The Best Gift

Blake couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe it would help if we set some ground rules.”

She made a face. “Why don’t we just take it a day at a time? Make up the rules as we go along?”

“You mean wing it?”

“More or less.”

“That’s not the best way to run a business.” Or a life, as far as he was concerned. He liked rules and structure. He’d had enough of “winging it” to last a lifetime.

“We’re not a Fortune 500 company, Blake. We can afford to be a little flexible.”

That was another word he hated. Too often “flexible” became an excuse for not honoring commitments.

At his grim expression, A.J. grinned. “Loosen up, Blake. Life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.”

“I don’t consider Turning Leaves small stuff,” he said stiffly, sounding uncharacteristically pompous and self-righteous even to his own ears. This woman just brought out the worst in him.

“I didn’t say it was. I was referring to your ground rules. I don’t want to get hung up on making a lot of guidelines that may not be necessary. Let’s just work things out as we go along. And before you know it, the six months will zip right by.”

The bell jangled over the door, and A.J. turned her attention to the customer who had just entered. “Oh, look at that darling little girl!”

Blake glanced at the young mother and her child. The toddler looked to be about four, and she was clutching a glazed donut. Which translated to sticky fingers— and sticky merchandise. He started forward, then stopped. The house rules said no food in the shop. But he had a feeling the house rules were about to go out the window.

Blake sighed. It was going to be a long six months.

“I’d like to start closing the shop on Sundays.”

Blake stared at A.J. as if she’d lost her mind. Their first week as partners had been remarkably smooth. She was an eager learner, and Blake was beginning to think that maybe this arrangement would work out after all. Until she’d dropped this bombshell.

“Excuse me?”

She looked up from the catalog of new releases she was perusing. “I’d like to close the shop on Sundays.”

“Why? We’re always busy on Sunday.”

“I’ve studied the traffic and sales data. We do have a lot of window-shoppers on Sunday. But it’s not one of our bigger sales days. And we’re only open for five hours, anyway. I don’t think we’ll notice much impact on our bottom line.”

This was exactly the kind of impetuous action that Blake had been afraid of. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Nancy observing the exchange, and he took a deep breath before responding.

“I don’t think changing the hours is a good idea. Everyone else on the street is open on Sunday. Our customers will be disappointed.”

“We can change our phone message and have a sign with our new hours made for the window. People will adjust.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Why is this such a big deal? Sunday hours are convenient for our customers and we always have enough sales to justify being open.”

A.J. closed the catalog and looked at him steadily. “My main reason for wanting to close has nothing to do with sales or with customers. Sunday is the Lord’s day. A day of rest. A day to keep holy. A store like ours that sells nonessential items doesn’t need to be open.”

Blake stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He tried a different approach. “Jo was very religious. And she was open on Sunday.”

“When did she start opening on Sunday?”

“A couple of years ago.”

About the time he took over the day-to-day management of the shop. Neither voiced that thought, but it hung in the air.

“Did she work in the shop that day?” A.J. asked.

“No.”

“Who did?”

“Nancy and I alternated.”

A.J. glanced over at Nancy. She didn’t know the part-time worker very well yet, but she’d learned enough to know that the divorced mother had a tough life, that she juggled two part-time jobs just to make ends meet, and that she was a churchgoing woman with a quiet, deep faith.

“How do you feel about it, Nancy?” A.J. asked.

Nancy looked uncertainly from A.J. to Blake, then back again. “I need the job, A.J. I’ll be happy to work whatever hours you and Blake give me.”

A.J. smiled. “I already know that, Nancy. That’s not what I’m asking. How do you feel about working on Sundays?”

“Well, the money is nice.” She hesitated. “But it’s always a rush to get here after church, and then I have to leave Eileen with Mrs. Cook all afternoon. I guess, if I had a choice, I’d prefer to have Sundays off so I could spend a little more time at church and with my daughter. Six days of work ought to be enough for anyone. Even God rested on the seventh day.”

Blake stared at Nancy. “You never said anything to me about not wanting to work on Sundays.”

“I didn’t think it was an option.”

He expelled a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine. I don’t mind working. We can surely find someone to fill in every other weekend for those few hours.”

“I’m sure we can, Blake,” A.J. replied calmly. “But that’s not the point. I’m talking about principles here. And if you’re worried about losing sales, I’m sure we can find a way to make up the difference.”

“Such as?”

“I’m working on it.”

He looked at her, and the determination in her eyes told him that she was dead set on this. He didn’t agree, but he wasn’t sure it was worth waging a major battle over. Yes, they’d lose some sales. But she was right. The decision wouldn’t make or break the shop. Besides, he suspected there would be bigger battles to fight down the road. Maybe the best strategy was to let her win this one.

“Okay. If that’s what you want. I just hope you don’t regret it,” he capitulated.

“I don’t waste my time on regrets, Blake. They’re all about the past. I try to focus on today and make the best decisions I can.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to think a little bit about tomorrow, too.”

A shadow crossed her eyes, so fleeting that he thought perhaps it was just the play of light as she turned her head. “Tomorrow has a way of surprising us, no matter what we plan,” she said quietly.