'Twas the Kiss Before Christmas

by Susan Hatler

  Long racks sat below shelves that showcased photos of earlier tour groups and Mr. Kline doing what he did best, giving people a luxurious trip into the wilderness. A few well-placed racks offered touristy items, but nothing too kitschy. My favorites were the Christmas Mountain snow globes that contained a perfect replica of The Sharing Tree decked out in all its glory. Those had been my idea, in fact.

  If only they would start selling better. . .

  We had high-end fishing gear neatly arranged below a hanging kayak. A small alcove tucked off to one side held a coffee bar for our clients—and usually some of Jingle Bells Bakery’s famous cinnamon rolls. Those pastries could make even the worst day better. What I wouldn’t give for a cinnamon roll at his very moment. Or five rolls.

  The large windows gave a wide view of the quaint, adorable main street below in town. And there were photos of Mr. Kline with our guests hiking, fishing, skiing, snow-shoeing, camping, and touring Santa’s grotto.

  I snapped my fingers and then gestured at the photos. “By the way, I should ask you what you want to do with those photos. The new owner probably won’t want them.”

  Adam’s gaze moved to the photos and froze. A line formed between his eyebrows. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “You’re aware that’s the worst route to take in this business, right?”

  “I’m not in this business. I’m here to sell it. You know that, Faith.”

  “Which is why you don’t know that you never cross a bridge without considering all of the risks. Lesson number one,” I said, my tone coming across more humorous than bossy, but pretty sure I wasn’t succeeding.

  “I don’t need a lesson,” he said, his deep baritone voice making me shiver. Those tingles got more intense when he stepped toward me. “I only have three weeks. What I need is the data.”

  “You mean the business side? Profit and loss, accounting, stock suppliers, and such?” I asked, slapping my hand on his forearm like we were best buds. Heat warmed my palm through the sleeve of the button-up shirt he’d probably spent way too much money on. I scanned the look on his face. He’d have been the perfect candidate for one of our tours.

  “Exactly,” he said, his eyes warming again as he smiled. “Numbers that let me know what to ask for this business.”

  “Gotcha.” I raised a finger as inspiration hit. Adam didn’t know much about the business and he needed to know why this store was so important. Not just to me but to Mr. Kline. “You’re never going to understand the value of this business by merely reading the accounting sheets.”

  His smile died. “I beg to differ. You can understand a lot about a business by its accounting.”

  He meant profits. Of which there were precious few.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I mean, yes, but a lot of the value in this business is about the return guest factor and guests bonding with the people who go on the tours with them, usually family, and finding themselves. Challenging themselves to do something they can’t do at home in the city and may never get the chance to do ever again.”

  His smile returned. “You mean like a bucket list moment.”

  “Yes, just like that. It’s about getting out there and just going for it.”

  “And you think I don’t know anything about that?”

  I shrugged. “If you want to know the reason why this business is so great, then you need to take an in-depth look.”

  He stepped back, his gaze drifting toward the photos. “What I need is to get a pitch deck made up, fast.”

  “A what?”

  “Pitch deck. The sales presentation. Something that would explain why buyers should and would want this business.”

  Man, that sounded so clinical.

  “First, you need to go on a tour. You need to experience what we do.” We. There was no we anymore. Mr. Kline was gone and Adam wanted to sell the place. Would sell it unless I could figure out how to change his mind.

  He stepped back. “You think going on a tour will help me gain understanding that will help me sell the place?”

  You know, sometimes, you really can justify a big old lie. “Yes.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  I blinked. Wait. What just happened? Had he said yes, or was that wishful thinking? “You want to go on a tour?”

  He nodded. “If it will help sell this business? You bet.”

  Woo-hoo! Merry Christmas to me.

  “I’ll set it up. You’re going to love this,” I said, rubbing my hands together as I went to make some calls. He had to enjoy the tour so much that he fell in love with Silver Bells. Just had to. I couldn’t fail Mr. Kline.

