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Oooh boy. The last thing I need is a holiday hoopla over the last felted gnome ornament on the tree. I should have hung up a few more of them after I sold a dozen to a frazzled mom with two toddlers in tow, but business has been steady. The felted gnomes of all sizes, with their crocheted outfits, have been among Mom’s most popular wares so far.
“I saw it first!” one man exclaims.
“Back off, bucko, this is my winning ornament!” The other tugs.
Visions of the ornament tearing in their rough grasps have me picturing Mom’s disappointment. She puts so much love into each one of her designs.
“May I help you gentlemen to find something?” I step in, hoping to diffuse the situation before it escalates beyond an impromptu tug-of-war.
“Babe, let it go, he was here first,” the second guy’s companion—from the endearment, I’m guessing his boyfriend—cajoles, tugging at his sleeve.
“But it’s perfect for the ornament swap,” the boyfriend growls, yanking harder.
I wince.
“Hey, I’ll have to charge you both for it if it breaks!” I interject. That gives the squabbling pair pause. “I do have other ornaments that aren’t on display yet. Perhaps you’d like to see the others?” I cajole, sensing that they can be swayed.
“I need this ornament to replace the one we got from our son before he passed. Our cat knocked over the tree and then our dog got hold of the kissing gnomes. My wife will be devastated if I can’t replace it before she realizes what happened. Please?” The man’s heartfelt request only partially sways the other man. He loosens his grip. His partner elbows him hard, and he reluctantly releases his grip on the gnomes.
“Sorry for your loss,” the boyfriend says.
“Thank you. Can you ring me up?” The customer asks, clutching the gnome ornament to his chest. I swipe his card, wrap the ornament in tissue and slide it carefully into a protective box. The man takes the ornament and his receipt and bustles away.
The couple are browsing Mom’s other work when I overhear the one who wanted the ornament grumbling. They intrigue me, the contrast between them keeps drawing my gaze. The grumbly one is a buttoned up silver fox in fashionable winter coat and a muted plaid scarf, the other is a burly bearded bear of a man with a purple and teal hat and scarf combo that reminds me of Mom’s wares.
“How much do you want to bet he made up the sob story?” Silver Fox asks.
His boyfriend gives him a sharp look. “Really?”
“What? People lie all the time, Carl.”
“Glad to know you still see the best in people, Saint. Santa’s watching, you know.”
“I’m perfectly happy on Santa’s naughty list, babe.” Saint, the one with the model-good looks, winks flirtatiously.
Carl flushes and shoves at his partner. He’s adorable, with his round, bearded cheeks and sweet faith in humanity. “Stop trying to bait me. We still have to find the perfect ornament.”
“True.” Saint turns toward me. “You were saying you have more?”
“I do.” I rummage under the table for the plastic tote with more of the gnome ornaments in assorted designs. At this rate, there might not be enough to last through the rest of the week until Christmas Eve. But I know Mom has some more at home. “Mom also takes custom orders, but she’s got so many already. I’m not sure it would be ready in time if you need it for a party.”
“Wait.” Carl steps back and looks at Mom’s sign. Tina’s Tiny Creations. “I knew the style looked familiar! Your mom is Tina Tremblay, right? You’re Nick?”
“You know my mom?” I ask, and then I could kick myself, because of course he knows her. It’s not like Elk’s Pass is a bustling metropolis. From a rough estimate of his age, I probably went to school with this guy, maybe a few years ahead of him. Everyone knows everyone here. “And yeah, I’m Nick, lovely to meet a friend of Mom’s.”
“I do. She works with my organization. She was thrilled to have you home for the holidays this year. How is she holding up? I bet she’s raring to get back on her feet ASAP, huh?”
“Youdoknow Mom,” I say with a chuckle. “She’s recovering as well as can be expected. Like you said, the hardest part is getting her to take it easy and not strain herself.”
“Well, I’m glad you were able to come and help her out. She was worried about missing the holiday market this year. I’m so happy her work is still here, even though she can’t be. Pass along my regards?”
“Of course…” I trail off to let him introduce himself officially.
“Oh, Carl. Carl Meadows. And this is Mathieu Saint John. Everyone calls him Saint though.”
“Charmed, darling.” Saint extends his hand toward me in greeting.
I catch the none-too-subtle way he’s eye-fucking me. I can’t quite keep the disapproval off my face at him doing that in front of his…whatever Carl is to him. Sure, I might be a shitty boyfriend most of the time, but I’ve never blatantly tried to hit on someone in front of my exes. Saint grins at me and wraps an arm around Carl’s shoulders.
