Page 27 of Christmas Treasures

Was that true? Could she even trust herself to know if she felt happy for the right reason? Regardless, she would join Max and give all her attention to what he needed from her and expect little in return. It was better that way.

7

MAX

On the way into town, Max and Charlie had agreed to start their shopping day at Willow & Fern, Ivy’s home furnishing shop across from Clever Fox Books. He parked on the street and soon they were headed inside, a jingle of sleigh bells above the door welcoming them. He loved the smell of the place this time of year, breathing in the scent of clove-studded oranges. Twinkle lights sparkled from evergreen garlands strung across shelves, and snow-dusted wreaths lined the front windows, and a fir tree displayed ornaments for sale.

Charlie stepped in behind him, her coat tucked neatly over one arm. “I love this place.”

“I haven’t been in here often,” Max said.

“Ivy helped me decorate my house after the remodel. Do you know her?”

“Yes, we went to school together.” Ivy MacRae had grown up in Sugarville Grove and went to a design school in Boston on a scholarship. She returned to town about the same time as Max and opened her own shop and design business. He didn’t know her well, but what he remembered of Ivy was asweet, quirky personality. A free spirit. Artistic and sensitive. She’d designed the sets for all the high school plays when they were students.

The shop immediately calmed his nerves. Creamy wool blankets were folded into baskets, oversize lanterns glowed on the floor, and clusters of candlesticks and hand-thrown pottery ran down the center of a long wooden display table. At the back, a vintage bed was made up in pale linen and yellow floral prints, surrounded by shelves of framed art and paper star lanterns.

A rustle from behind a display of handmade wreaths revealed the shop owner herself. Ivy emerged, smiling brightly, her wild auburn curls caught up in a plaid ribbon, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Oh my goodness, Charlie, it’s so good to see you.” Ivy wiped her hands on her linen apron.

“It’s good to see you too,” Charlie said.

“And Max, how are you?” Ivy asked. “I haven’t seen you much. Is the store busy?”

“I’ve been good, and yes, thankfully, the store’s been busy,” Max said. “And I have a big task for you today. I’m about to welcome an eight-year-old little girl into my home, and I want to put together a bedroom for her.”

Ivy clasped her hands together. “How wonderful. And you’ve brought Charlie to help. Good choice. She has exquisite taste.” Ivy sent a knowing glance at Charlie.

“We had fun putting my place together,” Charlie said. “But mostly it was Ivy with the exquisite taste.”

“Thank you. You give me too much credit. But I would love to help.” Ivy waved them toward a long wooden worktable scattered with fabric swatches, color samples, and notepads. “Come sit. Tell me everything about this little one.”

Max sat down, feeling out of place. “The thing is—I don’t know her well. She’s the daughter of a good friend ofmine from Italy, and she’s coming to live with me permanently.” He didn’t know how to explain the situation succinctly.

Charlie stepped in to help. “Bianca’s recently lost her grandmother and is now coming to live with Max. She’s grown up in Italy, so this is going to be a big change for her.”

“Okay, no problem. We can figure this out,” Ivy said. “Max, I like to start with narrowing down the essence of a person and designing their spaces accordingly. What do you know about her?”

“I haven’t seen her since she was five, but I know her favorite color is yellow.”

“What did she like to do?” Ivy asked.

“Let me think.” Max closed his eyes, hoping to recall something he’d forgotten or set aside as unimportant. An image of a five-year-old Bianca running through a field of sunflowers came to mind.Guarda, Max! Girasoli! Sono gigaaaanti!

She had twirled around, arm outstretched in the middle of a row.Sembrano felici, come se stessero ballando col sole.

He’d asked Lucia what she’d said, and she’d translated:They look happy, like they’re dancing with the sun.

Another image surfaced. Bianca curled up in the window seat at the trattoria with her black cat. “She loved sunflowers,” Max said, opening his eyes. “We took her to a field of them one day, and from then on, she was always drawing them. And she loved this old cat that belonged to the trattoria.” He suddenly remembered her dancing in a pink leotard and tutu. “And ballet, I think.”

“A sunflower theme?” Ivy’s eyes lit up as she reached for a sketchpad. “Okay. Sunflowers. Yellow is her favorite color. She had a beloved cat and once loved ballet. We can work with all of that.”

Charlie leaned in beside Max, her tone thoughtful. “She’llneed comfort. Familiar things. But also wonder. Something that makes her feel safe and special.”

Ivy scribbled notes with a pencil tucked behind her ear. “Let’s build a palette—sunny yellows, creamy whites, maybe soft blush or lavender for contrast.” She stood and crossed to a nearby cabinet, riffling through drawers. “I have the perfect bedding.”

Within moments, she returned with a buttery yellow quilt patterned in delicate sunflowers, its stitching so fine it almost shimmered.

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