Do You Believe in Santa?

by Sierra Donovan

  Tonight’s meeting might determine if Jake would stay or if he would go.

  Mandy closed her lipstick tube, shut her eyes and tried to form her thoughts into some kind of prayer. It would help if she knew what she was praying for.

  For Jake to be happy.

  For Jake to stay.

  For Jake never to find out about Mandy’s . . . nonconformity.

  She couldn’t keep it a secret if he stayed. It was amazing her luck had held out this long. It had never been a secret before.

  She looked at the small wooden plaque above the bathroom mirror. It was one of her creations, and the only trace of Christmas in this little room. In alternating red and green letters, with a painted pattern that suggested a patchwork quilt, it simply read, BELIEVE.

  She’d been denying a huge part of herself for too long.

  Tomorrow, she told herself, she would buy those replacement frames for the clippings. Regardless of the outcome tonight.

  Mandy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the unformed prayer still in her head as she slowly exhaled.

  She’d planned to meet Jake at the town council chambers, but she was so keyed up she left the house ridiculously early. She looked at her watch and made the turn for Jake’s hotel instead. The odds were he hadn’t left yet, and he might appreciate the show of moral support.

  Mandy white-knuckled the steering wheel, willing any mixed feelings out of her head.

  When Jake opened the door of his room, he looked ready to go. More than ready. Breath whooshed out of Mandy’s lungs.

  He wore a navy pinstripe suit with a deep navy necktie. It made his brown eyes appear darker, determined.

  In a word, he looked gorgeous.

  To add another word—intimidating.

  “Too much?” He glanced down. “It was this or the brown tweedy one.”

  “I’m not sure,” Mandy stammered. “I’ve never been to a town council meeting.”

  “No reason you should. They’re kind of like root canals.” Jake straightened a tie that didn’t need straightening. “You don’t go in for one unless you really need to.”

  He stepped back from the door and eyed his reflection in the mirrored dresser at the foot of the bed. “I was thinking dress to impress,” he said. “Now I’m thinking, maybe it’s overkill.”

  He fiddled with the tie again. He couldn’t seem to leave it alone, and that was so unlike Jake. It reminded her of the day he’d kept fidgeting with the cracker packets. Mandy walked up behind him and hugged his waist.

  “Well, you seem to like it.” Jake turned to clasp his arms around her. “What do you think? Wall Street power suit? Or the more laid-back one?”

  She looked up at him. Snappy. Impressive. She didn’t think anyone who didn’t know Jake would guess how nervous he was.

  “You look great,” she said, and meant it.

  Or was it too much for Tall Pine?

  “Well, it’s the one I started with. Guess I’d better not overthink it.” Jake gave her a quick kiss. “Thanks for coming. It was a nice surprise.” He picked up a leather portfolio from the top of the dresser. “Ready to go?”

  Too late to change her mind now.

  She nodded, her lungs empty of air for the second time.

  When they reached the town hall, the meeting still wasn’t due to start for fifteen minutes. Mandy’s heels clacked on the hard, glossy floor of the lobby. Seeing a sign for the ladies’ room, she gave Jake’s arm a quick squeeze.

  “Be right back,” she said.

  She ducked into the ladies’ room, rushed to the stall farthest from the door, and threw up.

  These places always reminded Jake of a courtroom. Maybe because the courthouse was always next door to city hall, probably built at the same time by the same contractor.

  He and Mandy walked through the double glass doors of the town council chambers. Rows of chairs faced a raised stage with a long, desk-like panel, half a dozen seats behind it for the council members. None of the council chairs were occupied yet.

  Usually, Jake didn’t have to go through this step. In most of the cities he’d been to, the permit would have been issued at the counter where he’d started. He wondered if that would have been the case in Tall Pine if the project had been just another small independent business.

  So far, only about a dozen of the public chairs were filled, and there wasn’t another business suit in sight.

  Jake led Mandy to a row of seats by the podium that also faced the seats of the council members. It stood roughly in the middle of the room. Most residents at the meeting would either have to turn around to see him, or if they were sitting behind him, look at the back of his head. The row they sat in would, at least, have a side view.

  Taking her seat next to him, Mandy looked as queasy as he felt. Jake tried to keep his thoughts focused on the moment. One thing at a time. Right now the “one thing” was this meeting, and scoring as many points as possible. Get the project approved, and he could look forward to spending more time in Tall Pine.

  Now wasn’t the time to worry about why this project, and Tall Pine, mattered so much. He wouldn’t want to be shot down on a project even if Tall Pine’s sole population was a field full of gophers.

  But it wasn’t a field of gophers. Tall Pine had Mandy in it.

  Just before seven, the council members filed in, four men and two women. He’d met them all at one time or another by now. Only one of the men wore a suit; the others wore lightweight dress shirts. The average age was mid-forties, roughly fifteen years older than Jake. The lone suit-wearer—Winston Frazier, he remembered—looked another twenty years older than that.

  Jake shifted in his chair and, involuntarily, tugged at the knot in his tie. It was going to be a long meeting.