  I couldn’t let Adam Kline sell the business, ruining my Christmas—and my life.

  Chapter Three

  The song “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” came through the speakers at the C.M. Salon, where I was getting my hair cut by my good friend Morgan Reed. She opened this salon last winter and I’d yet to be charged for any of the services she’d provided—despite my protests and the numerous times I’d slapped my credit card down on the front counter—and so I’ve relented by leaving ridiculous-sized tips.

  Winking red and green lights outlined the mirror I stared into and a spicy apple scent filled the air as the Christmas song claimed that my troubles would be miles away—if only that were true. All I could think about was the job that was about to be pulled out from under me.

  “Okay, spill,” Morgan said, holding a comb in one hand and scissors in the other as she stared at my reflection in the mirror.

  I blinked a few times. “Spill what?”

  “Whatever is on your mind,” she said, gesturing to the chair I was sitting in. “You’re wriggling, which isn’t like you. I’d say it’s the song, but it’s not exactly dancing music. Plus, you look like you’re about a million miles away right now. Something’s up. So . . . spill.”

  I wriggled a bit more. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  Morgan gave me a look. “Start at the beginning.”

  “I fell into the arms of a really hot guy the other day,” I said, remembering the warming feeling of Adam’s arms around me. “There may have been some flirting, too. Eyelash batting on my side, anyway. Now I’m taking him out on a tour.”

  “Sounds promising,” Morgan said, her lips pursed. “You don’t need just a haircut. You need a blowout, followed by a gloss, and an eyebrow threading. Maybe some eyelash extensions while we’re at it.”

  “I could use an eyebrow threading,” I said, squinting at my reflection in the mirror. “But no blow out or extensions. I’m not trying to impress this guy.”

  “Who are you trying to fool? You just talked about eyelash batting and you’re not like that, even though you haven’t been in kissing distance of a hot guy in a long time. Plus, you love getting glammed up and you’re going on a date with him.”

  “It’s not a date, it’s a tour.”

  Morgan ran the comb through my hair and then cut a little off. “Date, tour, who cares? This is your chance to impress the guy you’re obviously interested in and we both know what picky taste you have. You should go for it. Besides, you’re my only client for the next hour and when you leave I get to dye a woman’s hair silver, like tinsel-colored silver at that.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Some people go all out for Christmas.”

  I pondered what my dark hair would look like silver and then shook my head. “He’s attractive, nice, and there’s definitely something sweet lurking behind his walled-off exterior, but not my type. He’s the serious business, no-vacation-in-years type of guy. His phone is attached to his hand, if you get my meaning. Like, oh, sorry, got to take this. I’m not trying to date him anyway. I’m trying to save Silver Bells and keep my job.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows elevated. “Say what?”

  “The guy is Adam Kline.”

  “Larry Kline’s long lost son?”

  I nodded. “He’s going to sell the busin
ess unless I can figure out a way to stop him.” My fingers tapped out a fast pace on the arm of the chair. “That’s why we’re going on the tour.”

  “And you think a tour will be enough to convince him not to sell?”

  “The idea sounded a lot more plausible in my head,” I admitted, wriggling again.

  Morgan froze with the scissors poised above my head. “Faith, if you don’t want those bangs you gave yourself back in sixth grade, you have to hold still.”

  I forced myself to stay perfectly still. “But maybe one tour will be enough for him to see how special Silver Bells Luxury Tours is. He has to see, Morgan, or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  She made a humming sound. “I think you need to let me give you the works. Facial, eyebrow threading, a blow out, maybe even a manicure. Oh, and we should definitely do a lip treatment. Let’s get those lips nice and soft for kissy time.”

  I glared at her. “My lips are fine. I use loads of lip screen. And I have zero plans to kiss Adam Kline, thank you very much.”

  “Riiiight.”

