Peace

It wasn’t even Thanksgiving, and all the overachievers already had their Christmas decorations up. 

The Main Street holiday window display competition had become more cutthroat over the years, especially as fresh blood had been introduced to downtown. When Alex purchased The Melting Plot five years ago, she had only been twenty-four years old, the youngest business owner by far. But now, the owner of the salon couldn’t be more than three years out of high school, and the antique store—while not technically owned by him—was run by the owner’s twentysomething grandson.

Putting together a window display is hard, especially when it's a competition. In her first year, Alex took second place. The florist clinched the prize. It wasn't Alex's fault that flowers are more aesthetic than books, at least to most people. This year, she needed to do something different—something big, something bold, something no one had seen before. She couldn't limit herself to stacking hardbacks into the shape of a tree or putting a Christmas village on one of the bookshelves. No—this year it needed to be different. It needed to be perfect. It needed to win.

When the shop closed the night before Thanksgiving, Alex locked the doors, turned down the lights, and cranked up the music. With the new Pentatonix Christmas album going, she sifted through the piles of unsellable books with missing pages or torn covers. It felt a little bit sacrilegious, but she tore out some of the pages and followed a YouTube tutorial on making paper snowflakes. 

She snipped away at the yellowed paper, trying to make each one distinctly beautiful. At last, she had a stack of snowflakes ready to unfold and string together.

Her vision was simple but unlike anything she’d done before. The book tree would be the foundation again, but instead of leaving it at that, dozens of paper snowflakes would hang from the ceiling and stick to the window, creating the illusion of a snowstorm inside the shop. She scooted the tables away from the front window and retrieved the stepladder from the storage room.

After stringing the snowflakes together with some fishing line, she unfolded the stepladder and climbed to the top rung. She needed about six more inches to reach the beam on the ceiling, so she scooted one of the tables into place and mounted the tabletop.

After spending her savings on buying the business from the previous owner, Alex did not have a lot of money left over for improvements. She gave the place a good cleaning and did some reorganizing, but most of the furniture was grandfathered in, including the bistro table that wobbled under her weight. As she stretched to tape the fishing line to the beam, the table rocked. She stumbled but caught her balance and quickly secured the first strand. One by one, she taped the garlands to the beam, and they fluttered down, hanging in the air and pooling on the floor—just like falling snow. As she stretched to place the final line, the table wobbled again—only this time, she tumbled off and crashed to the floor.

It took Alex a moment to realize what had happened. One of her palms stung, and she turned her hand over to find a smear of blood. A popped nail in the wood floors had cut her. Something else to fix.

Cradling her hand, she climbed to her feet and took a step toward the coffee bar to grab a napkin. Her foot found an uneven surface. Pop. She went back down, all the breath stolen from her lungs.

The pain was blinding—fast and severe, like a cold plunge. The stinging in her palm was nothing compared to the white-hot agony radiating from her ankle. 

It was 7 p.m., and she was alone in the shop. If anybody happened to walk by, they would see her curled into the fetal position on the floor, but there was no one out at this time of night, not on Thanksgiving eve. After a few seconds of labored breathing, she crawled over to her cell phone, which was perched on the arm of one of the couches, and unlocked it.

But who would she call? Asking her grandmother or sisters to come scoop her off the floor and drive her to the hospital was the last thing she wanted to do. Her grandmother always scolded her for closing up the shop alone, and the entire trip would be one long-winded “I told you so.” She pulled up her contacts and scrolled through the names, mentally crossing them out one by one.

Maybe I don't need help. It was her left ankle—if she could just get to her car, she could drive herself to the hospital, no problem. But she needed to turn off the lights, close up the shop, and actually get out to her car. She tried flexing her ankle to no avail. There was no way she could stand up, let alone walk to her car. Calling an ambulance was out of the question—she could not afford an ambulance bill. Or an emergency room bill. Not on her salary. Margins were slim enough, even with only one full-time employee—herself.

Then she remembered—Megan from book club was a nurse. Maybe she could come take a look at Alex’s ankle and tell her if it was just a sprain or something worse. Maybe she didn’t need to go to the hospital. She could just pop a few ibuprofen and put some ice on it. No use crying over spilled milk.

Alex didn’t know Megan very well, but the pain was becoming so bad that she was lightheaded and probably not thinking clearly when she pulled up her contact. After three rings, Megan picked up.

“Hey, Alex. What’s up?” Megan’s voice was muffled by road noise.

“Can you meet me at the bookstore?” Alex managed to get out.