  As it turned out, Jake’s turn came up forty-five minutes later, after a discussion of rising water bills, quick approval for a new traffic light near the school, and the formation of a committee to explore the possibility of installing dispensers to sell duck feed at the lake.

  “Next order of business.” Rick Brewster, in one of the white button-down shirts, looked enviably crisp and cool. “Proposed application for permit to construct a Regal Hotel in Tall Pine.”

  And suddenly, it was high noon. Jake stood and crossed the few steps to the podium, convinced he’d left part of his stomach in the seat behind him. Heads in the audience turned his way, and Jake couldn’t imagine why he’d been so concerned about being seen.

  He tried to leave his doubts behind him in his chair, along with that missing part of his stomach. He also wished he’d thought to shrug out of his suit jacket while he had the chance, but it was too late now. He introduced himself and started speaking, feeling like a toboggan launching off the top of a snowy hill. No turning back.

  “I’m aware that this project would be something of a precedent,” he said, “and I’m aware of some of the possible objections to it. A lot of you may be concerned that a national chain like Regal Hotels would change the character of Tall Pine. This is a small mountain community, and that’s the very nature of its charm. To date, all the businesses in Tall Pine are independent operations, and I applaud you for that. You’ve succeeded in maintaining a steady flow of tourist traffic.”

  Jake’s eyes skimmed over the six council members. No visible reaction. It felt like talking to Mount Rushmore, with two extra faces.

  He turned about forty-five degrees, spreading his gaze to include some of the public audience at his right. No visible reaction there either, but the room sure was quiet. And he was just now getting to the tough part.

  “But sometimes maintaining business isn’t enough. If Tall Pine doesn’t make an effort to grow, you run the risk that more of those tourists will keep driving. Toward the next big thing. For a lot of them, that next thing is Mount Douglas. They have plenty of national chains. A ski resort. But a lot less of your charm.

  “I’d like to suggest that a Regal Hotel would keep more visitors in Tall Pine. Our hotels are af
fordable, and one of the benefits of a national chain is consistency. People know what they’re getting. It won’t have the individual charm of your current independent hotels, but that’s why I don’t see Regal Hotels as a direct competitor to the two hotels already up here. Furthermore, if we located the Regal Hotel at one of the proposed sites—the old drive-in lot—we could offer people one more place to stop on their way farther up the mountain, and possibly get them to extend their stay in Tall Pine another day.”

  In the quiet room, he thought he heard Mandy exhale behind him. He hoped that meant he was doing well.

  “You have a quiet community, and that’s a great thing. But I don’t think anyone would object to an increase in business. What I’m suggesting is that with carefully controlled growth, you can bring in more tourists without losing that personal touch. A Regal Hotel in Tall Pine would bring more tourist traffic to your shops and restaurants and help you share what your town has to offer.”

  Jake stopped. Time to let the ball bounce into their court. He fought the urge to fidget with his tie, holding on to the sides of the podium instead. “Questions?”

  Once again, he tried to gauge the response from the six faces in front of him. He’d never seen such uniform neutrality. You guys should play poker, he thought.

  “Well stated, Mr. Wyndham,” Margery Williams said, and Jake could have kissed her for even moving. “But our concern has always been that once we allow one national chain, we can’t very well say no to the others. How do you propose we control this growth?”

  “That’s up to you,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t want to stand in front of you and start dictating town policy. What I’m suggesting is that it’s time for you to consider taking a small step. I’m sure that you could work out a policy that would carefully limit growth.” He braced himself before he went on. “May I point out to you, you don’t have any such policy now.”

  Frazier’s scowl deepened; in the middle, Rick Brewster straightened.

  Jake squared his shoulders. “Right now,” he continued, “you don’t have a code on the books against allowing a national chain in Tall Pine. The locations we’re considering, like the old drive-in lot, are zoned for commercial use, and if it was a small, private hotel, I don’t believe you’d have any objection.”

  Six faces, still expressionless, didn’t argue.

  Careful.

  “A more aggressive business than Regal Hotels might ask for a more tangible legal argument for denying national franchises the right to pursue business here.”

  There wasn’t a sound, but Jake could feel the tension rise in the room.

  “I would not pursue any such action myself,” Jake said slowly and clearly, “and speaking on behalf of Regal Hotels, I don’t believe they would either. We’re not interested in legal battles. Just in providing a profitable service and helping your community grow in the process. But without a policy in place, you might be leaving yourselves open to problems with a more aggressive corporation in the future.”

  He didn’t know if he’d neutralized the tension or not.

  “If your answer is no,” Jake said, “we’ll move on. But what we’d rather do is stay here—and work with you to help Tall Pine grow.” Grow was a scary word here. Jake amended, “To help your businesses prosper. And to share the charm of the community you’ve built so successfully.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wyndham,” Brewster said. He eyed the council members on his right, then on his left. “Is the council ready to put this to a vote?”

  Suddenly they were shifting forward in their seats, and Jake’s heart dropped into his shoes. A “yes” or “no” vote at this moment, with no time to deliberate, would almost certainly end in a “no.” He needed a Plan B, and he’d better think fast.

  “If I may,” Jake began.

