The Heart of St. Nick Page 2

  Continuing my walk to The Heart of St. Nicholas, I took a deep breath and enjoyed the unique scents. I’d never been able to explain it, but the time leading up to Christmas always had the town smelling of cinnamon, pine, chocolate, and peppermint. I’d given up trying to figure out how the glorious scent seemed to hang over our streets stirring up nostalgia and holiday cheer for over a month.

  After the new year, the scent disappeared along with the jingle bells, music, and most of the decorations—although the shops and houses always had their front windows adorned with a seasonal flower and the light poles were never left bare—but the cheerful, welcoming sense of community was present year-round.

  Sure, we had our busybodies.

  Yeah, the gossip mill chugged along more efficiently than the trains which passed through our little town every hour of the day and night.

  And the thought of finding a man to fall in love with and settle down was daunting to say the least.

  But I had my parents.

  My students.

  The townsfolk I considered friends.

  All the good St. Nick’s Heart did for the town.

  I could live without love and romance.

  Or at least that was what I told myself.

  Walking into The Heart of St. Nick, I returned my dad’s smile and friendly wave. Tucking my school bag behind the counter, I unbuttoned the sleeves of my dress shirt and rolled them up.

  “What needs doing?” I asked.

  “Best-dressed helper in the store,” Dad said with a wink as he wrapped an arm around Mom’s waist. “But your momma is still the prettiest.”

  I removed my colorful scarf—only one of the fashionable accessories I was known for around town—and jacket, hanging them on the back of a chair. Snapping my suspenders and matching bowtie, I smiled at the happiness pouring from my parents.

  A pang of longing pinched my gut.

  I wanted that.

  “I’ll take the compliment.” While my bright scarves were a necessary fashion choice during the cold months, my other accessories were more personal style than necessity. My matching bowties and suspenders were always good for getting smiles, and the kids around town had made a game of checking out my crazy socks. While the socks didn’t usually match my other accessories—come on, that would be overkill—I usually did a good job of at least blending them. And I saved my craziest socks for days when I wore more subdued suspenders and bowties.

  My scarves were pretty much year-round as well, but I opted for lighter ones to offset an outfit during the warmer months. During the winter season, my scarves were thick and warm, not just for looking good.

  “We got a new load of coats and hats, some shoes and boots, and hit the jackpot on some toys,” Mom said, pointing toward the back of the store.

  “Everything needs sorted through and organized,” Dad said.

  I clapped my hands together. “Perfect. I’ll get started.”

  “In about two hours, Dad and I are heading to dinner with the Frosts. Could you cover the store until closing?” Mom asked.

  “If you’ve got plans, we can ask Candy and Ginger to come help. They never mind.”

  I shook my head at my dad. “Plans? What are those?”

  “You know,” Mom started, “the things twenty-seven-year-old men often have with friends or partners?”

  I waved her off. “You two have a great dinner. I’ll have everything sorted and organized before I leave—or at least a good start on it—and we can start putting the new items out for the shoppers as soon as Monday.”

  The afternoon was interrupted by the shrill sound of a passing train.

  Several trains went through on one of the four rails each day. Some went through in a roaring blur. Others found themselves stopped to unload or take on new loads. While a decent handful were paused in their journey for maintenance or repair.

  But the clanging of the crossing bells, the shudder of engines and slam of metal, and the shrill warning horn never ceased. For those of us local to St. Nicholas Crossing, the sounds were as natural as breathing and didn’t even phase us.

  For visitors, the trains took a bit to get used to.

  The windows of the store rattled as the current train passed through.

  Dad gave a wave. “Well, then. We’ll let you get to it. We’ll holler when we’re heading out.”

  The Heart of St. Nick wasn’t only the hub of our tiny town, it was also how many of our families made ends meet and provided their children with a bit of happiness.

  Joseph Snow, bless him, had been a life-long resident of St. Nicholas Crossing. His wife died giving birth to their son. That son left the area before he’d even turned eighteen—or that’s the story most townsfolk knew—and left his father alone.

  Joseph found out several years later he had a grandchild. The grandson, Gannon Snow, visited as a child often—most likely when his parents wanted to jet off on a vacation across the globe without their child in tow.

  I recalled Gannon Snow coming to St. Nicholas Crossing when he was a teen—I would have been about ten years younger than him. The last time I saw the guy—during his very brief visit with his grandfather—I’d already realized girls weren’t my thing and the image of sexy, aloof, worldly Gannon Snow had fueled my jerk-off sessions for years to come.

  Anyway, back before his son took off, Joseph Snow set up The Heart of St. Nicholas as a way to give back—he’d not only come from money, he’d also made millions in his lifetime, although no one really knew details or understood why he was so drawn to the little town—and to provide for the struggling families, especially those with kids.

  So, the little general store was expanded to house donated goods. The donations came from far and wide—although no one was ever one hundred percent sure where all of the donations came from as some huge loads would just occasionally show up with no identifying information. Toys, clothing, food, diapers, and money—which we used to buy stock that ran low—were the top needs and the things we still got the most of.

