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Camilla needs to get used to seeing less of me anyway, and that has nothing to do with Shorty’s busy time of year.
But I’m not going to think about that huge sweeping change right now.
“There will be times I can’t be at Shorty’s booth specifically,” I say.
“It’s okay.” Camilla raises her chin. “We’ll make it work. Maybe Danene will come help.”
“Except she swore she’d never wear one of those dresses. I was thinking Elijah could help out? He said he wants more hours.”
“That kid would look adorable as Tiny Tim,” Camilla says.
“Tiny Tim? Elijah’s eighteen and pushing six feet tall.”
“True. But I kind of feel protective of him like I would Tiny Tim. Don’t you?”
I nod. He’s almost like a little brother to me.
I turn to log onto the register and finish other opening preparations. Camilla and I do our odd opening dance, the same one we’ve done every morning since she took over her deceased grandfather’s shop. It’s part duck with a high school cheer squad tone and I feel like an idiot doing it. But it’s Camilla’s thing, the thing that gets her revved up for the day. And it’s only a few seconds long. I can handle it.
We work into the afternoon, and I only wonder a couple of times if Theo’s next door at the firm.
That’s good. I can’t allow my mind to get derailed just because I’m a little lonely around Christmas time or because of everyone fussing over us being a “cute couple.” I can’t get derailed by memories of the intimacy of the photo shoot.
There’s a lull before the storage unit customer crowd starts coming in around four o’clock, so I work on my branding portfolio and start some cheesecakes, too. I get out the supplies and measure, whip, beat, and bake my way to five large cheesecakes in only about an hour. It’s a pretty fast and easy process for what I hope will be a profitable source of income for the shop. Anything that I can do to help.
I’m technically off at five, and even though we still have a steady stream of customers, the food prep is long over, and Camilla can handle it on her own. As I step outside, the sidewalk is dry. That first snowfall didn’t last long. I climb in my car and start up the engine.
As I round the back alley and drive out onto the main road, I realize I didn’t check to see if Theo’s BMW was parked in our bakeshop spots. But my pride at avoiding Theo is cut short as I notice the freeway’s electronic billboard just down the way.
“It’s me!” I scream.
I behold the digital sign in shock.
“The Charles Dickens Christmas Festival” is in bright gold, serif letters, an overlay on a photo of Theo and me. I’ve got my head thrown back in laughter, my hand at my throat. Theo’s cleared the ground by several feet. I hadn’t realized he’d hitch kicked so high, although I wouldn’t put it past the committee to photo shop that a little. He’s grinning from ear to ear, and he looks so free, so happy.
He’s usually happy and carefree, but sometimes I wonder if it’s more of a shield than reality. Still, in that photo, as he’s jumping to impress me, to make me laugh, he looks downright giddy. Perfect for the part.
I’m relieved the committee didn’t choose one of the more intimate photos, where I’m in Theo’s arms.
My phone rings, and I answer it as I merge onto the freeway.
“Aria,” my father says, his tone serious. “It’s about your grandfather.”
Chapter 9
Theo
It’s been a couple of days since the photo shoot, and I still have Aria on the brain.
Weatherby asks me to go over to our new building and provide him a status update on the renovator’s progress. I don’t mind. No, these aren’t billable hours, which is unfortunate for my drive to gain all the dollar bills. But it’s fine because I’ll stop into Shorty’s, see how Aria’s doing, and hopefully get myself a baked good or two while I’m at it.
The bell over the door chimes as I come in. There’s a good feeling in the air when that happens, like we’re in some Norman Rockwell painting or on the set of a cheesy family sitcom—when times were decent and relatively stress-free.
Or maybe that’s just me remembering my childhood that wasn’t at all stress-free, but in which I watched reruns of old shows likeFamily Mattersbecause my mom couldn’t afford cable. It was the only interesting thing on our four local channels.
I don’t know. Being in Shorty’s feels nice, until Aria eyes me cautiously before I’ve even reached the counter.
It’s the status quo, the default we’ve fallen into since our awkward first meeting. If I had any illusions that things would be different now that we’re co-hosts of the festival—and since our photo shoot yesterday—I guess I was wrong.