  Was he really going to try to delay this?

  If he had any hope of going forward, he’d better.

  “If I were foolish enough to demand that you make a decision to change a long-standing town policy on the spot, I’m pretty sure I know how you’d vote,” Jake said. “And I understand that. Major changes don’t usually take place within ten minutes. Am I within my rights to suggest that you take some time to consider this before coming to a decision? Possibly form a committee?”

  “You do seem to have a knack for making suggestions about town policy, Mr. Wyndham,” Brewster said.

  “Not my intention,” Jake said. “I’m coming to you with a proposal. Not an ultimatum. What I’d like is to provide you all with some time to weigh both sides of the issue. The misgivings are easy to see. I’d like to allow you time to consider the possible benefits.”

  Brewster looked him up and down, and Jake’s suit felt increasingly warm. Winston Frazier sat farther back from the panel.

  “Does anyone second the motion to table this decision until the next town council meeting?” Brewster asked.

  “I second,” Margery Williams said.

  The six-member town council voted three to two in favor of making a decision at the next meeting, with Rick Brewster abstaining. A committee was formed to evaluate the project, consisting of Brewster, Williams and Frazier. It felt like a stay of execution, but Jake thanked them and turned to rejoin Mandy. She looked paler than ever.

  If he’d been running, he’d be bending forward and clutching his knees now. Too bad the pose was out of the question in a three-piece suit, in the town council chambers.

  Jake settled beside Mandy and sat quietly through the rest of the meeting, taking pains to maintain his posture and appear to listen politely, although he had no idea what was being said. Something about a program to ensure that residents maintained their rain gutters.

  Mandy slipped her hand into his on the arm of the seat between them. Her fingers, interlaced with his, felt cold. But somehow, her touch helped.

  “Well, that could have gone better.” Back at Jake’s hotel room, he shrugged out of his suit jacket as if he were shedding an unwanted skin.

  Mandy cringed inwardly. The drive back to the hotel had been a quiet one. But at least it was short. On the brief ride back, the one thing they established was that neither of them had eaten since lunch, so they’d stopped back at the hotel for Jake to change before they got a bite to eat.

  “I thought you were great,” Mandy said. “I was proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” Jake hung the jacket in the room’s shallow little closet, clearly anxious to be rid of it. “It wasn’t exactly what they’re wearing in Tall Pine this season, was it?”

  “I’m sorry. I made the wrong call.”

  Jake pulled out a fresh shirt and slacks from the closet. “Don’t worry about it. How would you know?”

  She winced. I should have said something while I had the chance.

  Clothes over his arm, he started toward the bathroom to change. Then he turned back to her, his thick hair ruffled, navy tie askew.

  “Did I ever say thank you?” he asked. “I mean, for being here tonight.”

  His eyes were aimed at her, but he still wore a distracted look. He didn’t seem quite like Jake. Or maybe this was just a side of Jake she hadn’t seen before—uncertain and off guard.

  “You did.” She mustered a smile. “Did I say you’re welcome?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted. He stepped back to Mandy and kissed her forehead. Her forehead? He was somewhere else, all right. “I’ll go get changed. Be right back.”

  While she waited, Mandy eyed the side of the closet exposed by the sliding door Jake had left open. A small, practical assortment of polo shirts, one other dress shirt, a couple of pairs of slacks. He did travel light.

  Packing would be easy.

  She sighed and sat down heavily on the foot of the bed. She could see her reflection in the mirror above the dresser a few feet in front of her. She looked pale, and her light makeup job did little to disguise it.

  She didn’t know how much the suit, in and of itself, had hurt Jake’s chances, but she’d give anything for an
other opportunity to change her answer. She didn’t want him to go anywhere, and she couldn’t imagine why there’d been any doubt in her mind. Maybe her thinking would have been clearer if she wasn’t so preoccupied with hiding the truth about herself. Had her fear made her blurt out the wrong answer?

  Enough was enough. She should have told him long before this. She’d tell him—

  Jake emerged from the bathroom, looking much more like himself. A neat blue polo, crisp slacks, his hair and his smile both back in place. And killer brown eyes.

  She’d tell him. Tomorrow.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  Mandy nodded. Jake took her hands and pulled her to her feet, so they stood close together in the small space between the bed and the dresser. Looking at him, she felt her eyes prickle. She blinked and glanced away, not quite fast enough. She felt him searching her face.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  She studied the fibers on the shoulder of his shirt. “I just—” She sucked in a breath. “I feel like I let you down.” She risked meeting his eyes, willing hers to stay dry. “And I really want you to stay.”

  It wouldn’t make any sense to him, but she wanted to make sure he knew she meant it.

  “What, are you still worried about the suit?” He squeezed her hands lightly. “That’s the least of my problems. If they’re going to be scared of a twenty-nine-year-old in pinstripes, that’s because I didn’t get them to see past it. My problem is making sure I get my point across. I ended up punting tonight, because I went in underprepared.” He smiled ruefully. “I guess I’ve been a little distracted.”

  If he’d meant it as some kind of a compliment, it didn’t have that effect. She averted her eyes again.