  Okay, that had been a lie. Kissing Adam Kline was something I’d thought about a lot ever since we first met. His lips were absolutely kissable, after all. “Besides, I want him looking at the scenery and the other people on the tour, not at me. This is his chance to really get to know a side of his dad he didn’t get to see before he passed away.”

  Morgan snipped some more of my dark hair off. “I thought you said the two of you wouldn’t be good together, not even on a date.”

  I stared at the bright flicker of the Christmas lights. “We wouldn’t be.”

  “Then why do you care whether he gets to know that side of his dad, or not? I mean most employees don’t care about their boss’s feelings. Unless said employee is interested in said boss, in which case we’re talking a different story.”

  “I am interested,” I retorted. “Very interested . . . in keeping the business open.”

  “And interested in the guy who saved you from falling on your face? The hot guy you flirted with, batting those eyelashes like you’ve never done in all of the sixteen years I’ve known you?”

  “Ugh.” I threw my hands up. “Okay, fine. I have been thinking about him and maybe was interested, up until he started acting like his phone was his personal life saving device. The guy is a workaholic, Mr. Kline’s son, and trying to wreck my entire life by selling Silver Bells. And I have so many ideas about improving the business, too. I know I could help turn the place around, make it really profitable, if he would just hear me out.”

  Morgan stepped to the side and set the scissors down. “Then make him listen.”

  My brow furrowed. “I’m trying to make him listen to me, but the only way he’s going to understand why the business is so amazing is to experience, first-hand, what it is that we do,” I said, exhausted from thinking about Adam Kline. My life had seemed so simple until he’d come to town. I needed to change the subject. “How are things going with you and Dallas?”

  She gave me a distracted look. “The holidays are tough on him. His relationship with his dad is strained because of his dad’s alcoholism. I wish I knew what to do to help.”

  Sympathy struck. “I’m in a similar boat. I wish I knew how to get through to Adam.”

  Morgan reached up and unhooked the clove apple. She held it to her nose and took a deep inhale. The scent drifted over to me and I snapped my fingers. “Now I remember who used to love those things.”

  “Ms. King,” we said in unison.

  Grief nudged its way into my heart. Losing our choir teacher and mentor had been hard on all of us. Mr. Kline’s positive attitude had helped, but now he was gone, too. “I wish Ms. King were here. She’d know just what to do.”

  Morgan hung the apple back up. “She would know, and she would say she knew, too.”

  “I miss her,” I said.

  “Me, too,” she said, giving me a look of understanding.

  If Ms. King were here she would tell me to go after what I want. Determination filled me. Adam Kline was going to be so knocked over by this upcoming tour that he’d never be able to sell Silver Bells. And saving the business was all I was thinking about, of course, when I turned to Morgan. “Okay, let’s go for the eyelash extensions.”

  Chapter Four

  The next evening, I arrived at the Silver Bells Luxury Tours store and spotted my reflection in the window. The eyelash extensions and the waterproof eyeliner along my upper lids really played up my almond brown eyes. I’d put my hair into a twist that was both elegant and functional. My outfit: fitted pants with warm inner linings, a red cashmere sweater beneath a black high-end quilted vest and a down coat over that, hiking boots that were made to cover rough terrain and look good while doing it.

  Everything was perfect to start the luxury tour that would (hopefully) wow Adam.

  I unlocked the front door and dashed inside, eager to get the tour started. I went to the coffee bar and began arranging things carefully. No speck of dust or stray coffee bean or sugar granule to mar the perfection of the guests’ luxury experience.

  I arranged the plump, sugar-glazed cinnamon rolls from Jingle Bells Bakery on a china plate, letting the decadent smell of real butter, vanilla, and sweet pastries waft up my nose. Yum. My fingers twitched toward the rolls. My mouth watered as I arranged the linen napkins, the china cups, and sterling flatware.

  Next, I clicked on the electronic tablet I held and made sure everything was set up and ready, and that there were no delays in sight. Everything was a go. The door opened and the bell tinkled as the tour group arrived in a rush. I approached them with a smile.