“Is everything okay? I’m on my way home from work.” A sleepy rasp underlined her voice.

Megan had likely been on her feet already for twelve hours at the nursing home. Calling had been a mistake. Alex shouldn’t be bothering her—not over a turned ankle. She just needed to suck it up and put some ice on it.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Alex bit her lip. Her heart throbbed in her swollen leg. “I was just hoping for your help with something, but it sounds like you need to get home. I’ll talk to you later. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Before Megan could reply, Alex hung up and let out a strangled sob. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, keeping her left foot off the ground, toes barely brushing the floor. Instead of trying to walk on it, she just kept it up and hopped over to the light switch and flicked it off. She grabbed her bag and car keys from behind the counter and jumped to the back door, each landing jolting her with a bolt of pain and making her hiss through her teeth.

Finally, she made it to her car and slid into the driver's seat.

---

On Thanksgiving Day, Alex took two ibuprofen as soon as she woke up. Her injured ankle was swollen and blue. All of the blood in her leg seemed to have pooled at the base of her foot, right below the ball of her ankle. She wiggled her toes, and they responded, but she could only flex her foot an inch or two, and even then, it was painful.

For Thanksgiving dinner, she layered on two pairs of tight socks and laced up her combat boots as tight as they would go. Had they been real combat boots—military issue—they probably would've supported her ankle better than they did. Given that they were from Target circa 2013, they just hid the swelling. But nothing she did could hide the limp.

When she arrived at her grandmother's single-wide trailer, the front door stood open—waiting to welcome her. As she limped up the front steps, she was met with the heavenly scent of baking bread and macaroni and cheese. Even though it was just the four of them, her grandma always went all out for the holidays. 

Alex pulled open the storm door and stepped into the neat living-room-kitchen combo. Grandma stood at the stove, wearing a frilly yellow apron and stirring a pot. Her sisters, Jada and Skyler, were sprawled out on the couch, both staring at their cell phones. Skyler watched TikTok videos, the sound blasting and drowning out the classic Christmas music, which immediately irritated Alex. Common sense says not to watch videos with the volume up while in mixed company. But she greeted them anyway and then gave her grandmother a warm hug.

From the time she was a little girl, Alex's grandmother instilled in her the value of education, encouraging her to stay in school and read as many books as she could, which is when she really began to love reading. Her grandma read to her every night before bed until she could read on her own, and then she would stay awake under the covers of her twin-size bunk bed, reading with a flashlight until the early morning hours. Her grandma would come wake her up for school and find the flashlight still on, on the floor next to the bed, the book usually turned over somewhere in the covers.

"Hey, GeeVee," Alex said, addressing her grandmother by her pet name. She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and her grandmother patted her arm.

"Why don’t you help me out by checking on the turkey?" GeeVee pointed to the avocado green oven set into the knotty pine cabinets. 

GeeVee didn't have much, but she took care of what she did have, and this little 1970s single-wide was homier than anywhere else Alex had lived. Everything was original and in pristine condition—from the wood panel walls to the shag carpet.

Alex pulled open the oven door and spied the thermometer stuck in the turkey. It read 160 degrees—almost done. 

“We’re gettin’ there.” She closed the door and leaned one hip against the counter, shifting her weight to her good leg. 

“Wonderful.” GeeVee wiped her hands on the towel at her waist and turned to Alex. Her face had that warm smile Alex loved. GeeVee’s hugs were strong and encompassing. She pulled Alex off balance with her embrace, but Alex realized too late. She put down her tender foot to catch her balance and winced. 

GeeVee froze. “You okay, baby?” 

Alex nodded, taking a few shallow breaths through her nose. She wasn’t okay, but she just needed to make it through this dinner and then get home. Maybe put some more ice on it and prop her foot up for the rest of the evening. She would be ready to go by the time she had to open the shop tomorrow. 

GeeVee’s eyes flicked down to Alex’s feet. She was still wearing her combat boots—a faux pas in GeeVee’s house. 

“Why you got them boots on still?” GeeVee’s salt and pepper eyebrows rose, crinkling her forehead. 

Alex hesitated. Wondering if she should just lie and say she forgot to take them off. But she would never forget to do that—shag carpeting didn’t stay in pristine condition if shoes were worn in the house. Alex knew she was caught. 

