“I thought she was supposed to glue it to her forehead, so this didn’t keep happening,” Amelia responded.

Her ten-year-old niece giggled as she entered the kitchen. “She wants you to call her phone. Can I do it?”

Amelia looked up from the snowman sugar cookie she was frosting and nodded toward her phone on the counter. “Absolutely. Have a cookie, too.”

Wasn’t that part of the cool aunt creed? Spoil thy niece with screens and sugar at all opportunities, especially during the Christmas season.

“Not again,” Beth grumbled loud enough to be heard. She shelved the last book from her cart—an Agatha Christy novel—then tried swerving around the giant customer who was staring her down like an angry bull. Well, an angry bull with cute dimples and an adorable cowlick.

Aiden shoved his work boot in front of her cart, the faint whiff of sawdust wafting from his jeans and Carhart utility jacket. “I just don’t understand.”

“And I don’t understand why you don’t understand.”

“It’s Little Women. Little Women!”