Page 4 of The Christmas Eve Delivery

Diego and Jackson gave Harris a hard time about the diner. It sounded to me as if this town was almost too small for our new property. Of course, we would also be bringing in several destination restaurants. I had plans on a Michelin Star within the first year of opening our doors, and that meant attracting a renowned chef. A celebrity chef would be better from a marketing perspective, but those were conversations to start having once I had the land under contract.

Securing the purchase of a bunch of falling down buildings shouldn’t be this difficult. It felt almost as if my team wasn’t even trying. I would have gotten a meeting about, if not closed on, at least one property by now.

I hit the intercom to my assistant. “How far away is Brookdale?”

“According to the internet, it says it’s a four- to five-hour drive. So with traffic, make that six hours.”

I grumbled.

“The closest airport is Albany, and you could get a rental from there.“

“Do it. I want to go see what’s so challenging about this little town for myself,” I said.

“Sure thing. Did you have a timeline in mind? You have meetings on Thursday, but next Tuesday is clear, and your Wednesday is virtual, so you can take that call from anywhere.”

“Next week is soon enough.” I ended the call. Next week was more than soon enough. I was not a fan of small towns and avoided them as a point of principle. This was not a pleasure trip. The sooner I could get there and back, the better.

3

LYDIA

The stack of books in my collection grew as I added another one. I slid the pile onto the closest shelf as I pulled down a book on plumbing and flipped through the pages. Not enough pictures. I put it back. The next book was full of color, step-by-step photographs. I added it to my keepers and continued to scan the shelf.

“Are you sure you don’t want a cart?” Evie teased in a low, library approved hush.

“Funny.” I crinkled my nose and stuck my tongue out at her.

She pulled the top book from the stack and began flipping through it. “Better Homes Plumbing for the DIYer. Do you really think you can fix the plumbing in that place all by yourself?”

“Somebody has to do it. Aunt Ruth really let the inn go, and there just isn’t the money to hire out all the repairs I need. Especially the third floor of the north wing. None of those rooms can be occupied as they are.”

“But, plumbing?”

I shrugged. “I want to start with smaller projects I can manage. I’m not comfortable taking on something like electricity yet.” I set a book on basic wiring down on my stack. “I should know how to clean out one of those…” —I grabbed the plumbing book back from her and flipped through the pages until I found the information I was looking for— “P-trap things under a sink. And I should be able to fix a leaky faucet.”

Evie looked at me skeptically.

“Mom knew all of this stuff. She was the best handy-person. She could fix anything. But Ruth had different ideas regarding what a woman should be able to do, and she was cheap. Wouldn’t hire anyone to do the work, and didn’t know how herself. Not that she would have done it if she could. And she refused to let me even try. I was a girl.”

Evie cackled. “You still are.”

I looked down at my boobs. I had more than enough for the two of us. As many times as Evie complained of not being particularly endowed, it seemed a shame that I had enough to share, was willing to share, and was left without a means of sharing. Yes, I was still a girl, a woman. When my mom was alive, that had been something to be proud of. I was capable of anything I wanted to do. I could be whatever I wanted to be. But my life under Aunt Ruth’s thumb had been very different.

Girls were meant to find a man to take care of them. I wasn’t allowed to think about going to college, and there wasn’t money for it, anyway. I certainly hadn’t been allowed to pick up a hammer or a screwdriver. Those were tools for men. The life I was headed toward with my mother was one of promise and independence. Under my aunt, it was full of the expectation of servitude to a future husband while wearing a strand of pearls.

“Are you certain?” I asked. “I’m wearing jeans. Don’t tell Ruth.”

We both suppressed a fit of giggles. I hadn’t been allowed to wear pants in public once I was under Aunt Ruth’s guardianship, and never jeans when she could see me. I was being positively rebellious.

“She must be spinning in her grave,” Evie said, sobering up.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “She’s definitely not pleased with my choices, that’s for certain.”

“Are you doing okay?” Evie reached out and rubbed my arm. Her brows pinched together in an expression of concern.

She knew my rather troublesome history with Aunt Ruth. She had known me before that particular phase of my life, also. Evie and I had been friends forever. We both grew up in this town, both had parents who, despite popular opinion, did their best to preserve the old, beautiful buildings in their care. If there was anyone who understood how conflicted and confused I was in those first few days after my aunt’s death, it was Evie. She also knew exactly why I had stuck it out when I could have walked away as soon as I had turned eighteen.

I nodded. It had taken several days of living in a fog before my head settled and I could think clearly after Aunt Ruth’s death. “It’s still weird. You know, I mean, look at me. I’m in the library pulling out a stack of books so I can start fixing the inn up, and I’m wearing jeans in public. None of these things would have been possible a month ago.”

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