Page 4 of Hashtag Holidate
“That’s exactly what I said.” I adjusted the display of hand-crank flashlights that wouldn’t die when the batteries inevitably froze. These were the flashlights Dad had insisted on stocking after that blizzard in ’08 had left half the town without power for three days. “Real tools for real problems,” he’d always said—aSullivan Hardware motto that didn’t exactly mesh with influencer aesthetics.
“Maddox. Seriously?” My seventeen-year-old sister sounded more like forty-seven sometimes. “You do realize that was an opportunity, right? The kind that pays actual money?”
I grunted, tucking a pack of hand warmers into a kit. “I have a job. Two, in fact.”Three, if we count parenting a seventeen-year-old.
“A job that requires you to arrange emergency kits in a hardware store that’s been slowly declining in revenue since Mom and Dad died. And your other job isliterally what he’s trying to hire you for!”
I stopped mid-motion, the familiar pang hitting my chest at the mention of our father. Three years, and it still felt raw. “Helping run the family business isn’t something I need to apologize for. And my photography schedule is already packed with family portraits and Santa stuff. You know that.”
I ran my hand along the worn edge of the counter—the same counter where Dad had taught me to count change, where Mom had set up her Christmas cookie station every December, where I’d developed my first roll of film in the back room because I couldn’t afford proper equipment. This wasn’t just a failing business; it was the physical embodiment of our family history.
“Your photography could have a much bigger audience if you didn’t have the marketing instincts of a particularly antisocial brick,” Maya replied. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done—taking care of me, keeping the store going—but I’m months away from college. You need to think about what’s next for you.”
“I’m thinking about what’s next forus,” I corrected, moving toward the window display to check that the vintage mechanical elves Dad had insisted on setting up every year were still working properly. “After you’re at school, I’ll have plenty of time to?—”
Maya hopped off the counter and followed me. “To what? Takemore wedding photos of people who can barely afford your already too-low rates? Turn down opportunities that could actually put Sullivan & Lens on the map?”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me how you really feel, Maya.”
“Maddie,” she said more softly, using the childhood nickname that always made me pay attention. “I’ve seen how you look at the brochure for the documentary workshop in Denver. The one you keep hiding in your desk drawer. You’ve been putting your dreams on hold, and I get why. But you can’t keep using me as an excuse.”
I fiddled with one of the elves, avoiding her too-perceptive gaze. The workshop was a pipe dream—five thousand dollars I didn’t have, a week away from the store I couldn’t afford. But she was right that I’d been using her and the store as convenient shields against taking risks with my art.
“Also?” she added, returning to her usual snarky tone. “Avery texted me that he came by the gallery asking about your work. She said Adrian washot. Having seen his Instagram, I agree.”
I adjusted an elf that had tilted precariously. “Avery thinks the UPS guy is hot.” I didn’t mention that Avery was still under the influence of pregnancy and postpartum hormones or that she only pointed out hot men to tease her wife.
“The UPS guyishot. Stop avoiding the question.” She pressed between me and the window display, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Was Adrian Hayes cute or not?”
I sighed, silently cursing small towns and their efficient gossip networks. The last “influencer” who’d breezed through town had captured Legacy’s “quaint mountain charm” for his travel vlog, completely missing the actual heart of the place while using our town as nothing more than a picturesque backdrop. He’d even tried to convince Becca Gorham to reschedule the annual Moose Trot 5K so he could get better lighting for his sponsorship with some energy drink company.
“Objectively? He was fine. He looks like he’s been assembled in a laboratory to appeal to the maximum number of people. Symmetrical features, perfect teeth—well, almost.” The truth was, he had one adorably crooked canine that made him look impossibly more attractive because it lent a little realness to his otherwise perfect look. I shook my head and continued. “Blond hair that somehow looks both casual and styled.”
“You actually noticed his hair.In-ter-es-ting.” She skipped back to the register.
“What’s interesting is how quickly you’re latching onto this nonstory,” I said, moving back behind the counter. “The guy came in, I said no, that’s the end.”
She made a considering noise. “Avery said he looked determined when he left the gallery.”
“Determined to do what? Force me to film his selfie campaign?”
“Maybe. You’re the best photographer in three counties, and you know it.”
I couldn’t deny the tiny spark of professional pride her words kindled. My Winter Light Series hanging in the gallery had been a labor of love—three freezing nights on Slingshot Mountain with nothing but my camera and a pack of hand warmers, capturing the raw emotion of the Starlight Ski Spectacular. Photos that told the real story of Legacy, not some glossy, manufactured version of it.
“Flattery won’t make me change my mind, Maya. You didn’t read his email. The guy was a pain in the ass,” I said, trying not to think of his actual ass. Which was arguably the one good part about him. I cleared my throat. “Trust me on this.”
“Nothing changes your mind once it’s made up. You’re more stubborn than Dad was.” She paused, and I heard her shifting gears. “So… what’s this guy’s plan now? Find someone else?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Which wasn’t exactly true. I cared… even if I didn’t want to. Adrian Hayes didn’t interest me, but the “paid position” he’d offered did.
“No one around here can do what you do. Maybe?—”
“Maya, stop. I already said no.”
“Too bad.” She sighed dramatically. “A gig like that could’ve helped fund the new darkroom equipment you’ve been saving for. And expand the portrait business. It even could’ve helped with my tuition next fall…”
I hated that her wheedling was also factually accurate. Maya was brilliant—top of her class with scholarship offers already rolling in—but none of the scholarships covered everything. And despite what people assumed about the Sullivans, the hardware store barely broke even these days.
