Vanessa managed a small smile, and Mabel could see some of the tension leaving her face. “You’re right. I’m probably overthinking this.”
“Probably,” Mabel agreed with a smile of her own. “But that’s what makes you good at everything you do. You care about getting it right.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” Vanessa returned to straightening the bookshelf. “Go have fun caroling. And tell George I said hello.”
Mabel retrieved her coat and scarf from the back room, wrapping herself up against the wintry chill. The evening was going to require bundling up if they were going to go from house to house singing Christmas carols. It was crisp and clear out asshe walked to her reliable silver sedan, but there was a bite to the air that promised snow.
As she drove out to the farm, she took in the displays of lights and decorations all along Main Street, Christmas music spilling from her radio and filling the warm interior of her car. She sighed happily, relaxed and fully ready to embrace everything that the holiday had to offer. She felt fulfilled and hopeful, and excited for her favorite time of year.
She parked at the front of the Christmas tree farm’s office, seeing that the office light was still on. As she walked in, she saw George stacking invoices,The First Noelplaying softly in the background as he finished up the last of the closing duties for the farm.
“Any more pick-ups tonight?” she asked, and he looked up, a crooked smile appearing on his craggy face at the sight of her.
“No, last one was—” He coughed, thumping his chest. “Last one was a half-hour ago.” He coughed again, sniffing, and that was when Mabel noticed that the wastebasket next to the counter was full of tissues.
She narrowed her eyes at George. He looked a little pale all over but flushed in the cheeks, and she noticed when he looked up at her that his eyes were a bit glassy. In fact, he didn’t have his usual energy, she thought. George could be grumpy, but he ran a tree farm and was a handyman at heart; he always had plenty of energy for tasks and was in excellent health most of the time.
“Are you all right?” she asked concernedly. “You don’t look like you feel too well.”
“I’m fine—” George was interrupted by another coughing fit, and Mabel put her hands on her hips. When the coughing subsided, he looked at her sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I’m not entirely fine. I think I might be coming down with something. I’ve been feeling off all day, but?—”
“Well, then you need to go home,” Mabel said firmly. “You should have gone home earlier. What are you even doing here, if you’re this sick? Look, head home, and I’ll bring you some chicken soup, and?—”
“I had orders to fill,” George said gruffly. “Couldn’t just abandon the place for the day.”
“You need to be in bed with some hot tea and soup, not out here in the cold selling Christmas trees,” Mabel said firmly.
“And what about tonight?” George coughed again, reaching for a tissue to blow his nose. “I know how much you were looking forward to caroling.” He frowned, and Mabel could see that he was genuinely sad at the thought of their plans being canceled. “I don’t want to ruin your evening,” he said, more gently this time, and Mabel shook her head.
She was touched that he was so worried about ruining their plans. It was thoughtful and sweet of him, but right that moment, she was far more worried about him.
“George,” she said gently, “there is absolutely no way you’re going to be singing tonight, and I’m certainly not leaving you alone when you’re feeling this poorly. I’m going to take you home and make sure you have everything you need.”
George blew his nose. “But the caroling?—”
“Can happen another time,” she finished firmly. “Everyone will understand. Come on. Let’s get you home and get some soup on the stove.”
As they made their way slowly toward George’s truck, Mabel couldn’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment about the change in plans. She had been looking forward to the caroling, getting to walk through the neighborhoods arm-in-arm with George and share a joyful night with their friends. It would have been another of those perfect moments that she’d been collecting since they’d started their relationship.
But, as she helped George into the passenger seat and took the keys to drive him home, she knew that her disappointment was fleeting. Any time with George was a blessing, even sick time. After all the years she’d spent alone, after all the years that she’d thought there was no place for romance in her life and that they’d only ever be friends, all the moments they had together were precious, not just the ones that they made an event out of.
This was special too—the fact that he was letting her take care of him. The old George would have sent her away, insisting he could take care of himself and didn’t need anyone fussing over him. But this George—her George—leaned back against the headrest and gave her a grateful smile that made her heart flutter despite his obvious illness.
“Thank you,” he said quietly as she started the truck. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Mabel Stewart.”
She reached over to squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his fever through his skin. “We both finally saw what was right in front of our faces all along,” she said with a smile. “And stopped pranking each other long enough to see that there was more to our relationship than just silliness.”
George chuckled, then immediately started coughing. Mabel made a mental note to stop by the pharmacy on the way to his house to pick up some cough drops and whatever else might help him feel better.
As they drove through the twinkling lights of Fir Tree Grove toward George’s cozy house on the edge of town, Mabel was happy that they were together for the evening, regardless of the reason. There would be more holiday festivities, but taking care of someone who meant so much to her was an opportunity to make a different sort of memory.
And every memory with George was one that she wanted to make, regardless of what it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Saturday morning rush at Artisan Chocolates had been mercifully light compared to the chaos of the past few weeks. Imogen had wrapped up the last order of the morning—pumpkin truffles and maple sea salt fudge—for a customer ten minutes or so ago and it had been quiet since then. The shop felt almost eerily peaceful after the constant stream of tourists and Christmas shoppers that had been flowing through since Thanksgiving. Imogen could actually hear the soft Christmas music playing, something that had been completely drowned out by chatter and the constant chiming of the doorbell lately.
She’d finally finished decorating the shop last night after closing, with Katie’s help, and she took a turn around to take it all in. She’d hung silver and gold snowflakes through the store, with a Christmas tree in the window that had baking and chocolate-themed decorations hung from it among the twinkling lights. The chocolate displays in the front cases were all the specialty ones—holiday themed chocolates that she’d taken extra care with. There were snowflakes dusted with edible gold, tiny Christmas trees made from mint ganache, reindeer shaped from milk chocolate, and cookies with thick sugary icing in festive patterns. The air smelled like chocolate and cinnamonand nutmeg, and she breathed it in, letting out a long, relaxed breath as her shoulders relaxed slightly.