---

At least GeeVee had let her eat dinner before driving her to Dogwood Pass Memorial Hospital. They ate in unusual silence at the lemon-yellow Formica dinette. Alex’s foot was propped up on an ottoman and blanketed with ice packs. As soon as the table was cleared, GeeVee instructed Jada and Skyler to finish cleaning up and then whisked Alex away to the emergency room. 

It took more than five hours to get X-rays and to be seen by a physician’s assistant. There was a hairline fracture in Alex’s talus—the tiny bone connecting the foot to the leg—and she’d severely sprained the ligaments in her ankle. They bound Alex’s foot in a cast and gave her a pair of crutches. Her armpits were already sore by the time she dropped into the passenger seat of GeeVee’s Honda Accord.

“I’ll have the girls drop off your car later,” GeeVee said as she pulled up outside of Alex’s apartment. “Get some rest.” 

“I can drive.” Alex protested. She opened the passenger door and fumbled with the crutches stuck in the footwell.

“I know you can, baby.” GeeVee leaned over the center console, and Alex tried to avoid her grandmother’s unrelenting gaze. “But you don’t have to.” 

---

Alex’s phone chimed, rousing her from a fitful sleep. 

Can’t make it in tomorrow. Feeling sick. 

Just what she needed—one of her two part-time employees calling out on Black Friday. While she tried to assume the best, she had a feeling that the sickness had something to do with mulled wine and spiked apple cider rather than a virus.

She would have to cover the shop from opening until lunch on her own—then Logan, her other employee, would be able to come in. 

She tossed the phone onto her nightstand and tried to fall back asleep, but ended up staring at the ceiling until her alarm went off at 5:30. 

Getting ready with a cast on her leg took significantly longer than it did without one. For starters, she hadn’t thought about how she was going to shower, so she ended up standing on one foot and hanging her cast out the side of the curtain. This resulted in water soaking the floor and Alex having to mop it up—another task that was more challenging on one leg. 

When she finally made it into the shop, Alex was panting for breath and sweating despite just having showered. She peeled off her puffer coat and hung it on a hook in the back room before heading to the front of the shop to dial in the espresso machine for the day. She wasn't sure how she was going to make this work. The Christmas display was mostly done, but all of her supplies were still strewn about in the seating area. She should be able to put a stool behind the counter and sit to take orders, ring up customers, and make coffee, but it would be very challenging to get around anywhere in the store, let alone carry books or stock shelves. She just hoped people wouldn't be too messy today. Black Friday was busy, but Small Business Saturday would be worse.

Thankfully, Logan was scheduled to come in first thing, so she would have help during the busiest hours of the day.

At 6:30, she flipped the sign around to “open” and unlocked the front door. No one was out quite yet, but she knew the regulars would start coming in around seven. With a large population of retirees, Dogwood Pass had no shortage of daytime customers. She had a handful of people who came in every morning for a cup of coffee, old friends who would visit weekly over pastires, and college students from the regional public college up the road who liked to escape to her shop for study sessions—though today probably wouldn't be one of those days.

It turned out that her first customer of the day was the new sheriff deputy—Isabella's husband. She hadn't met him before, but the local newspaper shared his photo and a quick write-up about the police academy's graduating class when he first joined the department. He entered the shop still in uniform, dark bags underlining his blue eyes. He was handsome in that clean-cut, do-gooder sort of way. Not really Alex's type, but he and Isabella fit together like puzzle pieces. They had that same polished aesthetic that belonged in an L.L. Bean ad.

“Good morning,” Alex said, dropping from her stool and landing on her good foot. “How can I help you?”

Isabella's husband stared at the menu, his dark eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Do you have like a white chocolate coffee thing?” He scratched the back of his head.

Alex laughed. “Yes. Do you want it hot or cold?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the police cruiser parked on the curb. Fog coughed from the exhaust, and, despite likely having been running all night, a thin layer of frost coated the top of the car.

“Definitely hot,” he replied.

She rang him up and hopped over to the espresso machine to start making the drink, which Alex realized was probably for Isabella. The deputy didn't look like the kind of guy who drank white chocolate mochas, especially since he wasn't even sure how to order one.

He faced the door, fingers hooked in the loops of his duty belt. A taser and gun were holstered on his sides, and several patent leather pouches studded his belt. A pair of sunglasses was pushed up into his crew cut, and he watched her hop from the mini fridge under the counter back over to the espresso machine.

“What happened to your leg?” he asked.

“Took a little fall while putting together my window display.” Alex gestured to the snowflakes in the window. Despite the cost of putting together the display, she was happy with how it turned out.

