She was still cutting out shingles, and it was going to take forever, but she loved it. She hadn’t had a project that required such intense focus in years and years, and this felt like the kind of intricate work that she wished she could do all of the time. One slight mistake or slip of the hand would undo hours of work, but the precise nature of it scratched a certain part of her brain that was especially satisfying.
The windows were one of the things she was the most proud of so far. Instead of just outlining them in chocolate, she’d crafted tiny glass panes from isomalt, which made it look like there were actual, clear windowpanes. The process had taken her three attempts to get right, but the final result was stunning: windows that actually looked like glass, with delicate diamond patterns drawn on them in fine lines of silver-tinted white chocolate to look like old-fashioned windows.
She’d been working for nearly two hours when she finally paused and realized she needed to open the shop, her hand cramping slightly from the endless shingles. Only then did she become aware of her surroundings again—the familiar sounds of the town starting to get busy outside, the chill from the cooled back room where she was working to keep the chocolate from melting, and the fact that she was absolutely covered in chocolate.
Looking down at herself, Imogen couldn’t help but laugh. Her apron, which had started the morning a pristine white, was now decorated with streaks and smears of chocolate in at least four different shades. Dark chocolate fingerprints marked her forearms where she’d inadvertently touched her skin while working. There was white chocolate under her fingernails and she felt something sticky on her cheek.
She was going to need to clean up and get everything in the freezer, and she would be opening late as it was. But she took a moment, stepping back from the work table to get a better view of her progress and wiping her hands on her already chocolate-stained apron. What she saw made her breath catch with satisfaction and no small amount of pride.
The workshop was only partially done, but it was already more intricate and impressive than anything she’d done before. It looked like a stone building made from chocolate with the partially finished roof, with those clear windows and the beginning of the outside decorations around it. She had the molds for the elves already, and the presents, and she wanted to recreate the reindeer and Santa’s sleigh, as well.
She had a lot of work still to do, but she felt excited and hopeful. If this turned out the way she imagined it would—and it was already well on its way to being what she saw in her head—it would be exactly what Pamela had asked for. A show-stopping piece that would make readers stop mid-scroll or mid-page and look twice… and would hopefully bring more attention to both the magazine and her little shop.
She was happy with it so far, and she thought she’d be happy with it when it was done. All that was left to do, besides finishing the piece, was to hope that the photoshoot went off without a hitch.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d left home that morning without bothering to stop to eat. She thought shehad a granola bar in her purse, and she went to grab it, tossing her apron into the hamper and hoping she had some wet wipes in her purse as well to start cleaning the chocolate off of her hands and face and arms.
As she rummaged for the granola bar, she felt the crumpled piece of paper from the Secret Santa draw next to it. She grabbed both, thinking she probably should see whose name she’d drawn. After all, now that she’d done it, she’d need to get someone a gift in the midst of all of the rest of what she had to do.
She pulled the paper out with chocolate-smudged fingers, tearing open the granola bar with her teeth as she looked to see whose name she’d drawn. Her eyes widened as she saw what was written on the slip.
Lincoln Blackwell.
She felt a flutter of something in her chest—something that might have been nerves or excitement, she wasn’t sure. And neither had any place either, she reminded herself. They were just friends, even if him bringing her lunch the other day had felt like more than just a friendly gesture. But then again, she went out to lunch with Vanessa, didn’t she? It wasn’t any different.
The bigger question was, what on earth was she going to get him? She looked at the paper, taking a bite out of the granola bar and chewing quickly as all of the things she still needed to do to open the shop vanished from her head.
It needed to be something special, she thought. Something that showed that she remembered things about him the same way he clearly did about her. She wanted him to feel as special as she had the other day when he’d remembered her sandwich order, she realized, which felt like yet another surprise. She hadn’t realized she still felt that strongly about making him happy.
But it wasn’t like they’d spent any time talking about things they wanted since he’d been back. They hadn’t chatted about wish lists or anything like that. She chewed on her lip as she tossed the granola bar wrapper away, heading to the bathroom to wash up. As she scrubbed the chocolate off of her cheek, it hit her, and she laughed out loud.
Ugg boots.Back in high school, Lincoln, who had always liked practical things rather than flashy presents, had talked about wanting a pair of Ugg boots. They’d been fashionable for women back then, but he’d wanted a pair for men, saying they seemed warm and cozy and like they’d keep his feet toasty when he wasn’t out on the ice. His parents hadn’t been able to afford anything like that, so he’d never gotten a pair.
She’d teased him mercilessly about it at the time, calling them “overpriced sheep slippers” and questioning his fashion sense. But secretly, she’d always found his complete indifference to whether they were cool for men or not endearing. Lincoln had never cared much about impressing anyone, the only person he’d ever really seemed to care to impress was her.
And now, years later, she realized she could get him the Ugg boots he’d always wanted.
There was a chance, she thought, that he’d already gotten them for himself at some point. Or maybe he wouldn’t like them any longer, his tastes might have changed. But that wasn’t the point, she thought—the point would be that she remembered that he’d wanted them, and their teasing over his choices, and that it had been something they’d talked about often.
It felt personal and sweet, but still something that a friend might get another friend. And, she thought, given how much time he spent on his feet at the ice rink, comfortable boots would probably be genuinely appreciated.
That was it, she decided, as she finished cleaning up and got a clean apron. That was what she would get him. It was the leastshe could do, after how kind he’d been. She thought about him helping with Katie’s bike last Christmas, all the time he spent with her on skating lessons, the way he always seemed genuinely happy to see her despite their past. She thought of him going out of his way to support her store and order from her, coming to pick up the chocolates himself. And he still remembered that she often forgot to eat lunch.
He really was incredibly kind and thoughtful. He deserved a gift that showed that someone else thought about him too. Imogen felt sure of that.
Imogen shook her head, trying to refocus her attention on the work ahead of her. She had a chocolate North Pole to finish, a magazine photoshoot to prepare for, and a business to run. Lincoln didn’t need to occupy so much space in her mind, especially considering the fact that they were just friends, and that’s all they would ever be. There was no reason to think anything else.
She hurried to finish the last things she needed to do to open the store, seeing customers gathering outside, the sculpture still lingering in her mind as she did so. She wanted to prove thatSweet Confectionshadn’t been wrong in choosing her for their feature, that she could do exactly what they seemed to believe that she could. And she was going to create something magnificent.
She might not be sure of what was going on between her and Lincoln, exactly, but that was one thing that, after this morning, she felt absolutely sure of.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The last customer had finally driven away with their perfectly netted fir tied securely to the roof of their minivan, and Mabel stood alone in the gathering dusk in front of the Christmas tree farm’s office. The December air was crisp and still, and it smelled of pine and that unique scent that came with a snowstorm on its way.
She’d been at the farm all day, handling a long list of tree pick-ups. She had indecisive customers, customers who already had their trees picked out, and everything in between, and she was exhausted. Handling the tree pick-ups was more physical labor than she’d done in a long time, and there was a lot of paperwork to keep track of as well, and appointment times. All while worrying about George and the toy shop, even though she knew she didn’t need to. George was recovering day by day, and Vanessa had everything at The Toy Chest handled.
There’d been a few customers that day who had driven in from out of town, one having driven from an hour away after hearing about how excellent Merry Pines was. That had felt like a lot of pressure without George, but Mabel thought she’d handled it all admirably. She’d taken a look at the books as well, and she’d seen that the profits for December this year wereexceeding what George had hoped. There were a lot more people coming from out of town for trees. She thought he’d be happy to hear that, although she was going to have to talk him into staying home for a little while longer. She knew he was getting antsy.