  Once a month, on a rotation, each child was given the opportunity to shop for a book and a toy. Accompanying parents could pick out underwear, socks, a shirt, and pants for the child. Shoes were every six months to a year depending on our stock. School supplies were available for free before the year started and at Christmas time to help replenish what the child had at school—this was a huge help to the teachers as well.

  As a birthday gift, each child under eighteen could come in and pick a toy or book within a week of their birthday.

  We also provided toiletries, dry goods, tools, utensils, shelf-stable meals, and more. Many of the parents were also able to take advantage of the shopping program by picking out work clothes, shoes, undergarments, and books.

  Not every family needed the assistance.

  Some took only what they needed when they needed it.

  Some were in constant need.

  There was nothing like watching the youngest children up to moody teens get toys, books, clothes, and toiletries they not only needed but also wanted.

  The grateful appreciation from families and the smiles on young faces were the reasons why I cheerfully rolled up my sleeves and set to work sorting through the donations, checking our inventory, and organizing the new supplies for the next round of shopping.

  While we sometimes got gently-used donations, we also received brand-new materials more often than not. We put each and every item to good use, but preferred to keep the brand-new materials for the kids’ shopping days if possible.

  It took a lot of organization and planning, but it was definitely worth it in the end.

  Joseph’s desire to provide for the families of St. Nicholas Crossing had grown into something big during his lifetime and the town had promised, upon his recent death, to keep his legacy alive with The Heart of St. Nick.

  Keeping the store going wasn’t without its challenges, and Joseph had provided us a timeline to prove we could make it work, but my family and the town had no intentions of letting St. Nick’s Heart go under. Not only because so many benefitted from it, but because it warmed our hearts to know we were giving back to our community in such a needed way.

  “So many toys,” Mom said happily as she joined me at the loading dock.

  “Only one of the pallets has any information on it. Came from a large private school who ran a toy drive. The other ones are mysteries.” I checked off some inventory on my clipboard.

  “As usual, it seems,” Mom said with a shrug. “Maybe they want to stay anonymous. Maybe they don’t think about providing a name.” She winked. “Maybe it’s the good ol’ Christmas magic running through this town that keeps the donations coming in year after year.”

  “Gotta love the Christmas magic,” I said, picking up one of the new toys and smiling at the thought of a child opening it on Christmas Day.

  The next round of shopping was a bit different.

  Children would still get their pick of toy and book, but all of the biggest and best items would be put aside for parents or the oldest siblings to pick out Christmas gifts for the little ones. St. Nick’s Heart never cared if the gifts were being presented as from Santa or from the family, we just loved the fact children weren’t missing out on the season.

  The children also got in on the giving. They were invited to come in and shop for their parents and siblings so they’d have gifts to give on Christmas Day as well.

  The store gave away a lot, but it was well worth it.

  And just about every family spent their hard-earned money at St. Nick’s Heart when they needed groceries, toiletries, clothing, and such outside of the free shopping days—many really didn’t have the means to travel to nearby towns for shopping and relied completely on our little store.

  T
he Ginger Snap Café and Candy Cane Counter were attached to The Heart of St. Nick—owned by our very own Ginger and Candy, although they usually had younger folks running the places for them these days—and offered homecooked meals and homemade candies for decent prices.

  I remembered a visitor asking Ginger and Candy once why they put so much work into their meals and candies only to sell them so cheap.

  The women had just smiled serenely and answered, “Who out there doesn’t enjoy savoring a sweet or eating a good meal they didn’t have to cook after a long day at work? Just because our town isn’t wealthy doesn’t mean we don’t all deserve the same treats as others.”

  Often times, when The Heart got donations, there’d be a note with money saying to use it to cover a check at Ginger Snap Café or to offer a random gift certificate to a family who would most appreciate a free meal out.

  Sometimes, we just earmarked extra funds for exactly that as well.

  “Well, Dad and I are going to head out. Are you good to finish up here?” Mom asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll work for a bit longer and then head home.”

  I had the garage apartment at my parents’ place. It was mostly private, plenty of room, and free—so the place was actually perfect for me.

  “Are you planning any trips to the city anytime soon?” Mom asked, concern etched on her face.

  Smiling softly, I shook my head. “Nah, gave that a try a couple times. Just didn’t work out for me, ya know?” She was referring to the few times over the past years when I’d gone into the city to meet up with a date in hopes of striking up a spark.

  But every failed date had just brought me down and I’d realized it just wasn’t worth my time. I didn’t like going into the city enough to put up with the letdown each blah date brought me.

  I’d stick to the once or twice a year hook-ups I got in St. Nicholas Crossing and ask Santa to send me a tall, dark, and handsome man who loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life in a poor, sleepy little railroad town helping me run a general store.

  As if.

  Mom frowned. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t like you going there to meet with strangers.”

  Oh god, what would she think about the blowjobs I’d given in the dark shadows of the railyard? Or the times I’d snuck home after doing the walk of shame from the tiny houses down by the tracks when I’d spent hot, sweaty nights with men just traveling through?

