Sugar Plum Season

He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “You don’t want folks feeling sorry for you, I get that. Your life’s taken a nasty turn, and I respect what you’re doing to get it back together.” Moving a step closer, he added, “But you’re here now, and you don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. Folks in Barrett’s Mill are real fond of your aunt and uncle, and they’re gonna want to help you, whether you like it or not.”

“Including you?”

Warmth spread through his features, burnishing the gold in his eyes to a color she’d never seen before. When he finally smiled, for the first time in her life, she actually felt her knees begin quivering. If he took it into his head to kiss her, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have the strength—or the will—to stop him.

“Including me,” he said so quietly, she almost didn’t hear him.

Struggling to keep her head clear, she pulled her dignity around her like a shield. “That’s really not necessary. I’m very capable of taking care of myself, and I didn’t get where I am by letting people poke their noses into my life and tell me what to do.”

Mischief glinted in his eyes, and he chuckled. “Me, neither.”

Because of her size, Amy was accustomed to being misjudged, underestimated and generally dismissed by others. Sometimes it actually worked to her advantage, lulling people into a harmless perception of her that masked her relentless determination until she was ready to bring it out into the open. By then, it was too late for whoever had dared to step in between her and whatever she wanted.

But Jason Barrett, with his country-boy looks and disarming personality, didn’t seem inclined to follow along. Instead, he’d taken stock of her and had apparently come to the conclusion that she didn’t scare him in the least. She’d given it her best shot, and it had sailed wide. So far wide, in fact, that the only sensible thing left to do was admit defeat.

“Okay, you win. This time,” she added, pointing a stern finger at him in warning. “But Arabesque is my business, and things around here will be run my way. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tacking on yet another maddening grin, he went on. “But I’ve got an idea about how to balance this entrance display. If you’re done scolding me, would you like to hear it?”

The concept of someone her size hassling the brawny carpenter was absurd, and she got the distinct impression he was trying to get her to lighten up. Since he was bending over backward to be entertaining, she decided the least she could do was smile. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Propping the nutcracker in place against a shrub, he moved to the other side of the walkway that led to the studio’s glass front door. Holding out his arms, he said, “Imagine a nicely decorated Christmas tree over here. Then you could do narrow pillars with an arch over the top strung with lights and a sign telling people when the show is.”

“I don’t think Jenna has time to do another sign for me.”

“It’s just lettering,” he pointed out. “I’ll get some stencils and knock it out in no time.”

Squinting, she envisioned what he’d described. Since the sun went down so much earlier this time of year, people running errands on Main Street after work would be drawn to Arabesque, just the way she was hoping. They’d come over to check out the cheery display window and get a look inside the freshly redecorated studio. Not only would it boost attendance for The Nutcracker, it might gain her some new students. Profits were the name of the new game she was playing, and anything that had the potential to bring in customers was worth a try.

“I like it,” she announced. “When do you think you can have it done?”

“How’s Monday afternoon sound?”

She had no idea how much work was involved in what he’d described, but he sounded so confident, she didn’t even consider questioning the quick turnaround. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Plunging his hands into the front pockets of his well-worn jeans, he said, “I oughta warn you, it probably won’t be perfect. But I can promise you it’ll be good enough to do the job.”

“Like you?”

“And you.” Slinging the wooden soldier over his shoulder, he gazed down at her. “For most of us, that’s enough.”

“Not for me,” she assured him. “I don’t stop until whatever I’m doing can’t possibly be any better.”

“We’ve all got flaws, y’know. It’s what we accomplish in spite of ’em that makes us who we are.”

The last thing she’d have expected this morning was to find herself in a philosophical debate with a guy carrying a life-size nutcracker. “That’s a nice thought, but some of us are more imperfect than others. It keeps us from being our best.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause you’re meant to be something else.”

Clearly, he meant for his calm, rational explanation to make her feel better about her lingering injuries. He didn’t mention God by name, but the silver cross on the chain around his neck filled in the blanks nicely for her. While she respected his right to hold that faith, his comment sparked a flame of resentment she fought to control. “Maybe I wanted the chance to choose for myself.”

All her life, she’d done everything her Sunday-school teacher had taught her to do. She went to church, said all the prayers, sang all the hymns. She’d worked relentlessly to polish the talent God gave her until it shone as brightly as any stage lights in the world.

And then He took it all away.

Lying in that lonely hospital bed, she begged Him to help her, to make everything the way it was before. And what happened? Nothing.

She didn’t trust herself to speak calmly right now, but from the sympathy in Jason’s eyes, she might as well have told him her whole tragic story.

“We don’t always get what we ask for, Amy.”

“Tell me about it.”

More worked up than she’d been in a long, long time, she marched away from him and yanked open the door to escape into the only part of her world she still understood.

* * *

The rest of his day at Arabesque passed by in silence. Except when he was hammering or drilling, anyway. Other than that, Amy avoided him with a deftness that impressed and saddened him all at the same time. He’d been around enough wounded people in his life to recognize the regret that trailed after her, darkening her eyes with the kind of unrelenting sorrow he could only begin to imagine.

He’d just met her, but he instinctively wanted to do whatever he could to pound down the road ahead of her to make it easier for her to walk. The women who usually appealed to him were engaging, uncomplicated types who didn’t eat much and laughed easily. Something told him Amy Morgan was complicated by nature, which should’ve been an enormous red flag for him.

Unfortunately, it only made him wonder what it would take to make her laugh. Then again, he thought as he packed Fred’s tools into their cases, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he’d barely been able to tease a smile out of her, and they’d been together most of the day.

Stopping by her office, he knocked on the frame of the open door. “Everything’s put away, so I’m gonna get outta here before your students show up. I’ll be back Monday with those extra pieces we talked about.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a good rehearsal.”

Since he was out of things to say, he waved and began backing away. When she called out his name, he paused in the hallway. “Yeah?”

“Things were so hectic today, we never settled on your hourly rate.”

“I thought we agreed on zero.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head in a skeptical pose he suspected was fairly common for her. “I assumed you were joking about that.”

“Nope. I’m sure Fred wasn’t charging you, so since I’m filling in for him, it wouldn’t be right for me to do it.”

“Where I’m from, strangers don’t do things for nothing.”

“Huh,” he said with his brightest grin. “And here I thought we were friends.”

While he watched, the brittle cynicism fell away, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. “I should warn you, I’m not the easiest person to be friends with.”

“That’s cool. I like a challenge.”

Before she could warp their light exchange into something heavier, he turned and headed for the front door, whistling “Jingle Bell Rock” as he went. When the orchestral holiday medley coming over the studio speakers increased in volume, he knew she’d heard him and was registering her disapproving opinion of his taste in Christmas music. Didn’t matter a bit to him, he thought as he stepped from the studio. So they didn’t enjoy the same kind of tunes. It wasn’t as if he was going to marry her or anything.