I ran all my classes so students only had to bring their basic craft kit, while I supplied the rest, covered by the class fee. So after the enthusiastic response at the show yesterday, I’d sat up far too late putting together more student packets—and adding some of the cute embellishments from Dianne’s booth to the ones I’d already created. But I wasn’t tired as I hauled one box of packets up the stairs to Central Paper’s big classroom space. No, I was practically vibrating with anticipation, which made the bells on my favorite Christmas party dress (with matching fascinator) jingle all the way.

Because what if this class was the first with enough participation to launch my eventual escape from the corporate world? What if today turned out to be the foundation of my own craft business? I could only hope.

I set the box on the instructor’s table next to the overhead projector as PJ hit the top of the stairs carrying the second box. He’d accessorized his prancing reindeer vest with his boa, despite its holiday-inappropriate color. He’d claimed it was for moral support.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to take the class along with everyone else?” I slid one of the packets out of the box and waggled it in the air. “I’m sure I’ve got enough, and as my bestie, you can’t avoid crafting forever.”

He gave a mock shudder and plopped his box next to the first one. “You underestimate my powers of avoidance. No.”

“Why not? It’s not hard. All the parts are in the packet. All you have to do is assemble it.”

“Oh, sure,” he said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. “No problem.”

“What? It’s not.”

He propped his hands on his hips. “LaTashia Danielle Fredericka Van Buren, while I am not the man to back away from anything hard, that kit has sixteen different parts, some of them moving. Assembling it would take a high level of interest, a large dose of patience, and/or a mechanical engineering degree—all of which you have. I, on the other hand, am a systems engineer with the attention span of a gnat and a constitutional aversion to clutter.”

“These don’t contribute to clutter. You mail them to people on your Christmas card list.”

“My particular list has zero names, so that argument won’t fly either. I am more than happy to be your lovely assistant, but participate I will not. Now”—he dusted off his palms, sending teal feathers flying—“what other prep do we need?”

I gave up. PJ had resisted every single attempt I’d made to involve him in some kind of craft in the entire seven years of our friendship. That didn’t mean I’d stop trying. “The tables. Let’s shift them around so there’s a center aisle. It’s easier for me to help the students that way.”

“You got it.”

Graciela poked her head above the stair railing as we were pushing the last table into position. “Four more students just called to sign up for the class, mija. That makes twenty-two. Almost a full house.”

I stood up and smoothed the ruffles on my crafting apron, the one PJ claimed made me look like a cross between a Christmas tree and Cindy-Lou Who. “Was one of them named Dianne?”

She brushed back her silver-streaked black hair. “I think so?”

“Good. She has an embellishment business, and her stuff would be perfect for the store.”

Graciela’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to expand the inventory any further.”

Worry tickled my insides. Was Graciela having trouble with the store? “Well, I’m sure you’ll move some of it today. My students can never resist a little shopping spree after class, and I’m expecting some walk-ins, too. There was a lot of interest at the show yesterday.”

“Yes, your students never leave without buying something.” She chuckled. “The way you talk up the products, I think I should pay you a commission.” The door chime rang downstairs, announcing a customer. “Have a good class.” Graciela waggled her fingers and disappeared down the stairs.

PJ rolled a chair from the back of the room and positioned it behind a table. “There. Seating arranged. What’s next?”

“Put a class packet at each spot while I check my AV set-up?” A couple of students peered over the railing and whispered to each other. “Are you here for the Christmas card class?” They both nodded. “Then please come on up and take a seat.”

“How about I check the AV set-up while you hand out packets,” PJ murmured, “because I guarantee these people will ask things for which I have no answers. Besides, systems engineer, remember? I speak fluent cables and connectors.”

PJ made the right call—students started to trickle in, most of them with questions about the class or crafting in general. As the time ticked closer to our one o’clock starting time, I had a respectable crowd, although not as big as I’d hoped, given my dreams of someday leaving the corporate world behind.

Dianne arrived, and I greeted her with a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

She chuckled. “I wasn’t about to miss it. My business partner can handle the booth solo for a while today.”

“Before you leave, I want to introduce you to—”

Ava pushed by Dianne, her basic kit slung across her shoulders. “This place needs an elevator.”

I raised an apologetic eyebrow at Dianne and gestured for her to take an open seat.

I expected Ava to hand her kit to me, but instead she thrust it at PJ. “You’re lucky I’m here. Since you abandoned me at the Expo Center yesterday, I had a good mind not to come.”

“Quelle horreur,” PJ muttered.

She pointed at the seat at the front, right next to the projector. “Put my kit over there.” She held up her car keys and jingled them in his face. “There’s more in the trunk.” She stomped over to her seat and glared at him. “Well?”