“You'd better bring home that first-place trophy.” He chuckled. “You on your own today?”

There was a sincerity in his voice that made Alex feel warm inside, just like she had when she first talked with Isabella. He’d been working all night and still took the time to make small talk.

“Yeah, my help called in sick, so I'll be here on my own until lunchtime when my other employee can come in,” she replied, handing him the white chocolate mocha.

He snapped a lid onto it and held it up as if to toast. “Good luck. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime,” Alex replied, wiping her hands on a towel.

---

Logan did not, in fact, show up at lunchtime. Alex called him three times and left a voicemail each time but never heard back from him. Where were her employees today? 

The morning had had a steady drip of customers, and without the use of both of her legs, she hadn't been able to tidy up between visitors. Books were pulled out of their proper places, tables needed to be wiped, and dishes were waiting to be washed.

Around 2 o'clock, the crowd began to slow, and Alex stuffed a bottle of multipurpose cleaner into the pocket of her apron and slung a towel over her shoulder before crutching around the counter to wipe off some tables. She leaned her crutches against one of the chairs and started cleaning just as the bell over the front door jingled.

“Be right with you,” she called over her shoulder.

“Take your time,” a familiar voice said. 

Alex’s head snapped up, and she found Isabella trailing her fingers over a table of holiday books. Alex put them out a couple of days ago, just before she started on the window display, and they were already disorganized.

“I heard you hurt your leg.” Isabella took a few steps closer to Alex. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into an elegant French braid, and she wore simple gold hoop earrings. She had on a pair of wide-leg, dark-wash jeans and a sage green sweater. “The window display looks good.”

“Thank you.” Alex jumped over to another table and scrubbing at a sticky spot she should have wiped up hours ago.

“I used to work in a bookstore, you know.” Isabella paced down the classics aisle.

“Oh?” Alex tossed the rag over her shoulder and grabbed her crutches. She didn't know where this conversation was going. Isabella seemed innocent enough, but the whole exchange made her uneasy.

“Did you want some coffee or something?” Alex moved back behind the counter and perched on the edge of her stool.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to stop by and say hi.” Isabella hesitated, her hand hovering over the spine of Little Women. “And to see if you needed any help around here.”

Alex froze. Did Isabella feel sorry for her? Yeah, today had been hard, but she had done a good job, despite the circumstances. She didn't need some new girl taking pity on her and trying to save the day.

“No, I'm fine.” Alex scratched at the floral tattoos on her arm. “My part-timer should be able to come in tomorrow to help out.”

“Okay.” Isabella turned away from the bookshelves and faced Alex. Her eyes were wide and shiny, almost pleading. She took a breath, and it caught in her throat. Was she going to say something else?

“I've been practically running this place since I was sixteen,” Alex said. And it was true. The Melting Plot was her first job. She worked here after school a few times a week and almost every day during the summer. When it went up for sale a few years back, she knew that she had to buy it. No one else could run this place—love this place—like she did. “I can handle it, even with one leg.”

Isabella nodded, thoughtful. “Oh, I have no doubt about that.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It's just that I haven't been able to find a job since I moved here, and, you know, I love reading, and I really loved coming to book club last weekend. And I just thought it would be nice to work somewhere I like. And when Carver brought me coffee this morning, it made me think of you, and retail businesses always need help around the holidays, right?”

Right. Isabella had her there. The next month would be hell, even with her part-timers. Maybe a little extra help would make it bearable. 

---

Isabella would need some additional training, but her help proved to be invaluable on Small Business Saturday. Logan didn't show up, and he never texted Alex back. But with Isabella in the shop, Alex was able to stay behind the coffee counter, ring up orders, and make drinks, while Isabella handled things out on the floor. 

Saturday went significantly better than Friday. Isabella kept the things tidy and re-organized the shelves anytime books were out of place or a curious toddler pulled all the board books down and left them in a pile on the floor. She kept the tables wiped and the floor swept and greeted each customer with a smile.

By the end of the day, Alex, while exhausted, felt unusually calm, peaceful even. Small Business Saturday was the most stressful day of the year, but having an employee who could be there all day and seemed to handle things without being asked made her life so much easier. And she started to wonder why she had initially rejected Isabella's offer.

The only thing left to do was lock up and head over to the park for the annual Christmas tree lighting and the Christmas window display awards.

Isabella stuck around until the last customer left and the lights were turned out. She even walked with Alex the two blocks to the community park where the festivities would take place.

