m getting shouty all over again, but his barrage of questions and constant interruptions deserve it.

He lowers the drill at the other end of the plywood sheet I’ve been needlessly holding down. “What happensafterthe Christmas festival?”

He isn’t interested in my replies, but I can’t figure out what he’s getting at. “Hopefully people will come back to Sunshine to do more shopping year-round. It’s a big promotion for all the businesses on Maple, and I’d be lying if I said there’s no pressure to increase foot traffic. Obviously, it would be nice for the festival to be written up in local papers and magazines, too. Get pushed on some bigger apps, maybe.”

I don’t really care how people find out—boosting shopping dollars will help every business in town.

A look of understanding crosses his face before it settles into a smirk. “I get it. They write it up, promote what you did with your festival here, and you can use that in a portfolio, get yourself another marketing job. Clever.”

He means it as a compliment, but he still manages to make that one little word feel like a slight.

“Amazing. You followed the clues to exactly the wrong conclusion.”

“How? Isn’t that what you’re after? Get your foot in the door at some marketing firm in Bend or Salem?”

I stand up and he does the same. I’m trying to do something good here, and Mr. Cynical draws the most selfish conclusion.

“That’s not remotely what I’m doing. This isn’t some scheme to get a new job.”

“You really want to stay here? With your degree?”

I’m not about to tell him I never wanted my degree, and never really enjoyed using it. Appealing to my degree doesn’t sway me.

“Yes. I like it here.”

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