PJ shared a bemused glance with me. “I live to serve.” He trotted down the stairs as I strode to the front of the room to start the class.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m so glad you’ve joined me today. I’m Tash Van Buren, your instructor. I’ve put a blank table tent with each of your packets, so could you all please write your names on them and prop the tent up in front of you?” I grinned. “So much more polite to call on you by name than to point, am I right?”

“Hmmph.” Ava pushed her name tent aside. “Waste of time. You already know me.”

True, and I was beginning to regret it. Everybody else complied, though, including two other women from my scrapbooking circle who never missed my classes. I chuckled a bit when I noticed that all three women in the last row—the two who’d arrived first, plus another who’d slunk in at the last moment—were named Brittany.

Using a Sizzix Big Shot, I demonstrated how I’d utilized cardstock and three different die sets to make the swirling stars, Christmas trees, and wintery village silhouette included in their class packets. I handed around the sample cards I’d made to illustrate the way different embellishments could be used to alter standard die cuts, morphing them into anything from modern and whimsical to retro and traditional based on your mood or holiday theme.

After going over the basic instructions, I strolled around the classroom, answering questions and assisting the students as needed. Dianne needed no help—no surprise there. Two of the three Brittanys were having a low-voiced running commentary that included snapping multiple pictures of their cards as they worked, although the third Brittany wasn’t making much progress. Neither was PJ, who was still hauling bags and boxes up from Ava’s car, his expression growing more exasperated with each trip.

“Every time I walk through the store,” he grumbled to me, low-voiced, “I have to sidestep this guy who’s lumbering around the store like he expects it to suddenly turn into a sports bar. And he gives me a look.” PJ sniffed. “You’d think he’d never seen a man in a boa before. Or maybe he’s just envious. He’s wearing a very boring and seasonally inappropriate black hoodie.”

Meanwhile, Ava had spread out, encroaching on the spot next to hers with so many of the things she’d bought yesterday that it looked like she was trying to open her own craft store.

She was pawing through a cardboard box. “I know I brought those things with me. Where the heck are they?”

I moved toward her, collecting a Copic pen that had rolled down the table toward another student’s workspace. “What do you need, Ava? Everything for the card should have been in your packet.”

She snorted, not looking up from her search. “Your little kits are nice enough for beginners, Tash, but I like mine to make more of a statement.”

I could think of a few statements I’d like to make, starting with the pointed toes of my red slingbacks on Ava’s backside, but I didn’t want to make my other students uncomfortable. If any of them thought this was what my normal classes were like, they might never come back. Several of them were already looking uneasy—the three Brittanys and a young lady in her third trimester who nervously rubbed her beautifully round belly. Dianne wasn’t fazed—in fact, she sported a grin as she added red crystals to her fussy-cut holly. The two women from my scrapbooking circle seemed unconcerned, but they were used to Ava.

“What is it you’re looking for, Ava?”

She poked at the card. “I want some bling for this Christmas tree. It’s way too plain with those skimpy little crystals. I know I got something that would do at that show yesterday after you left me all alone.”

Yes, all alone in a crowd of hundreds with PJ tagging along like her personal minion. “Maybe you can find something in my supplies. What color are you looking for?”

PJ set another box by Ava’s feet. “What’s the color of wretched excess?” he whispered. I glared at him, and he flung one end of his boa over his shoulder and trudged off down the stairs again.

“Red,” Ava announced. “Nice, big, sparkly red. Aha!” She seized a zippered pouch out of my embellishment bin and dug out a red faceted crystal the size of my thumbnail. “This’ll do.” She coated the back with glue and stuck it smack in the middle of the tree. “There. Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

I suppressed a sigh and smiled at the other students. “If any of you would like different decorations for your cards, you’re welcome to see if there’s anything here you like better.”

Dianne chuckled. “Since you got these from me, I’m not likely to complain. Besides, I’ve got more of them back home.”

I laughed along with her as I spread the red jewels on my table next to the projector. “For those of you who don’t run your own craft supply business, please help yourself.”

Several women wandered up, including two of the Brittanys. One of the chatty Brittanys took several crystals and scampered back to share with her co-Brittany. The quiet Brittany peered at the sparkly red spread for several minutes, then sighed.

“Looking for something in particular?” I asked.

She flinched. “N-no. I mean, the one you gave us is fine.” She trudged back to her seat as Ava leaned over and snagged another large gem.

“Next time, Tash,” Ava said, “show a little more consideration for the people in your class. You’d have a better turnout if you weren’t so stingy.”