The crowd of volunteers swarmed around him like ants. James backed into a spot behind the security desk. Although it kept him out of the way of people wielding boxes, and carts, and tarps, the desk failed to protect him from the dirty looks. He responded to email and read the news, but so far as he could tell, every time Claire entered the room, she drew his attention like a magnet. Being dismissed from helping, all he could do was enjoy the view of her slender but strong bare arms and the sway of her hips.
After forty-five minutes and the departure of a large truck and half the people, she approached him. “We’re missing a few boxes and one of our display tables. Any ideas where they might be?”
“Wouldn’t Walter know?” His tone was as testy as hers had been earlier, but his heart wasn’t in it. She looked radiant. Her dewy skin and damp tendrils worked free from her ponytail and reminded him of the night they’d spent getting sweaty.
“He thought you might have a key to the remaining closet.”
“Here.” He extended the key ring.
“No display, no keys for me. Are you coming or not?” The question purred out with an invitation he couldn’t ignore. She had him by the short hairs and she knew it.
She led him down the corridor where he once waited to be introduced as the company leader. Some leader he turned out to be. He’d alienated not only the employees, but the community and the one woman who he wanted to get to know better. They walked in silence until reaching a scratched up blue door.
“This one.”
As he fumbled with the keys, she leaned in closer. Her scent filled his nostrils in a most pleasant and distracting way.
“Any luck with the security camera?”
He stopped, turning to look at her directly. When her gaze dipped to the doorknob, he understood her silent message. He tested key after key, all while keeping a finger on the correct one. This was as private a conversation as they would be allowed to have.
“I assumed no-one in town would sell to me even if they had one, so I had one camera delivered to the office today and a second should be waiting at the house.”
“Two?”
“If the home delivery hasn’t been stolen from the porch. I wanted a back-up. Besides, I can have one on the porch and one on the driveway.”
“Good. I hope you’ll—”
They heard noise from down the hall. “Find the key, now.”
With a flourish, he announced, “At last.”
She flipped on the light switch and entered the narrow closet. Before him stood a large gingerbread house on a low table, complete with sparkly faux snow. It was nearly half his height. It looked like something from the department store windows he remembered as a kid. His mom took him to see Santa one year and there’d been a whole room filled with decorations like this and a house big enough to walk through. He wanted to throw the play snow around and crawl in the house, but his mom kept pulling him away, admonishing him not to mess up his clothes before the picture. The line took forever, and she swore she wouldn’t do that again. They never did. There had been a train, but it didn’t move. It sat among dolls, toy guns, and board games, all available for purchase, he presumed. Nothing like that awaited him Christmas morning.
“Found it!” Claire’s shout reverberated in the closet. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but Mr. Fordham and I should be able to push it through the door.”
“I’ll hold the door.” James didn’t recognize the voice. His fingers itched to touch the house. He knew the snow wouldn’t be cold, but somehow, it seemed so real and tempting.
Claire groaned.
“Something wrong?”
Her mouth was twisted in a scowl, so something was. “I forgot how much work this piece needed. I should have been more insistent that it go to my workshop and not into storage.”
He eyed her and shook his head slowly. “It looks great. Like a fairy tale or Macy’s.”
“It’s dusty, the roof is chipped, and I don’t like those brown pellets near the lower left corner. I hope mice didn’t get in here and nibble away a structural support.” She got on her hands and knees to inspect, pulling a small pen-light and a pencil out of one of her myriad pockets. Crawling under the table, she contorted her body. The flashlight held with her teeth, contorted her mouth to a sneer.
“Can I hold something?”
“Mnro” She scribbled something then stood up, careful not to hit her head on the underside of the table. She assessed him from head to toe and back again. Gazes locked, she asked “You don’t mind getting your nice clothes dirty, do you? Cover your ears.”
He obeyed.
“Hey Dylan, can you get another set of hands to help? And some sliders?” Even with his ears covered, he winced at the volume.
“Hold this.” She handed him a small hammer. “And this. And this.” He tucked the hammer under his elbow and grabbed a small stack of wood, a roll of duct tape and a binder clip.
He was the nurse to her TV surgeon. She asked, he gave. His arm scraped the side of the house. The snow tugged against his arm hair and was decidedly unfluffy, but he did as asked.
“Got it.” She stood on the far side of the