  Diane Burkhart wore a stylish outfit similar to mine. Her ash-blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her lips had been glossed to a high shine. Like Diane, Mr. Burkhart wore gear from the store. Where was Adam? I needed him to take note of our happy guests that had purchased clothes from the store—thus, increasing revenue beyond the tour itself.

  An older woman named Sharon Straw smiled at me. She wore less trendy gear and her older hiking boots said she meant business and had experience on a trail, even if they were a once-bright and now faded shade of pink instead of the usual tan or brown.

  Trevor Peak was next. You know how some older men give off that rugged, cowboy vibe? Trevor was one of them and with good reason. He’d played a cowboy in a slew of popular movies made in Hollywood. He’d retired from acting years ago and moved to Christmas Mountain, but still looked the part he’d played. He nodded to me in greeting and I nodded back.

  “It’s a glorious evening, isn’t it?” Sharon stepped toward the pastry plate I’d neatly arranged. “And is that cinnamon I smell?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Straw. We have the world famous cinnamon rolls from Jingle Bells Bakery as a snack for you by the coffee bar. Please help yourself.”

  The group went to get the rolls and coffee. I glanced at the time. Where was Adam? Had he ghosted me? Decided a tour was the last thing he needed? My stomach clenched at the thought. He wouldn’t dare. Would he?

  Just when I was sure he had ditched the tour, the door opened and he stepped inside. He seemed glued to his phone, texting furiously. The phone in his hand kept beeping and chirping and he was so absorbed in it he didn’t even look up until he walked right into a fancy female mannequin in skiwear and sent it crashing to the floor.

  Sharon came up next to me. “Uh-oh. He’s not our tour guide, is he?”

  “No, he’s taking the tour,” I said, using a reassuring tone as I stifled a laugh. I hurried over to Adam, who kept the phone in one hand as he hoisted the mannequin upright by one of its arms. Bad idea. The arm popped off and the mannequin made an undignified splat to the floor.

  Adam stood there, holding a mannequin arm in hand and grimaced. Despite the drama and armless skier, he somehow managed to look adorably cute and hot all at the same time.

  I took the arm from him. “Good evening, Adam. Let me just . . .” What? What should I do with the a
rm? The wounded mannequin looked pathetic lying on the floor, so I propped her up onto a camp chair, complete with cup holders, USB charger and seat warmers. Then I put the arm on her lap. “I’ll have maintenance perform surgery later.”

  “Thanks,” Adam said, grinning. “Never knew texting and walking could be dangerous.”

  “Good thing you weren’t in the woods with a mountain lion,” I joked, wondering if it would take a wild animal to detach him from his cell phone.

  “You slip on the ice and I knock off an arm,” he said, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth hitched upward. “What a pair we are, huh?”

  “Yes, totally,” I said, my cheeks heating. The sound of us being called a pair was kind of appealing. I felt glad Morgan wasn’t here to witness my reaction, or she would’ve teased me senseless. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on work by turning to face the group. “Thank you for being a part of this experience today. I’m Faith Sterling, your Silver Bells tour guide.”

  Murmurs of greetings ensued.

  “Our Stargazer Tour will take us up Christmas Mountain and then back to the store again. Along the way you’ll see The Sharing Tree, Christmas Falls, Kissing Bench, and more. We will have a delicious evening dinner at the top of the mountain, in comfort, I promise.”

  The Burkharts chuckled. Trevor leaned, all cowboy-like, against the wall. Sharon beamed. Adam looked unimpressed, which was when I noticed what he was wearing: an expensive-looking wool coat, a designer scarf tucked into the top of the coat, leather gloves, and Italian leather black boots for city streets—not weatherproof, hiking boots.

  Adam asked, “Is there something in your eye?”

  “What?” I asked, realizing I’d been squinting as I scrutinized his outfit. Oops. I rubbed a finger under my eye. “Um, yeah. Got it, I think.”

  The sound of bells tinkled from outside, alerting me that our ride had arrived.