It was late Tuesday morning, and I was standing at her usual concession window. Five minutes ago, she'd pulled the coffee truck into its regular spot at the Christmas village – or whatwouldbe the Christmas village when the project was finished.
"Good or not," I said, "you still wouldn't like it."
"How do you know?"
With a smile, I recalled the six-page memo. "Because of the coasters."
"Oh, forget the coasters. I've already given it a ton of thought. We can lock the bedrooms, and I've already put my favorite stuff in storage. It would be fine, honest."
I shook my head. "Forget it."
"But why?"
"Because it would make you nuts. I know how you feel about the house."
"Yeah, well maybe some things make memorenuts."
"Like what?"
"Like not doing a favor foryouwhen you were such a good sport about the house-cooling thing."
"No.Youwere the good sport. I was just along for the ride."
"Yeah, but you really went with the flow, you know?" Her voice became earnest. "And I'm trying to do better at that sort of thing."
I was touched, but not an idiot. "Hey, don't do it forme."
"Why not?" she said. "And besides, it wouldn't beonlyfor you. It would also be for the small-fries like me."
"Small fries?"
"Yeah, small business owners. They deserve a break, too, you know."
I couldn’t argue withthat. As I considered what she said, I turned to look at the project. Today, the first three tiny houses were being set up on the concrete foundations that had been poured last Thursday.
With the timing being so tight, the interiors of the houses would still need some work, especially with hooking up the utilities. But on the outside, they would looked finished enough for the reception – except it was on the verge of being canceled.
I didn't care for myself, but Ididcare for other reasons.
From behind me, Harper said. "Admit it. You totally want to."
She was right. I did.My own parents were small business owners themselves, and even though this project didn't belong to me personally, I did feel a certain responsibility.
I wasn't a small fry anymore, but I knew what it was like.
As if sensing weakness, Harper outlined how it could be done. Behind her house, we could open up a wider section of fence like Gordy had suggested and then string Christmas lights along the way.
Harper also suggested putting down some temporary paving stones to form a path and having guests park near the tennis courts across the street from her house.
I had to give her credit. She seemed to have thought of everything. I was still considering the logistics when she said, "And I could make finger foods or something." She brightened. "And maybe Christmas cookies.
That made me smile. "You wouldn't need to cook," I told her. "We've got a good catering budget. It's already lined up – and a cleaning service, too."
"A cleaning service?"
"Yeah, to clean the place afterwards."
"But if it were at the pub, why would you need a cleaning service?"
