Page 41 of A Hard Luck Christmas

She couldn’t leave until Ari graduated—didn’t want to disrupt her daughter’s life or take her away from the people she loved—but four years would pass quickly. For the first time, it seemed conceivable to Patience that she could start dating online with an eye to the future. Once Ari left for college, she could put some distance between her and her father, truly be on her own and able to decide what she wanted to do with her life for the first time.

“What made you decide to stay in Hard Luck when you came here after your grandfather died?” she asked Demin.

He’d started wiping down the table next to her, but at this, he paused. “Me? I loved Hard Luck on sight. I’m a small-town boy at heart.”

“But there are a lot of small towns. Some that are even cuter. Why this one?”

He folded over his cleaning rag. “It just appealed to me, I guess.”

“You don’t mind that everyone’s always up in your business?”

He went back to wiping the table and then the chairs. “Not really, because the alternative is having no one care,” he said. “We Hard Luckers pull together when we need to. That’s what we’re doing with the festival, isn’t it? Can you imagine people donating to save mom-and-pop businesses in a big city like New York, Miami or LA? Forming a work party like we did to help everyone get their Christmas decorations up?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Businesses come and go in other places all the time without anyone taking particular notice. Either they survive, or they don’t. It’s different here.”

“In less positive ways, too,” she pointed out.

“I get that. People here might be small-minded and petty at times.” He gave her an experienced grin. “Lord knows they were scandalized when me and my flamboyant husband moved to town, especially your hellfire-and-brimstone preacher of a father. But folks around here can be bighearted, too. They’ve actually come to embrace me and Nicholas, made us feel welcome and supported. Even your father stops by now and then to invite us to church—and I give him a free cup of coffee.”

“Do you think you’ll ever come—to church, I mean?”

“No, but it’s nice to feel welcome. I moved to this place looking for connection, a family beyond my own, and that’s what I’m establishing. You’re part of that family.”

“Thank you,” she said and meant it. Problem was…Glenda was part of that family, too. And Jack. And her father. Patience craved a change of pace, the chance to be somewhere else doing something new.

“You’re not thinking of moving away, are you?” he asked.

“Ari graduates in just four years. That gives me a chance to change my situation—if I want.”

“What about your father?”

“He’d be fine without me. He has his congregation. He’ll take care of them, and they’ll take care of him.”

“True.”

She imagined waking up in sunny Los Angeles, heading out for coffee and maybe doing some yoga on the beach before taking photos of food or whatever. Normally, she refused to let her mind wander in that direction, was afraid it would only make her unsatisfied with her current situation. A life of her choosing had always seemed too far out of reach.

But it was suddenly becoming a possibility—if she was willing to take a few risks.

* * *

The pics Kanon found in his inbox from Patience—along with a note that Tara had agreed to the one-dollar discount—were good. He was surprised by the lighting and staging. He’d gotten the impression she didn’t have much experience, which was why he hadn’t expected a lot. But the way she’d depicted Tara’s snowflake cookies showed how intricately they were decorated while making them look delicious.

“Nice job,” he muttered to himself. He’d thought he might have to retake whatever photos she sent. He wasn’t a particularly good photographer himself, but he’d assumed he’d have a better understanding of what would work since he’d handled the creative for ads before. But he no longer had to worry about that.

One picture showed a close-up of Tara wearing a baker’s hat and using a decorator bag as she finished a cookie. Another showed the cookie against the backdrop of a red plate, giving it scale and contrast, next to a latte with a Christmas tree shape in the foam. And yet another showed a darling boy, about six years old, biting into the soft, thick frosting.

Who wouldn’t respond to these images? Kanon thought. His favorite was the last one she’d sent—a selfie she’d taken holding up the cookie while wearing a Santa hat and giving the camera a warm smile.

It was the best of the bunch for marketing purposes. But he liked it for other reasons, too. God, she was pretty…

I tried to provide lots of options, she said in her email. I wanted to show that it’s not a lame cookie—that there’s some artistry involved—and I wanted it to appeal to adults as well as children, which was why I added the latte. Because the selfie is more intimate and less “professional”-looking, it might actually get the best traction. The pictures on Insta have to be good, of course—crappy pics don’t get much attention—but I feel like there’s a strong preference for those that come off as real and not so obviously an ad.

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s exactly it.”

“What’s exactly it?”