Page 21 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
“Thank you for those kind words. If only they were the magic pill that boosted my confidence.”
During their initial meeting last month, Layla discovered Sheila had basically hired her as a professional cheerleader. Sheila loved to decorate but lacked confidence in her decisions. So rather than taking the lead to create idea boards for the eight rooms Sheila wanted to make over, Layla listened and nodded a lot. The woman did have excellent taste. The atrium was one part of several rooms she and her husband added onto their home this past summer. This room’s glass wall overlooked the lake, so she’d used the subtle hues of the outdoors with pops of orange and pink that tied in perfectly with her perennial beds and terra cotta pots outside during the summer, she told Layla. Her love of birds was obvious too. Wire sculptures of life-sized gulls hung from the apex of the ceiling over their heads.
Sheila poured them coffee from the carafe on a rolling cart while Layla settled on the couch. “When I saw your cute shop last spring, I knew my troubles were over,” Sheila said.
“I’m happy to help or be a sounding board, whichever you prefer.” Sheila dealt compliments like a card shark. Her kind words were sincerely spoken, never overblown. At least, they didn’t feel that way. Layla should know. She wasn’t the best at receiving praise. Beside her, her bag muffled the sound of another message on her phone.
“Speaking of your shop, I heard your name on the radio this morning,” Sheila said.
Layla stopped making notes in her binder and turned her attention on Sheila.
“Oh? What did they say?”
“I don’t remember who it was, but it was on WMSP. They were talking about Copper Creek Home and what an amazing shop it is.”
This was exciting. She never listened to the radio. To think that her shop was on someone’s radar in the Twin Cities was kind of a big deal. The store wasn’t an established business; she’d opened a year ago spring. And she rarely advertised. The ads she did pay for were the direct result of the advertising rep from Copper Creek Gazette cold-calling about a holiday spread with the other businesses in town. But that had only happened twice this past year, once for Valentine’s Day and the other for the Summer Days Sidewalk event.
“I can’t imagine how they heard about me.”
Sheila picked up on her excitement. “I was doing my holiday invites when they mentioned Copper Creek Home. My ears perked right up.”
“I wish I’d heard it.”
“I thought about calling you. But Chuck came into the room at that point and distracted me.” Sheila sat down next to her with two saucers and two mugs of coffee on a wooden tea tray. Layla took the lid off the diminutive sugar bowl and filled her spoon with a little sugar. Stirring it into her coffee, she wondered aloud who might have been talking.
Sheila shrugged while she added cream to her coffee. “Whoever it was visited your shop last weekend. She was going on and on about the cute little trees she bought for her mantle. Do you remember someone buying a bunch of birch trees?”
Layla shook her head. “It could have been anyone. They’ve been a hot seller lately.” Besides, Marybelle covered for her most of Saturday, so she had no idea who came into the shop. But no matter. “It’s free advertising, right?”
“I keep telling everyone who will listen to me what a wonderful little shop it is. They probably think I have some personal stake in it with as much gushing as I do,” Sheila said, rolling her eyes. She paused when a series of incoming messages sounded on Layla’s phone again. “My, someone’s impatient,” she said.
“I’m so sorry.” Layla hoped the messages would stop, but they’d only grown more intrusive. She dug her phone from the bag and took a quick peek. They were all from Kyle. “I forgot to silence it before I came inside.”
“I forget all the time. It drives Chuck crazy.”
“Anyway, thank you so much for spreading the word. I’ve seen a little uptick in business lately.” Layla took a sip then set the mug and saucer on the coffee table. “It must be because of you.”
Sheila’s smile widened, which made something in Layla’s mind click: Compliments were Sheila’s love language. She thought of what Brant had said to her the other day, about customers being like family. As Sheila went on about how charming the town of Copper Creek was, it occurred to Layla that she’d connected with Sheila that day she’d visited her shop for the first time so many months ago. Landing a client like Sheila was easy; she was talkative, animated, and very complimentary.
There were other regular customers, too, like Henry Layton, who had come in on opening day to ask about fresh flowers. His weekly visits since then had established a familial bond between them. She looked forward to hearing his weather reports direct from theFarmer’s Almanac, although he insisted they didn’t know what they were talking about and his predictions were more accurate. Even Marybelle was a customer before she became a close friend. When Layla bought the building—which included the shop, her apartment upstairs, and the adjoining rental unit—she’d inherited Marybelle as a longtime renter. They’d met when Marybelle asked if she could sell her handmade greeting cards on commission.
There was truth to Brant’s words. Treat customers like family and they’ll be loyal to the end. Layla had been doing that all along, not because she hoped the relationships would win her a steady clientele, but because she genuinely liked these people. Theywereher family.
“Layla?” Sheila waved a hand in front of her face.
She blinked, realizing she’d been staring somewhere in the vicinity of the filigree earring on Sheila’s left ear while these thoughts ran through her head. “I’m so sorry. I need this coffee to kick in a little faster.”
Sheila giggled. “That’s all right. Just this morning I opened the freezer to put in the letter I intended to mail instead of the package of bagels in my other hand. Maybe it’s contagious.”
“It must be this time of year.”
Layla looked to the red and green plastic bins stacked in the corner of the room. They were marked with the corresponding rooms—library, west living room, east living room, and so on. Twenty boxes, maybe more. Poor Chuck had spent the morning hauling them down from the walk-up attic.
“A few more sips and I’ll be ready to start,” said Sheila. “Won’t this be fun? I hardly feel like I’ve hired you. It’s almost like we’re friends.”
“We are friends, Sheila.”
The woman’s complexion turned rosy. “I know. I mean, well, I don’t know what I mean.” She patted Layla’s knee. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
