Christina, Jacob, and Harriet packed up the remainder of their lunches, said goodbye, and braved the frigid December wind as they crossed from Mimi’s Seaside Souvenirs to their own shops.

A gaggle of mothers waited outside Christina’s shop, stamping their feet to keep warm as the wind off the sea flapped their scarves and mufflers.

Christina threw open the door. “Come in!” she called cheerfully.

Christina never did finish her sandwich. Stroll Weekend, the first weekend in December, brought in crowds.

The mothers bought mermaids, pirates, seagulls, and seals. They bought treasure chests, books, puzzles, and wooden lighthouses. Shrieking with happiness at finding the perfect stocking stuffer, they seized up sticker books, wooden pull-toys, and replicas of the Nantucket Rainbow Fleet sailboats.

Christina rang up sales, tucked gifts into bags, answered questions, pointed directions, and chatted with her customers. At one interlude, she found time to flick on her CD player, filling the air with Christmas carols, and the music gave her the energy to work as fast as she could all afternoon.

It was after five when the crowd thinned out. Christina usually closed at six, but today and tomorrow she’d stay open until no one else arrived.

Night had fallen. Darkness surrounded the wharf, while the winter wind increased, blustering and shoving against the thin walls of the shop, splashing harbor water loudly against the wooden floor. Out here on the wharf you could feel the full force of winter, the depth of the dark. Christina was grateful for the cheer of the Christmas lights outlining the other shops, twinkling companionably in the blackness. Everything would be much more romantic if it would snow. Snow always laced and frosted the windows of homes and shops, turning them all into presents. But no snow yet.

Christina walked around her shop, straightening the shelves, getting ready for the next day. She was just thinking of locking up for the night when a woman entered.

The woman’s ears flashed with diamonds beneath her fur hat. She was young, only a bit older than Christina, and very pretty, except for the disdainful expression on her face.

She held up a bag. “Did you give these things to my daughter?”

Christina hesitated. She’d never, ever, had a parent complain before. “I’m not sure,” she responded mildly. “Could I see what you have?”

The woman dumped the bag upside down on the counter. Out clattered a sweatshirt, a weather gauge, and the sticker book.

Stunned, Christina protested, “These were gifts for Wink.” And Wink, Christina felt certain, didn’t have a mother who went around in diamonds.

“I see. Well, that’s very sweet of you, but completely unnecessary. I’m returning them. You can give them to some child who needs them.”