Ivy hesitated. “Want to take Punkin and me out for a walk in the snow? This is his first time, and I haven’t seen any in years and years.”
“What are we waiting for?” Ezra asked. He pointed down at Ivy’s suede boots with the fake fur cuffs and looked askance. “Are those waterproof?”
“No,” Ivy said, laughing at herself. “These are my city girl boots. Just give me a minute and I’ll change into the same work boots I was wearing earlier.”
* * *
“Okay, I’m all ready to go snowshoeing,” she announced five minutes later.
But Ezra was frowning down at his phone. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to give me a rain check. I just got a call from my broker. We’ve got a client who’s only in town for the afternoon and wants to see one of my listings. I’d try to put the guy off, but my broker insists this client is a hot prospect. It’s sort of a command performance.”
Ivy tried to shrug off her disappointment. “No worries. I totally understand. And like you say, there’ll be plenty more snow later in the week.”
“Right!” he said, brightening. “Next time it snows, lace on your boots and get ready for walking in a winter wonderland. I’m totally your guy for that.”
“It’s a date,” Ivy promised. “In fact, maybe Punkin and I will just go for a walk by ourselves.”
“Wait. I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “The Christmas Stroll is Wednesday night. You should come.”
“What’s a Christmas Stroll?”
“A cynic would say it’s an excuse for all the businesses in town to make one last push before Christmas. It’s a town tradition. All the downtown shops stay open late and a lot of them set up booths or food carts around the square. There’s caroling, and a bonfire, all that Norman Rockwell Americana stuff. Then the big moment of the night is when Santa Claus arrives on a fire engine.”
“Santa, huh? Anybody I might know?”
“Afraid so. The guy who’s been playing him for the past three years slipped on some ice and broke his leg last week. My broker volunteered me to be the stand-in.”
“That broker of yours sounds pretty pushy,” Ivy said.
“Very pushy,” he agreed. “But she gets things done. So what do you say? Want to meet me on the square? We could have an early dinner and walk around and see the sights before I have to duck out and change into my outfit for the big reveal.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ivy said. “I’ve got so much to do around here. I’m on deadline for a project for a new client—”
“It’s Christmas,” Ezra said firmly. “Take the night off. This is a community-wide celebration. Don’t you want to become a part of Tarburton?”
“It’s not that,” she started to protest.
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll see you Wednesday night. Six o’clock. By the clock tower on the square.”
“Okay,” Ivy said.
She stood in the doorway and watched the black Jeep as it disappeared at the end of the driveway. Punkin nudged her leg. “Okay,” she relented, looking around for his leash. “You’re right. Let’s go mess up some of that pristine white snow.”
Chapter 13
Ivy couldn’t believe her eyes. A small crowd was gathered on the sidewalk in front of the display windows at Langley Sweets.
“Look, Wendell.” A middle-aged woman was pointing at the black-and-white photographs that were strung from festive red ribbons in the front window. “That’s me, when I was six, with Santa Claus. I was asking him for a pair of Rollerblades.” The woman’s teenage son didn’t look impressed. “Can we get some candy?” the kid asked. “Like, some fudge?”
An older married couple leaned in to get a better look at the photos. “Doesn’t that look just like Mary Anne? That was the year Santa brought the kitten.”
Ivy tied Punkin’s leash to the bike rack on the sidewalk and edged her way into the crowded shop.
Nancy Langley Bergstrom was bustling around behind the shop’s counter, weighing customers’ purchases while a teenage girl rang up an order from one of the six customers lined up inside the store.
She looked up when the shop’s door chimes tinkled and smiled when she caught sight of Ivy.
“Hey there!” she called. “Can you believe this?”
“’Tis the season,” Ivy replied. “I brought some ideas for a new campaign to show you, but maybe I should come back when you’re not so slammed.”
“Wait!” the shopkeeper said. She scurried into the shop’s back room and emerged with a beautifully wrapped box, which she handed to Ivy.
“I spent the weekend testing and tweaking some of my grandma’s old recipes. Try these samples and let me know what you think.”
“I’ll try to come by later this afternoon,” Ivy said.
As she was leaving the candy shop she heard her phone ding, signaling an incoming text message. It was from Phoebe:
Can you meet me for coffee at the diner at 11? Major dilemma! Emergency!
Ivy typed her reply:
See you then.
Ivy tucked the candy box in her shopping tote. It was just ten o’clock now. She had an hour to kill before her emergency meeting with Phoebe. Maybe she’d drop by to see Lawrence Jones and enlist his help in sampling Nancy Bergstrom’s latest creations.
* * *
“What a nice surprise!” Mr. Jones exclaimed when he found Ivy and Punkin standing on his doorstep. “Come on inside!”
“I hope we’re not intruding,” Ivy said. “We were over at Langley Sweets, and the owner asked me to sample some new recipes she’s thinking of adding to the shop’s merchandise. I thought you might enjoy them.”
“You know Nancy?” He looked surprised.
“I do now,” Ivy said, settling into the chair opposite his, while Punkin parked himself at her host’s feet.
“I was really intrigued by those PepperyMints you gave me. So I went home and did some research. I found Langley Sweets’s website, and it was so generic and blah! Not at all representative of their product, or the brand. So I did a little tinkering, drew up a new marketing campaign, and went over to the shop and introduced myself. She liked my ideas, so she’s my newest client.”
“Good for you,” Mr. Jones said, nodding approvingly. “I like a girl with gumption.” He looked down at the large candy box, open on his lap.
He picked up a piece of candy, popped it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.
“Say!” His eyes brightened behind the thick-lensed glasses. “It’s sort of … lemony. But there’s pepper in there. And sugar. But it’s not too sweet.…”
He held the box out to Ivy. “Try one of these round yellow ones.”
Ivy shrugged and did as he suggested. She let the candy dissolve on her tongue. “You’re right,” she agreed. “It’s tart and sweet, with sort of herbal undertones. So different from anything else I’ve ever tasted.”
The old man selected another candy and chewed it slowly. “My doctor would give me the dickens if he knew I was eating all this sugar. He’s always fussing at me about my diet.”