Bennett kissed her reassuringly as if he was aware of the torrent of emotions careening through her. “This will be a very special holiday season. Our first of many, I hope.”
The rear kitchen door slammed, and Shelly called out. “Hey, are you two lovebirds going to give me a hand with these boxes? Geez, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ivy said, laughing. “Same with you and Mitch.” She gave Bennett another quick peck on the cheek. His face looked flushed, though it was chilly outside. “I think you’re blushing,” she said.
“Not from what your sister said.” A smile danced on his lips, and he ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. “I have a meeting at City Hall I need to get back to.” He squeezed her hand. “I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay. Is Nick around? I’d like to meet him.”
“He went out right after Chief Clarkson left. I felt bad for him,” Ivy added, thinking how sweet it was that Bennett was concerned—even though Darla had sent up a false alarm.
“I won’t feel quite as bad once he gives us a credit card,” Shelly said.
“We don’t talk about guests’ accounts,” Ivy shot back.
Bennett glanced between them. Ivy swiftly changed the subject, gesturing back at the wall of dusty boxes in the narrow storage room. “Sorting through all this is going to take some time. We don’t have the staff that Amelia had.”
Bennett grinned. “But you have an army of volunteers ready to spring into action at the merest mention of food or Sea Breeze cocktails.”
Ivy inclined her head and put her hands on her hips. “I do, don’t I?”
“And I know who’s the perfect person to rally a few helpers,” Shelly said. “I’ll call Poppy.”
“My sister, the master of delegation.”
Shelly slung an arm over Ivy’s shoulder. “You know she misses us up there in the cold north.”
Ivy arched an eyebrow. “She’s in Los Angeles.”
“Exactly.”
“Hey, I like L.A.,” Ivy said. “Well, maybe not the traffic.”
The two sisters each brought another crate into the kitchen. Despite the sealed storage room, somehow decades of dust had filtered in through the smallest of crevices. Shelly wiped down the containers while Ivy unwrapped each carefully stored object.
“Amelia must have had a set of these bells,” Ivy said. “Look, here’s a mint-green one, and another powder-blue one. I’ll bet there are more.” She set them aside. As she unwrapped another package, she exclaimed, “Oh, how sweet. A child with his ice skates.” Turning over the hand-painted glass piece, she read, “Made in Austria.”
Shelly paused. “I wonder if Amelia and Gustav brought those ornaments with them or if they bought them here in the States?”
“I wish we knew their story.”
“How is Megan doing on her research for the documentary?”
“She says there are still a lot of missing pieces.” Ivy unwrapped another ornament, each one a sweet salve to her artist’s heart. “Megan located photos in San Francisco, where the Ericksons supported the opera, the art scene, and different charities. And, of course, after Gustav died, the local newspaper lauded Amelia for opening this home to troops for rehabilitation. And then there were her final days in Switzerland before she passed away.” Ivy held a miniature antique sled up to the light. “But I feel there is more to her story.”
Just then, the back door banged open, and Sunny sailed through, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her strawberry blond hair streaming around her shoulders. “What’s all that junk?”
“Priceless vintage ornaments,” Shelly shot back.
“We found them in the garage,” Ivy said. “Stored away all these years. So we’ll be able to decorate after all this year. Won’t that be fun?”
“I guess so,” Sunny said.
Ivy gestured to the chair beside her. “Why don’t you give us a hand?”
“No, I have to talk to a friend right now.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“Don’t count on it,” Sunny said.
“Homework?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Sunny said, darting her eyes to one side. “Got to go.” She grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge and a blueberry muffin before disappearing to her room in the old maid’s quarters behind the main house.
Shelly arched an eyebrow. “Did you believe that story?”
Ivy let out a sigh. “Not really. I don’t know what’s happened to Sunny. She began the school year with enthusiasm, but she’s turned into the old Sunny from Europe in the last couple of weeks. I wonder if she’s met a new group of friends. If they’re anything like the last bunch, that would explain a lot. But at least she’ll graduate this year.”
Shelly nodded. “And with any luck, plunge herself into the real world. Like taking a cold shower.”
Ivy unwrapped a hand-painted glass candle, its flame and holder tipped with gold. “Imagine the artistry that went into these. They’re all hand-painted and hand-blown. There’s nothing cookie-cutter about these. These are the finest I’ve ever seen—no surprise, of course, given Amelia’s budget. Very expensive then, and highly collectible now.”
Shelly leaned on the table. “I’m the one usually thinking about the value of the treasures we find around here. Are you thinking of selling these?”
“I wish you hadn’t said that,” Ivy replied wistfully. “These ornaments might be worth a fortune to a collector. But I’d like to enjoy them for just one Christmas. And if we can figure out how to create a winter business, we won’t have to start selling things.”
“Then let’s do that.” Shelly’s eyes flashed. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”
Ivy rested her chin on her hand and gazed out to the ocean. Its movement was incessant, resting only for a moment as the foamy saltwater clung to the shore before racing back again into the deep.
Was she so different?
“I grow weary of barely surviving,” Ivy said. “What we do this winter will determine the future of the inn. If we can’t be viable year-round, then we’ll have to charge more in the summer. While we offer a good value, I don’t think we can do that.”
“Then let’s make it a season to remember,” Shelly said, pumping her fist. “Come on, let’s do this.”
Ivy laughed. “You’re on.”
Chapter 6
Ivy paused in front of the hardware store’s window. Nailed It always had beautiful, interesting window dressings. The co-owner, Jen, had superb artistic sense and changed the windows weekly to showcase their new, seasonal merchandise.
This week, a miniature train chugged through a snowy village complete with streetlights. Music played through a speaker outside the window, and Ivy hummed along to Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You. Ivy smiled to herself. That was probably Jen’s choice, too.
Shivering in the crisp morning breeze off the ocean, Ivy pulled her silvery gray down vest—once used for skiing—around her white cotton turtleneck. She’d pulled on black denim jeans today and added a lightweight wool, red-and-green plaid scarf with silvery threads. Since finding the vintage ornaments yesterday, Ivy was finally feeling the Christmas mood.