“Greta?” Leo’s voice has me scrambling for my boots, but in my dash, I kick the ornament box. Again! The same freaking toe! Pain shoots through me, and, instead of presenting myself as a chic shop owner, I’m hopping around on one foot, clamping my mouth shut to stifle a yelp. It’s crazy how one tiny appendage triggers a full-body reaction.
Leo comes into view. “You okay?”
No. Not even close. “I stubbed … toe … box.” Why do people ask questions when you can barely function, let alone carry on a conversation? I squeeze my eyes shut and tears leak out. Shoot. I don’t have time to deal with mascara tracks on my face.
Leo’s at my side. “Is it broken?” He slings an arm around me and hauls me to his side. While braced against his solid frame, we hobble-walk behind the counter like some weird three-legged race. With his free hand, he tugs the stool closer. “Here.”
I sit with a nod of thanks. The throbbing in my toe lessens with each passing moment. The ache in my chest? Not so much. The bare, artificial tree taunts me from its place a few yards away. “I should’ve known this would be rough.”
Leo’s in this half-stoop stance, and I’m not sure if he’s preparing to bolt from the scene or contemplating giving me a foot massage. I really hope it’s the latter.
“How can I help?” he asks. “Does it still hurt?”
“It’s better.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “I’m a mess because of that.” I nod at the array of ornament boxes strewn about my showroom floor. “My gran always looked forward to putting up that tree. She selected each of the vintage bulbs.”
His warm hand settles on my shoulder. “I didn’t know she passed. I’m really sorry.”
I swipe at my eyes again and wonder if he realizes he’s skimming his thumb along the slope of my throat. The rhythmic sweeps are soothing, and yet short-circuiting my system. “She always took special care in setting up the store Christmas tree.”
“Tell me about it.” His soft demand is all I need.
“Everything that goes on the tree is entirely vintage. The yarn mesh star is from the ’40s. And the tinsel. Oh that stupidly wonderful tinsel is from the ’50s. After each season, my job was to put it away. Imagine being ten years old and hand-picking five hundred foil strips about as delicate as tissue paper.”
“Sounds brutal.”
“It wasn’t something I looked forward to. That’s for sure. So Gran drew up a contract.” I gingerly stand, happy that my toe is no longer screaming for mercy, and retrieve the precious paper from the top of the ornament box. “For every forty pieces of tinsel collected,” I read aloud, taking in her loopy script, “the collector earns one cinnamon bear.” I glance over. “That was my favorite candy as a kid. We kept the agreement in place every year until it turned into a tradition.” It’s all memories now.
Leo joins my side and gently bumps my arm. “She turned the job into something fun.”
“She did.”
He cracks a smile. “Are you still easily bribed with sugar? Just taking notes here.”
I appreciate his effort in making things light. I need this. “Not sure if I should confess my weaknesses.” Or that I could see him becoming one of them if he keeps looking at me like this.A switch in conversation is in order. “My contact called, and he does have the ceramic tree from your list.”
Leo’s lips twitch at my obvious redirection, but he lets it slide. “Really? Same style?”
“Yes.” I wave for him to follow me behind the counter and open the lid to my laptop. “It’s an Atlantic Mold and from the same year. The color is just a touch lighter than the pic you showed me. But it’s pretty close.” I angle my computer toward him and show him the image of the tree that Jared sent over.
“You did it. That’s the one.” The warmth in his voice is like that first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy morning.
“Might want to save the praise because I’m struggling with the nativity set. I called all my contacts but nothing. I put feelers out, so maybe something will come of it.”
“So you’re saying not to get my hopes up.”
I think he’d have more success convincing Santa Ned to kick his nicotine habit than finding this Vallerton set. “’Tis the season for miracles, right? It’s also the season for elevated stress, but let’s stick with the miracles thing.”
He huffs a laugh. “I appreciate your optimism.”
“I’m the soul of positivity,” I say brightly. “But seriously, if anything comes up. I’ll let you know.” Guess I’ll need his number after all. I hand him a customer contact form and a pen, even as my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s Bruce.
“Excuse me. I have to take this.”
Leo nods and turns his focus on the paper.
I hit accept and lift my cell to my ear. “Hey, Brucie. You ready for tonight? I’ve been bragging to everyone that I have the best float puller in all of Ohio.”