  “You can rest easy,” I said.

  “Dad and I do want you to meet someone and be happy,” she started.

  “Mom, I am happy. If a guy comes along, great. If not, I don’t need a man in my life to complete me. I love my life and I love what I’m doing.” The words were one hundred percent true, even if they stung my romantic, hopeful little homo heart.

  She sighed and nodded. “Okay, well…”

  “Enjoy your dinner with the Frosts.”

  Mom gave me a hug and I returned to my work, happily humming holiday tunes as I sorted toys sure to bring extreme joy to a lot of kids.

  I hadn’t been lying.

  I did love my life.

  And if I stayed busy and cheery enough to distract my heart from the one thing it didn’t have, all the better.

  CHAPTER 3

  Gannon

  Admittedly, the shiny sports car I’d rented at the airport was likely a poor choice for driving to St. Nicholas Crossing. While the railroad the town relied on wasn’t in the hills—more at the base of them—much of the town was nestled in and around the hilly area and snow, altitude, and a sports car weren’t a good combination.

  But the car drove like a dream and I’d enjoyed the two-hour drive from the airport.

  Enjoyed it right until I had to fight the car to make it up the first hill to St. Nicholas Crossing.

  Then I realized I looked like a man in the middle of an early mid-life crisis trying to prove how big my dick was with a souped-up, shiny red sports car that probably cost more than two houses in the little railroad town.

  There was no way the car would make it to my grandpa’s place, so I eased the beauty into a spot near a park and killed the engine.

  With a sigh, I glanced around.

  Didn’t look like much had changed.

  God, how I’d loved the place as a kid.

  Ridiculous to think back on it now, but St. Nicholas Crossing had been a haven for me.

  Escape from my parents’ fighting and taking it out on me.

  Time with my grandfather.

  Holiday cheer.

  Streets named after reindeer.

  I’d looked forward to my visits year after year.

  Until I didn’t.

  My heart pinched, guilt coursing through my veins.

  What had made me stop coming?

  Being jaded by my parents. Their toxic relationship and combination of verbal abuse and neglect of me did a number on my head and heart.

  Focusing more on money and success than on family. Money and success didn’t lash out or make you feel bad. I’d found them and they were a lot easier to deal with than some of the people in my life.

  And the little trick I’d learned of walling myself off from people emotionally so as not to have to do the whole getting-my-heart-involved thing. I knew I had issues with getting too close to people. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. It wasn’t even a challenge to figure out why I was leery of relationships.

  It’s not that I didn’t want a happy, healthy, loving relationship with a man.

  I just didn’t want to watch it die a slow, painful death like my parents’ marriage and ruin the lives of those around me.

  So, money and success were my focus.

  And now your grandfather is dead and you have no one.

  Gut churning, I climbed out of the car.

  I didn’t often allow myself to think about Grandpa and how good he’d been to me, but when I did, I suffocated in heavy guilt.

  I should have been there for him.

  Should have set aside my stubborn pride and at least let him in.

  It was a lot easier to hunker down behind my walls than to deal with people-y entanglements.

  But he was my grandfather, for god’s sake.

  What did Joseph Snow think as he watched his only grandson, child of his estranged and now deceased son, inch further and further away with each passing year?

  I stayed away to keep up the walls.

  The walls kept my heart safe.

  But they also cost me my only family.

  And now he was gone.

  The guilt and pain trying to swallow me whole battled with the good memories of the little town. I wanted to replace the bad with the good, but I wasn’t sure I had it in me.

  No.

  I was here for a purpose.

  God rest his soul, Grandpa had left his house and store to me.

  I’d get it in sale-ready condition and work as quickly as I could to sell.

  Then I was out.

  Where do you really need to be? You could stay for a while. Reconnect with him if only through stories and memories.

  The thought punched me in the gut.

  When was the last time you were truly happy and content? This place has always had a hold on your heart if you’d just let go.

  No, it was best if I swooped in, did my job, and left as quickly as I’d arrived.

  True, nothing was holding me to LA.

  I could work from anywhere. Hell, I knew Ellen would be willing to keep up with her duties through virtual meetings.

  But with Grandpa gone, nothing tied me to St. Nicholas Crossing either.

  I had no connections in the town other than fond recollections of far-off times with my grandfather.

  What good would those do me?

  Gathering my scattered thoughts and stomping down my wishy-washy heart, I locked the car and pocketed the key. I’d need a lift to my grandpa’s house up the hill and I hoped I’d find a cooperative and easy-going person to assist in giving me a ride at The Heart of St. Nick, the little general store my grandfather had owned.

  Challenging myself to be in and out of town in under a week—yeah, it was a stretch, but it would keep me on a schedule and not give me time to get caught up in the place—I breathed deeply as if steeling myself against the emotions this place had stirred. The scent of cinnamon, chocolate, pine, and peppermint gently assaulted my senses, reminding me of years gone by and the comforts this damn town always brought me.