Sheila Roberts - Christmas In Icicle Falls

“All right. This is going to be fun,” Meadow said eagerly and opened a bin.

Eager and excited to help—that was commendable. And surely this was bound to go better than Thanksgiving dinner.

Meadow pulled out a pink ribbon ball holding a sprig of silk mistletoe and made a face. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s mistletoe,” Olivia explained.

“Mistletoe.” Meadow said it as if it were a foreign language.

“You’ve heard of mistletoe, right?” Brooke prompted and Meadow shook her head.

Both Olivia and Brooke stared at her in amazement.

“So, what is it?”

“You hang it up and then when you catch someone under it, you kiss him,” Brooke explained.

Meadow shook her head. “Why do you need a plant for that? If you want to kiss a guy, just kiss him!”

Good Lord. The child was a complete philistine.

Brooke smiled. “It’s a fun little tradition people enjoy.”

“Whatever,” Meadow said, unimpressed.

She was impressed with the sleigh, though. “Wow, that’s epic.” The minute the men had set it down, she climbed into it and tossed Brandon her cell phone. “Take my picture, babe,” she commanded and struck a rapper-girl pose, complete with the weird finger thing and the pout.

An older couple was walking through the lobby, and the husband stopped to enjoy the moment. “Now, there’s my kind of Christmas present,” he joked.

His wife, not seeing the humor, grabbed his arm and got him moving again. “Tacky,” she hissed.

Meadow flipped her off and Olivia’s cheeks heated. This girl was like a puzzle piece that had wound up in the wrong box. However were they going to get her to fit in?

Dear Santa, please bring me an extra dose of patience. I’m going to need it.

* * *

Sienna was still smiling when she went into work on Friday, remembering her fun evening of feasting, laughter and dancing. While the day had gotten off to a bad start, happily, it had ended on a positive note. And now she got to go to a job she loved. She had so much fun at Mountain Escape Books that her time there never felt like work, even when things were at their busiest.

The store was especially busy this day. In addition to shoppers enjoying Black Friday bargains, Muriel Sterling was there, signing copies of her newest book, A Guide to Happy Holidays.

Sienna took advantage of her employee discount and bought one. “I hope I can write a book someday,” she confessed to Muriel. I want to be just like you when I grow up. Gush, gush.

“We all have a story to tell,” Muriel said.

“I don’t know what mine would be.”

“You have lots of time to figure it out,” Muriel assured her. “You’re still young.”

“I keep telling Muriel to write a book about Icicle Falls,” said Pat, who was stacking more books on the table where Muriel was seated. “Maybe you’ll be the one to do that, Sienna.”

“Yeah,” put in Dot Morrison, one of Muriel’s friends who’d come in to purchase a book and offer moral support. “Or...why don’t you write a juicy novel with lots of sex? And a murder. You can set it right here in Icicle Falls.”

“If you need characters for a book, there’s your girl,” Pat teased, making Dot frown.

Known for her crazy sweatshirts, Dot was definitely a character. Today’s offering said Apologies to Anyone I Haven’t Offended. Please Be Patient. I’ll Get to You Shortly.

“Murder in Icicle Falls?” Muriel gave a mock shudder.

Dot shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t work. Who would you murder?”

“Your neighbor Mr. Cratchett?” Pat suggested to Sienna.

“Well...” Sienna regretted having told Pat about her problem neighbor. Complaining to family was one thing. Complaining to other people was plain old bad-mouthing. Although if anyone deserved to be bad-mouthed, it was Cratchett.

Dot gave a snort. “That old grump. Don’t mind him. He’s lived here forever. Comes into my restaurant every once in a while. Never leaves my gals a tip. You could bump him off in a book. Put him in my place and have someone slip poison in his coffee. The way he gripes about it, you’d think it was poisoned.”

“There’s probably more to Mr. Cratchett than what you’re seeing,” Muriel said.

“As in, you can’t judge a book by its cover,” said Pat.

“Not even in a bookstore,” Muriel added with a smile.

Sienna had seen enough of Mr. Cratchett and she didn’t want to read any further.

“We shouldn’t be too hard on the poor man. Maybe he’s got a good reason to be so grouchy. He’s a widower, after all,” Muriel said in Cratchett’s defense.

This produced another snort from Dot. “I’ve been a widow for years. You don’t see me whining about it.” She shook her head. “Men. They’re the weaker sex.”

At that moment a member of the weaker sex came into the store, needing help finding the latest Suzanne Selfors book for his daughter, and that broke up the confab as Sienna went to help him and Pat moved to ring up a sale.

Business remained brisk for the next two hours, with townspeople popping in to get signed copies of Muriel’s book. Her daughters Samantha and Cecily both came by, bringing treats from their sister Bailey’s tearoom. And Vance Fish, one of the town’s older single men, stopped in to say hi to Muriel. He owned a bookstore in Seattle but he always came by Pat’s when she had a special event going on.

“We indie booksellers have to stick together,” he said.

While he was there, two women came in looking for the latest Vanessa Valentine book. Sienna had heard a rumor that Vance Fish himself was really Vanessa Valentine. She’d worked up her nerve to ask him once. He’d laughed and replied, “Do I look like a Vanessa Valentine to you?” So much for that rumor.

Muriel’s book signing ended, but before she left the store, she handed out invitations to her ladies’ Christmas tea the next Sunday afternoon.

“It’s a tradition,” Pat told Sienna. “She does this every year for her girlfriends and daughters, so make sure you line up your cousin to watch Leo, because you won’t want to miss seeing Muriel’s place all fixed up for the holidays.”

She wouldn’t want to miss seeing Muriel’s place, period.

The rest of the day sped by and before Sienna knew it, it was quitting time. She picked up her car from Swede’s Garage, where they’d put on those snow tires she’d been postponing purchasing. Then she fetched Leo from Rita’s house, which was his home away from home when Sienna was at the bookstore. It was a good arrangement. Rita worked nights at Zelda’s, so she was home during the day and was happy to have Leo around, as he kept little Linda entertained. Plus, the price was right: free—always a good thing for a single mom who had stretched her budget to buy her house. Child support from the creep only went so far.

“How was your day?” Sienna asked, hugging her son.

“I helped Tía Rita make cookies,” he told her.

“You did?”

He nodded eagerly.

“He’s very good at stirring,” Rita confirmed.

“That’s nice to hear. You’re a good helper,” Sienna said and mussed his thick, dark hair. “Come on, handsome, let’s go home and make some hamburgers.”

“Hamburgers, yes!” Leo cheered and raced for the door.

“Why don’t you let Tito watch him tonight and you come to Zelda’s for a while?” Rita suggested. “There’s a new band playing in the bar.”

“I’m too tired,” Sienna said. “We had a busy day at the bookstore.”

“Tired,” Rita echoed in disgust. “You’re too young to be tired. You’re only thirty-five.”

“Well, tonight I feel like I’m eighty-five. And my feet hurt.”

Rita frowned. “You gotta get out, chica. You need a life. You need a man.”