Never mind Midge is pushing seventy and looks like her arm would snap like a gingerbread cookie. The woman is stubborn like Gran. She won’t discuss the Vallerton until she gets her way. “Fine.” I take off my coat and set it on the counter with my purse and scarf. “But I better get what I came here for.”
She nods and waves Leo over. “All right, sonny, count us down.”
He’s still struggling to keep a straight face, but he quickly sobers at Midge’s glower. He places his hand over Midge’s and mine. “Ready. Set. Go.”
I determine to keep things at half-muscle, but Midge has a surprisingly strong start. She tips my arm to the right, and I quickly counter her progress. It’s almost too easy, but my conscience isn’t sold on giving an old lady a wrist fracture. I purposefully slack and let her gain ground. She grunts with a final push, and I give her the win.
“Ha!” She raises both arms, then takes a victory lap around the counter, nearly plowing over a man with a walker. “Still the champ.”
“Way to go, Midge. Though I did put up a good fight.”
She dismisses me with a half-hearted shrug. “Eh, you were okay.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
Leo’s gaze narrows, suspicion marking his every feature. I angle toward him with a finger to my lips.
I reface Midge. “Can we talk business now?” I retrieve my things and drape my coat over my arm. “Jared called me about the Vallerton.”
“Ah, yes. The nativity set. You know, that’s from my personal collection?” She launches into the backstory as if there isn’t a growing line of customers behind us. “It’s been sitting in storage for years. I bought it off some chump who had no idea what a fortune it’s worth.” She snickers. “But the Vallerton was never my style, so I thought I might as well put it up for sale.”
I smile wide, a lightness flooding my chest. Within seconds, I will have completed my end of our bargain and fulfilled my promise. “I want to take it off your hands.”
“Too late.”
My world goes gray. “W-what?”
“Sold it an hour ago.”
“No.” My throat thickens, making my words rusty. “You don’t have another?” That’s like asking Shakespeare if he has extraHamletslying around.
“Sorry, hon.” She waves me to the side, so the next customer can approach the counter. “You know how this business is.”
Frustration soars, but mostly, I’m crushed. “Thanks, anyway,” I manage with a forced smile and Leo helps me into my coat. “I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”
“You too. Come back for a rematch.” She pats her bicep, unaware of my misery.
Leo grips my hand and leads me to the car, even as a numbness spreads through me. That was, in all probability, our only and last chance.
He starts the ignition and twists toward me. “You okay?”
“If it wasn’t for that stupid deer …” I would’ve been here long before the competition. I would’ve gotten the set. I’d almost be to Silver Creek by now with my treasure secured in the back. “I’m sorry.” I can’t look at him. “I messed it up.”
He gently cups my chin and softly nudges until I meet his gaze. “No, you didn’t.” He slides his hand to frame my face, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. “What you did today”—he shakes his head with a disbelieving smile—“goes above and beyond. Thank you, Greta.” He leans closer, withdrawing his touch but not breaking eye contact. “And for the record, I’m not a cheater.”
I keep my voice soft. “I never thought you were.”
“But you are.” He flashes his palm at my sudden jolt. “In a totally different way. You let that lady beat you. You could’ve whipped her soundly.”
“Midge is a sore loser. If I’d won, she might not have been willing to negotiate. Not that it mattered.”
“I think it’s more than that.” He absently toys with the edge of my scarf, but there’s nothing flippant about his gaze, searching mine as if he wants to gather all my secrets and hold them close. “I think you were saving her pride. Because that’s the kind of person you are.”
He leans closer, but his phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. He grimaces at the screen. “More bad news.”
I slump in the seat. “Do I want to know?” Seriously, if I had a punch card for all the terrible things that occur in a week, I could’ve had a free appetizer by now.
“We’re in blizzard conditions. Whiteouts are expected throughout the night. I won’t risk driving back. Not with you.” His tone tells me this is non-negotiable. “You said there’s a hotel down the street?” He glances both directions as if he could spot the Sugarvale Inn from here.