“Carver just started his shift, so he'll meet us there to say hello.” Isabella spooled her scarf around her neck and pulled on a pom-pommed beanie.

The sun had set, so only the white and red Christmas lights on the lamp posts and the train depot illuminated Main Street. Alex considered staying open for the Christmas tree lighting, but after a full day of selling books and slinging shots of espresso, she knew that she wouldn't be able to handle it. Plus, she wanted to be there to claim her first-place prize. So they locked up the shop and made their way down Main Street. By the time they entered the small community park tucked away behind the library, Alex’s armpits were begging for relief, so she and Isabella claimed a picnic table. She sat and propped her crutches against the side of the table.

“Want some hot chocolate?” Isabella eyed the food truck in the parking lot.

“Sure.” Alex stuffed her hands into the pockets of her Carhartt. She wasn't dressed warmly enough for the weather, but the work it took for her to get around on crutches kept her from freezing. Now that she was seated, a cup of hot cocoa was just what she needed to keep the cold at bay. Isabella returned a few minutes later with two paper cups, candy canes hooked over their rims.

The Christmas tree was at least ten feet tall and decorated with tinsel and oversized baubles that shimmered in the dim light. The park was already starting to fill up, and thankfully, Alex and Isabella were close enough to the tree that they could still see what was happening, despite the thickening crowd. Everyone was dressed in their winter coats and red, green, and gold attire. Several people wore reindeer antlers or necklaces that looked like strings of Christmas lights.

Within a few minutes, Mayor Hall stepped up onto the little box next to the Christmas tree, elevating him just enough so that he popped up a head above the crowd. He projected to welcome everyone. Just as he began speaking, a few more people slipped onto the picnic table—one on either side of Alex and Isabella—Megan and Jenny, their two missing book club members. Along with Jenny was her teenage daughter, who looked like she would rather be anywhere except with her mom.

All of the lights in the park went out, casting them into near darkness, illuminated only by the moon, and then they began to count down.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The Christmas tree sparked to life in brilliant white lights.

The audience shared a unified ohhh and then applauded before all the other lights in the park returned. Once the tree was lit, it was time to announce the winners of the Christmas window display competition.

Alex was thankful that she'd been able to finish her window before she broke her ankle. All day today, people had the opportunity to view the shop windows on Main Street and then cast their vote at the visitor center. Based on everyone’s reaction, she felt pretty confident that she would take home a prize, if not first place.

Mayor Hall cleared his throat once more, and the crowd hushed again. “I know you all have been patiently waiting for the results of our annual window display competition.” He clutched a red envelope to his chest. “There were some excellent contenders this year, but our community was clear in their decision. So without further ado, I'd like to announce this year’s winnders.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of crisp white cardstock. A smile broke over his face, and he glanced up, a sparkle in his eyes. “Third place goes to Dogwood Pass Antique Mall.” 

The audience applauded as the owner's grandson shook the mayor’s hand and accepted his prize—a gift certificate to the local greasy spoon diner.

“Second place goes to Lucas Flower Shop.” The owner, Danielle Lucas, made her way to the podium, a smile on her face. This revelation made Alex's heartbeat kick up a notch. The flower shop won nearly every year. Who would take first prize? Hope bubbled in her chest.

“And first prize—the winner of this year’s competition—goes to Alex Jackson, owner of The Melting Plot!”

All the noise and cheering from the crowd fell away, and Alex nearly floated toward the podium. The prize was a ceramic Christmas tree trophy that was passed from winner to winner each year. Alex realized she couldn't carry it back to the picnic table with her, but she didn't need to—Isabella was right next to her, supporting her.

“Miss Jackson, would you like to say a few words?” Mayor Hall asked.

Alex turned to face the crowd. She spotted her book club friends, and they waved. Jenny gave her a thumbs-up. 

“Thank you all so much,” Alex began. “I wasn't sure if I would even be able to make it here tonight. As you can see, I’ve had a rough couple days.” She gestured to her cast. “I put a lot on the line for this competition, and while usually a saying for good luck, people don't actually expect you to ‘break a leg.’” The crowd chuckled. “I just wanted to say thank you to my friends and my family.” Her gaze searched the crowd for GeeVee, Jada, and Skyler. She thought she spotted them in the back. “Dogwood Pass wouldn't be what it is without you. I wouldn’t be who I am without you.” She knew this to be true, even if she resisted help from the people in her life. From GeeVee’s insistence on going to the hospital to Isabella’s timely request for employment. She wouldn’t be here without them. “Merry Christmas.”