“You’re going to his house?”

“We’re going to his house.” I push against the double doors that open from my workshop into the store and holler toward the back corner. “Sarah!”

“Yes?” In her midforties, Sarah’s a quietly serious woman who has an amazing talent with fabric. Gran rented a corner of Forever Christmas to Sarah for her quilting years ago, and since I’m not an idiot who wants to change things that don’t need changing, I kept the arrangement when I became the new proprietor. When she’s out, I sell her quilts for her. When I need to be gone, she minds the store for me. It works for both of us.

“I need to go out for a while. Will you watch the store?”

“Is it going to do tricks?”

“Was that a joke?” I mouth to Ami.

“I think so,” she mouths back.

“That was a joke,” Sarah calls in a wry voice. “I’m a little rusty but thought I’d give it a try.”

I laugh. “I like it!”

“I’ll be glad to mind the store.”

“Thanks.”

I drag Ami out of the shop and into the cold air. Gray clouds hang low in the sky today, matching my mood perfectly.

As we walk down the sidewalk, I point at the shop we’re passing. “Just think, Blizzard Barbecue would probably have to change to Sandcastle Sandwiches.”

Ami gives me a puzzled look.

“If this stupid name change goes through. What do you think they’d call Reindeer Games and Toy Store?” I shake my head. That’s such a cool name.”

She sighs.

“Wouldn’t you hate for it to become Fun in the Sun Toys?”

“That would be awful.”

“Are you being sarcastic? Look over there. I don’t even want to think about what Snow Place Like Home Pet Boarding would be renamed. But I bet it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Ami smiles. “Actually I’ve always wondered about that name. Doesn’t it kind of indicate that you should keep your dog at home instead of leaving it in their kennel?”

I shake my head. “You’re missing the principle.”

“Because I really don’t see this as a possibility.”

“Just the idea of it should terrify you.”

She doesn’t look terrified, but I keep up a running commentary, unable to stop imagining the horrors that would come with the name Summer Valley. 

I don’t shut up until we stand in front of the huge white manor. Each of the four columns is as big around as a good-sized tree. Beautifully filigreed lattice borders the second-story balcony. It feels like we’ve been transported back to the days of hoopskirts and lemonade on the porch.

“Does the town own this place, or is it personal property?” Ami whispers.

“I’m not really sure. Uncle Gus has been the mayor ever since I can remember. And his daddy was the mayor before him.”