Les stormed into the chocolate shop at five p.m. on Christmas Eve, frowning deep. "Why is the front door unlocked?"
Rosie looked at him, her sweet face pale and tired-looking. This whole fucking retail store during the holidays thing sucked.
Big hairy rocks.
This was their time, not every frigging tourist in Steamboat.
"I was about to…" She said.
The door opened and he turned and growled. "We’re closed. It’s Christmas. Go home."
Treeni, the lady that owned the hat shop next door blinked, then cracked up. "You know it. I brought you tamales and chili and cheese for supper tonight, so no one had to cook."
Rosie burst into tears. "Thank you. Thank you, huh?"
Treeni rolled her eyes, nodded. "Take her home, cowboy. Hell season is over."
Les wrapped Rose in his arms and held her close. Next year, he was hiring folks to help, no matter with his girl said.
Christmas eve wasn’t for crying.
Les and Rosie are from Picking Roses