Page 51 of A Very Naughty Christmas

To Pete, she repeated, “He is not my boyfriend. I’m also not waiting. Your fifteen minutes ends up being an hour, sometimes more. I have to be up early so I’ll walk, but thanks, Pete.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on his scratchy beard-roughened jaw. “You don’t fool me, you know,” she murmured close to his ear. “You’re just a big old softie beneath that gruff exterior.” And it wasn’t lost on her how much he cared or that after working with him for nearly a decade, he was the only stable male figure in her life.

“Spread that around and you’re fired, hear me, girl?”

“Yes, sir, boss man. Never fear, your dirty secret is safe with me.”

He grunted. “Get out of here, brat.”

Before the big bear’s grumble became a roar, she was out the door, rushing home.

Chapter Five

The Mistletoe Market had been held in downtown Asheville on the second Saturday in December ever since Dixie could remember. Her booth cost a small fortune on a waitress’s salary, but her art, mostly local landscapes featuring the area’s two stunning mountain ranges and six drive-by waterfalls, sold well and easily made up for the expense. Since she didn’t have time between shifts at the diner to set up an easel and paint in the natural light, she relied on photographs she’d taken with her Canon PowerShot with its huge 700mm zoom to capture the essence of a scene she wanted to paint. The camera was another budget buster that resulted in her eating ramen noodles for a month when she wasn’t using her half-off discount on meals at the diner. As she surveyed the results beautifully displayed in her small canopy-covered booth that Saturday morning, she hoped today would be as profitable as days in the past had been and make all her sacrifices worthwhile.

Once she arranged her larger oil paintings on easels, she hung her medium and small canvases done in acrylics and watercolors on the folding display panel she purchased for this very reason. Lastly, she set out her hardwoods, arranging them on the floor due to their size. Since it was a craft show, not a gallery, she tried to incorporate different mediums and backdrops that would appeal to these specific patrons—anything from rustic to country chic.

One of her bestsellers came from an idea she’d gotten years ago, while still living at home, when the owner of the trailer park had been clearing trees for expansion. The trunks and branches were hauled off for firewood, but the stumps were going to be ground into mulch. Her artist’s eye saw the beauty of the wood grains and rings in the trunks and she’d begged for a few cross sections of the hardwood trees. Leaving the outer bark for character and prepping the surface by sanding carefully prior to painting, she’d created something both beautiful and unique. And she was delighted by how these artsy-crafty works sold like hotcakes in a booth on a chilly Saturday morning.

Over the years, she’d had customers bring her more sections from their own downed trees, which had kept her supplied throughout the year. Other popular items, besides her paintings, were hand-painted coasters, miniature oils at a very affordable price, and some vases, though not many. These last items had been supplied by Penny, a friend she’d met in art school who had a potter’s wheel and a small gallery downtown. Dixie added her special touch, in anything from florals to art deco, and the vases, which cost pennies to make, were selling for two hundred fifty dollars a pop. They split the profit sixty/forty, with Penny getting the extra ten percent to cover her overhead at her shop.

All in all, if she sold her entire stock, she could walk away with over ten thousand dollars. She’d be happy to sell half. And that didn’t include the caricatures she’d be painting through the day. What she sold today would take her months to earn at the diner. If only she could do it full time. But the supplies cost money, craft shows didn’t provide health insurance, and in bad times, poor sales wouldn’t cover her utility and grocery bills.

They weren’t called starving artists for nothing.

As her first customer approached, she put thoughts of money away and poured on the charm. She found a smile and being sociable put folks in a buying mood, especially when painting a ladybug or a flower on a child’s up-tilted face as their parents looked on. Face painting didn’t exactly rake it in, but it was popular with the kids and brought the parents to her booth.

It was a little after noon, when she was finishing a drawing of a cute carrot-topped couple, both with freckles and wire-rimmed glasses. The girl had an impressive bust line that Dixie enhanced further in her drawing. She did the same with her boyfriend’s red goatee, which became cartoonish in her version. They were thrilled with it and tipped her an extra ten bucks.

“I remember you working on the sets for theater, but I never realized how very talented you were.”

Twisting on her stool at the familiar voice, she stared up into eyes as vivid a blue as the Carolina sky. Peeking behind him, she saw that for the first time her tent was empty of customers. Without any other distractions, she busied herself storing her pastel pencils in their tray, then took up a rag and wiped the color smudges from her fingers.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?”

“A bit of Christmas shopping.” His eyes swept over her artwork. One of her favorite pieces caught his attention and he moved to examine it up close. A thirty by forty-inch oil painting of Looking Glass Falls, a stunning sixty-foot waterfall in the Pisgah National Forest about thirty-five miles outside of Asheville; it was the largest work she had on display, and the most expensive. Done in stunning whites, silvers, and deep blues, it was a winter scape, and the snowdrifts and icicles hanging from the trees were so crisp, she had to admit she had outdone herself.

“This would be perfect for someone on my list,” he said, not seeming to notice the seven hundred fifty-dollar price tag. “I’ll take it. Do you know where I can have it framed?”

She reached across the table and picked up a card—another friend had a frame shop. “Frieda’s Frames in town will give you twenty percent off if you bring my work to her.”

“Perfect, as is this.” He bent forward to admire it more in depth. “If you can paint like this, what are you doing waiting tables at Pete’s?”

He said it as though giving up a steady job with benefits for an art career was easy,when in truth, sales were feast or famine. Obviously, the good doctor was out of touch. Her voice took on an edge of resentment she couldn’t quite hide.

“Waitressing at Pete’s pays the everyday bills. Shows like this are few and far between as are customers who can afford to drop a grand on a painting and framing. You’ll find a frame that size is almost as much as you paid for the piece itself.”

“The recipient is worth every penny.”

The owner of the umbrella no doubt, Dixie thought, as she felt an inexplicable twist in her chest. “She’s a lucky girl,” she said as she took his proffered credit card. “I hope she enjoys it. If you can come back in about twenty minutes, I’ll have it wrapped for transporting.”

“I can wait. I’m not in a hurry.”

She threw him a glance over her shoulder; his intense gaze was no longer on the winter landscape, but on her as she lifted the canvas and carried it to a table she’d set up in the back with plain wrapping paper, string, and tape.

He followed her slowly, taking in her other items on display. “These would be perfect for my mother,” he murmured as he picked up one of the sandstone coasters. “She’s always complaining about Dad leaving rings on her furniture. I’ll take two sets of these, too.”

The coasters at fifteen dollars for a set of four were a popular gift item. She called the setsSunrise in the Smokies, with each small disc featuring a miniature scene of the mountains in each season. As he continued to wander through her booth, stopping here and there to inspect one piece or another, she tried to ignore him as she pulled out a table-length size of brown paper from the roll to wrap up his purchase.

Tuning him out wasn’t easy, though, and within the confined space, she found it impossible. She could smell him, a wonderful mix of outdoors, sandalwood, and man. It was so intoxicating it made her head spin a little and her hands shake.

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