Page 40 of The Christmas Arrangement

Five minutes later, I’m staring at a to-go tumbler topped with what appears to be a cloud of pink foam studded with candy cane pieces.

“Is this a dessert?” I ask.

“Welcome to the holiday season at the Snowflake Cafe.” Ivy laughs. “It’s basically melted Christmas in a cup.”

I take a cautious sip. Sugar explodes across my tongue, followed by white chocolate and cream and peppermint. It’s ridiculous. It’s delicious. I’m a convert.

“Oh, before I forget!” Delphina leans forward conspiratorially. “Titus is doing the soft opening for his Cat Cafe today. He’s been planning this for months—he’d be over the moon if you stop by. And bring your entourage.” She gives a nod toward the press.

Ivy beams. “We will absolutely do that.”

A chalkboard near the register catches my eye: “Suspended: 12 coffees, 8 meals.” Below it, in smaller letters: “Pay it forward. Someone’s always hungry.”

“What’s this about?” I ask, pointing.

“Oh, the suspended program? Anyone can buy an extra coffee or meal for someone who needs it. We don’t make a big deal about it—folks just come in and ask if there’s anything suspended, and we take care of them.”

She says it like it’s a small thing, but it’s not. In LA, I write checks to charities for the tax deduction. Here, neighbors buy each other lunch.

“That’s …,” I start, but I don’t have words for what it is.

“That’s Mistletoe Mountain,” Ivy finishes softly, and her hand finds mine.

Shane’s camera clicks by the pastry case as I dig some bills out of my wallet and pass them to Delphina and ask her to add to them to the kitty.

We take our sugary concoctions to go and head down the street to Frost & Fizz Bathworks. The small shop is tucked between a vintage clothing store and a yarn shop and is easy to miss if you’re not looking for the baby blue front door.

The moment we step inside, yet another wall of layered scent hits me. This one is pine and peppermint and vanilla and cranberry, sugar and spice. Every surface is covered with colorful soaps, bath bombs, and lotions, all with handwritten labels and kraft paper packaging tied with twine bows.

Behind the counter, a woman with long silver hair in a thick braid looks up and smiles. Her apron is dusted with something sparkly—mica powder, maybe. “Ivy, so good to see you!”

“Hi, Autumn. This is?—”

The woman laughs, “I know who Dash Pine is, girl.” She grins at me, “I’m Autumn Frost. This is my shop. Look around. Let me know if you need anything.”

I whisper to Ivy. “Is her name really?—?”

“It really is.”

I grin at the absurdity as I wander through the shop, picking up and sniffing the winter-themed bar soaps. Frostbitten Fir soap is dark green with silver swirls. There’s also Mistletoe Kiss, pale green studded with what look like tiny white and red berries. Rust-colored Cinnamon Stick smells exactly like its name.

“Shopping for someone special?” Ivy asks, appearing at my elbow.

“My mom. She works hard. Doesn’t really treat herself. Even now, when I have all the money in the world, she works like she thinks this will all disappear one day.”

Ivy’s expression softens and she presses her hand against my cheek. “It’s sweet of you to treat her since she doesn’t treat herself.”

I don’t know how to respond to this, so I take her hand and lift it to my mouth. As I drop a kiss on to her warm palm, the photographers crowded around the window outside the tiny store snap pictures in a frenzy.

I move to the next display and choose bath bombs that fizz silver and blue, body butter in a vintage-style tin labeled Northern Lights, and several foaming hand soaps named for the sweets from The Nutcracker.

When I bring my shopping basket up to the counter, Autumn compliments my choices as she rings up my purchases. “I can gift wrap and ship these for you,” she offers. “I ship all over—had an order go to Dubai last week.”

“That would be great.”

I recite my mom’s mailing address and phone number for Autumn. While I’m signing the credit card slip, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Ivy’s grabbed a pen from the counter and is scribbling something on her forearm, under her sweater sleeve. She catches me looking and smiles innocently.

I offer to take a picture with Autumn, and she practically leaps over the counter to stand beside me and smile as Ivy dutifully snaps a few shots with Autumn’s cell phone.