Page 5 of Any Girl But You
Funny how so much of the rest of the country does Christmas in July events, but this town started a unique tradition. The weekend before Labor Day, Duluth throws this extravaganza, enticing the last of the summer tourists to spend their money in our town. It’s like the summer bookends, kicking off with Grandma’s Marathon, where tourists and runners tear through our streets, and ending with this massive Christmas event. The event is super fun, like a pop of Christmas color while dying under the Minnesota humidity. “I’m sure people will be excited to know the farm’s being revamped.” When Caleb finishes ringing up the next customer, I swipe Quinn’s credit card. “I bet that’s a ton of work.”
“Soooomuch work,” Quinn says. “From the irrigation system to fixing the fence, it’s like a bottomless well of shit I need to do. In the spring, me and the crew planted five thousand seedlings. Fivethousand. I never want to see another seedling in my life.”
“Whoa. That is a ton. I can’t believe you will have so many trees.”
Quinn sidesteps a couple of kids who plaster themselves against the display case to look at the cupcakes. Mental note to wipe that baby down after Quinn leaves.
“Just a few short eight years and I’ll be the proud owner of thousands of Christmas trees,” she says.
“Yikes, that’s such a long time.” I hand the credit card back. “What do you do in the interim?”
“Thankfully, my aunt and uncle, who owned the place before me, maintained the other trees, so all of them are in various stages of growth. It’s more everything else on the property that went downhill in a hurry.” The kids run away, and she steps back towards me. “This year I’m going to bring in precut ones from a different farmer. So really, it’s all theotherstuff I’m trying to do… I want to create a gift shop with ornaments, wreaths, have a huge fire pit outside, those kinds of things.”
This sounds like so much fun. Christmas season is my absolute favorite time of the year, and crafting is my favorite hobby. During the holiday season, I make my bakery snowflake- sparkly, like you’re transported directly into a Hallmark movie. Quinn reviving that space and bringing back the holiday spirit is just what Kris Kringle ordered himself. When I was younger, that tree farm was magical—hayrides, Santa Claus, jolly music, and fun gifts. I cannot wait to see what she can pull off.
“That sounds like a ton of work,” I say, tugging at the strings of my apron. “Thankfully, since you live with Morgan, she can give you a lot of ideas and help you out.”
Quinn’s smile drops, and it feels like someone just siphoned all the air in the room. “I don’t need her help. I’ve got this.”
Oh whoa… I so didn’t mean it like that. “Oh, I just meant she’s such a great decorator and designer that she’s a goodresource to have…since you live with her and all…” My cheeks are warm. Too warm. I should sit.
Quinn tugs her lips into her mouth and sighs. Well, this has been fun. Until I blew it. My therapist was right—my communication skills are clearly terrible. How am I ever going to find a life mate when I can’t even hold a ten-minute conversation?
I move to stuff the last box in a bag, when Quinn holds up a hand with a smile.
“Hey, can I grab one of those really quick?” she asks. “I haven’t had breakfast yet, and we all know that’s the most important meal. Nothing better than a few cookies to kick off the day.”
My chest lifts. Whew. Maybe I didn’t totally blow this. “Of course!” I open up the box and spin it towards Quinn.
Her face drops. Again. Like,reallydrops, with a look that sinks my belly all the way to my toes.
“No…” Quinn’s eyebrows wrinkle. She glances down at the box, at me, and back again. “These are blue and red.”
A heaviness lodges in my throat, and I swallow. I know they’re blue and red. I’m the one who packaged them up. “Yes, they’re blue and red. That’s what you ordered.”
“No. I didn’t.” All smiles are gone from her voice.
I push up my slipped glasses and double-check the order slip. Yep, right there, printed across the top—blue and red. I read it once, twice, three times, and swallow. “This definitely says you ordered eight dozen blue and red cookies.”
A thin pink stripe grows across Quinn’s neck. “No, I didn’t. I know what I ordered.”
Her tone switches to tense, which makes me tense, and now we’re in a bottomless bucket of tension. My belly twists, hard, and stays knotted. Any moment now, I’m going to stop breathing. “I’m really sorry, Quinn. I don’t know what to say. Buthere.” I hold the order form out to her and point to the clearly printedeight dozen blue and red cookies. “It says blue and red cookies.”
“Why would it say that? Why would I have possibly said I wantedblueand red cookies for a Christmas event? I even talked to that Luna girl about it. She said her parents go to it every year and I’m going to love it.” Quinn crosses her arms across her chest, and her fingers tap against her biceps. “So, if that slip saysblueand red, notgreenand red, it was her mistake, not mine.”
My shoulders brace. I blow air up my face to fan myself. It’s definitely warm in here. I’m pitting out and will need an extra swipe of deodorant any moment now. But Luna is a great employee. She’s been with me since she was in high school, and I don’t take too kindly to outsiders from the big city coming in here and berating my staff.
“You…signed it,” I stammer, then straighten my back. “You signed it,” I say, not quite matching the firmness in Quinn’s tone, but at least inching towards it, and point at her signature. “Right here.”
Quinn stares at the order slip, her face flushing into a myriad of colors. “No…there must be something wrong. I wouldn’t have done that…” She exhales through her nose and a few terrible, excruciating moments pass. “It’s okay. I just… I just need you to fix them.”
I almost laugh. Does she see around my shop? As lovely as the first few minutes of this interaction have been, the line has doubled since we started chatting, and my customers expect a certain level of speediness. “I’m really sorry, Quinn. We can’t just fix these. We’ve shut down the ovens for the day and?—”
“Well, turn them back on.” Pink stains Quinn’s cheeks, and splashes across her freckles.
My breath tightens, turning my pulse heavy and thick in my throat. “That’s not how it works.” I mean, obviously, we canturn them back on, but we prep at night, bake in the early morning, serve customers during the day. It’s our rotation. I might be a pushover on some things, but I am not changing my entire business model because Quinn thinks she ordered green cookies. “We do not have time to fix these. It took us hours to make these.”
Quinn softens only a fraction and pushes her palm into her forehead. “I’ll come back in the morning, so you have time to redo it.”
