Page 29 of Love in the Details

Dustin’s eyebrows cinched together, and the muscle along his jaw flexed for a few seconds before he nodded. “Everyone thinks my life is so glamorous. They just see the few times I step out to an event and think my life is so charmed. What they don’t see is the behind-the-scenes to get it to all work.”

“I can understand your having to put in a lot of time, but you’re the big boss. Don’t you have people underneath you who can take some of the responsibility off your plate?”

“My grandfather did whatever he could to help the company grow. If I don’t do the same, we’ll have to start laying people off.”

“Not necessarily,” Kassidy said, her stubborn streak beginning to show its colors. “If you think about it, your grandfather had to do a lot of things without the technology we have today. There’s got to be some way you can automate parts of your business, or at least have different plans of instructions for different departments so you’re not always the go-to man.”

He smiled at that. “What makes you think that?”

“You have vice presidents and thousands of other employees underneath you. If everyone took a little part, that would make your life much easier, don’t you think?”

From the look on his face, she’d touched a tough spot, so she hurried on, hoping to avoid more awkwardness. “But I’m not the one to tell you how to do your job. I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do with my life as well, so I guess that’s just the secret of life we’re searching for.”

He chuckled at that and then turned to the rows around him. “Okay, this is baby stuff from my dad. So Christmas will be down the row some more.”

Kassidy opened her mouth to remark on how the grandmother had kept things here that she probably hadn’t seen in a long time, but then she remembered that Dustin’s parents had been killed when he was younger. Death makes people more sentimental than any other event in life. And keeping this stuff was in no way different than what Kassidy’s mother kept in her craft shed.

Kassidy followed Dustin and counted thirty-seven boxes of Christmas decor. If it were possible, her eyes would go even wider.“Wow, that is a lot of stuff.”

“It’s a big place. I’m sure it won’t be enough to get what you’re planning done. But there are some things that could bring back a little of the nostalgia that a lot of people felt coming here, don’t you think?”

Kassidy nodded, excited and overwhelmed at the idea of going through all those boxes. At least it was still early in the day. She’d have to get started now if she wanted to finish before midnight.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Dustin said, walking back in the direction of the door.

Kassidy pulled down a box and opened it, finding several old-time lanterns inside. The next one held dozens of matching candles, which would be nice for all the windows. Even though she’d never been to the East Coast, she loved the idea of having a candle shining brightly in each window. And on the front of the mansion alone, there were at least twenty-five.

Time had passed faster than she’d expected when Dustin appeared upstairs again.

“Still going through everything?” he asked, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. He looked so casual like that, and the slightly mussed state of his hair did something to her stomach, making it flutter like their flight off the sled jump but in a good way.

“Yep. There is so much that looks brand-new. I should be able to use most of it. I just can’t believe you have all this up here.” She glanced down at her notebook, remembering she needed to write down that there were forty white circular tablecloths in one of the bins.

“Yeah, it’s a lot. But it’s my grandmother’s stuff, so I can’t really complain.” He said it casually, but Kassidy had to hold on to one of the shelves before she fell over from surprise.

“But there’s got to be some stuff of yours in here, right?” She took a few steps down from where all the Christmas boxes were placed on shelves, finding at least six totes with Dustin’s name on them. “Bingo,” she said, pointing to the section.

He laughed and walked over, opening one of them and closing the lid quickly. “Yeah, let’s just leave those alone.”

Kassidy closed the distance between them and went to open the lid. Before she got it unlatched, his hand bumped hers away.

She turned to him, giving him a wide smile of surprise. “You’re not going to let me look in there?”

“I would think you have dozens of others to go through first.” His raised eyebrow was like a challenge, and she used a hip to push him out of the way, opening the box an inch to find several colorful drawings that had been done by a five or six-year-old.

His arms went around her middle, pulling her away from the shelves. He pulled too hard, and they slammed into the shelving unit behind them. Kassidy couldn’t help but laugh, and he joined in, his upper body shaking with the effort.

“What do you mean you’re not creative? Those had some flair to them,” Kassidy said after they’d each calmed down a bit.

“Well, that talent never grew, then.” He glanced around at all the boxes. “I don’t know what I’ll do with all this when I eventually sell the place.”

“You’re going to sell the mansion?” Kassidy asked, her smile dropping. The last few words had bite to them, as if he’d just told her Christmas was canceled or something.

Even though she’d been lucky enough to get the job this year, she’d daydreamed that she’d be able to decorate the mansion for years to come after she planned this year to a T. But if the owners were moving, she wouldn’t have that luxury.

"Hold on. I'm not selling it until my grandmother passes on. She originally wanted to give this to me as a present for my wedding. But since I’m not attached, she's giving it to me for my thirtieth birthday, the week after the gala.” He paused, searching her face for something. “But this is her home. Even if I have the title, I wouldn’t sell it while she’s still living here.”

“But what’s going to hold you here, especially if you end up closing the plant?” she said, more of a statement than waiting for his answer.

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