CHAPTER TWELVE
The snow fell deep enough to soak the landscape in white and gray. Grayson had bought a couple strings of Christmas lights from the dollar store and strung them around the edges of the windows. He’d brought home a little potted pine tree that no one had chosen at the store, put it on the kitchen table, and decorated it with tiny ornaments cut out of wrapping paper.
He’d had an interview at Maines, the restaurant supply store in town. The young woman who’d interviewed him had been impressed with his years of work at Schroder’s. He’d almost certainly get the job, she said, especially if he was willing to pick up extra hours over the holidays.
For Grayson, it would be a way to make up the money he’d lose when the historical society let him go at the end of the year.
When he
