by AC Netzel
Overthinking is the devil.
And I’m an overthinking over-packer.
My experience with men is they don’t notice what you’re wearing unless it’s sheer, black, and pushes your boobs up until they’re practically touching your chin. I’ll do a lot for my job, but that’s the one line I’ll never cross. No matter what Val recommends.
I slip on a pair of dark jeans and an off-white cropped wool sweater. I hope it’s off-white enough to pass Holly’s post-Labor Day fashion policing. Choosing between the four pairs of shoes neatly lined up at the foot of my bed, I opt for my faux suede wedge-heeled boots. They’re perfect for today and outdoorsy enough to fit the Arid Falls aesthetic. Anyway, they’re cute as hell and make me a little taller.
Staring at the full-length mirror hanging behind the door to my suite, I remove my hairband and finger brush my long blond hair. Second-day hair is always good to me, and today’s no exception. I apply a little eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, and I’m good to go.
Slowly, I open the door to my suite and poke my head out, turning side to side to make sure the coast is clear again. Empty hallway. Yes!
As I’m walking down the creaky wooden staircase, voices downstairs grow louder and louder. Crap—there are still people at breakfast. In normal circumstances, I’d spin around and hide out until they’re gone. But there’s nothing about this situation, or place for that matter, that’s normal. If I pass up this opportunity to schmooze Snow, I’ll never forgive myself.
Conversations stop abruptly as I enter the dining room. The hippies are still here and good God, now they have a guitar. Joining them are two platinum-blonde women with matching pixie-cut hairstyles wearing the most absurd duo of gaudy holiday sweaters. Patchwork and bedazzling, snowmen, and reindeer galore… there’s a whole lot of Christmassy overkill going on.
I’ve stumbled into the land of flannels and ugly Christmas sweaters.
“Good morning,” I mumble in their direction, while I scan the room for Nick and Noelle.
“Morning,” one of the sweater-wearers replies. She smiles warmly, holding out the tray of what’s left of this morning’s baked goods. “Scone?”
I’m dying to tell her I’d like a pumpkin spice scone, just to see if Holly flies out of her kitchen clutching her mammoth pearls again, but I have to stay on the good side of any and all Snow people, so I swallow down my snarkiness and let it go.
“Um, no. Thank you. I already ate.”
“Oh, shame we missed you. I’m Faith. That’s my sister Hope. And over there,” she points at the hippies, “are Rainbow and providing some wonderful music is her husband, Winter.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Summer,” I reply with a polite smile.
Faith and Hope slap their hands to their cheeks in unison.
“Look at that—Summer and Winter—you’re opposites,” Hope declares.
No shit.
“Did you happen to see a tall guy, big build, brown hair, blue eyes?” Grade A ass.
“Nick? Sure did. He’s in the kitchen helping out Holly and Kris.”
I’m about to pull out a chair and wait for him to appear when the Winter hippie guy starts strumming the psychedelic version of Jingle Bells, inviting the rest of us to sing along, as his wife offers homemade granola out of a paper lunch bag.
Politely, I pass on their food offering and take a few backward steps to my escape.
Leaning against the doorframe of the entrance to the kitchen, I watch wistfully, as Nick and Noelle wash dishes in the double sink. She’s standing on an old, scuffed plastic crate, rinsing the dishes after Nick soaps them up. They whisper to each other and laugh, occasionally bumping their arms.
Nick scoops a small pile of soap suds and wipes it on her nose. She giggles, the sound of joy and innocence, wipes it off and smears it back onto him. He laughs with her then gives her a quick one-arm hug.
A warm sensation fills my heart and a smile lifts from my mouth. This is sweetness magnified by a million. They’re obviously very close, sharing the same tragic loss, and moving on together.
It reminds me of what my dad and I don’t have.
But I wish we did.
Subtly, I clear my throat. Nick turns his head and grins.
“I thought you ran away,” he says sarcastically. “You took forever.”
Boom! And just like that, the warm and fuzzies are gone.
Gah! This man is a jackass.
“I took a shower and,” I sigh, halting my defense mid-sentence. “You know what? I’m here now.”
“Make yourself comfortable while we finish up. We’re helping Holly and Kris while they take care of some farm chores.”
“Farm chores?” I ask.
“You didn’t know this inn is on farmland?”
“No, I guess not.” Although now that I think about it, Kris closing up a barn when I got here makes a whole lot more sense. “It was dark when we arrived. I couldn’t see past the front porch.”
“It’s their busy season,” he tells me as he passes another soapy plate to his niece. “Noelle and I help out when we can.”
Busy Season? It’s a farm. And it’s December. What do they grow? Frozen vegetables?
“That’s nice of you,” I tell him.
“Have a seat at the kitchen table. We’ll take Noelle to her lessons in a few minutes.”
“Or I could help,” I suggest, surprising myself.
“Are you sure? It’s tough work.” He raises a brow. “You may chip a nail.”
“Your concern is heartwarming,” I say wryly, discreetly sliding my hand behind my back and balling it into a fist. “But don’t you worry. My manicurist guarantees my nail polish can withstand earthquakes, tornados, and thousands of dish washings.”
“You can dry.” Noelle holds out a kitchen towel she swiped off the countertop.
“I think I can handle that.” I grab the towel out of her grip and stand to her side. She passes a wet dish to me haphazardly, causing it to slip out of my hand. Luckily, I catch it mid-fall. “Whoa. Slow down. I have to get my bearings.”
She rolls her eyes and huffs, nudging her shoulder against her uncle’s arm.
“City girls,” he whispers, purposely loud enough for me to hear.
I lean forward over the sink, turning my head in his direction. “Hey! This city girl can hear you.”
He looks back at me and smiles. Fighting the urge to give this guy the one-finger salute to his face, I do what any self-respecting adult city girl would do…
I stick my tongue out at him.
He winks at me as his smile spreads to a thousand-watt grin. Slowly, I shake my head, my reluctant smile betraying my irritation.
Once we get into our dishwashing stride, we finish the massive pile of dishes, baking pans, and cookie sheets in no time. I crumble my drying towel and toss it on the counter. Holding out my hand, I admire my fingernails.
“Look at that, the city girl managed to dry all those dishes and didn’t chip a nail,” I tell him.
“Will wonders ever cease?” he jokes.
“You know, you’re a real…” I stop myself from a long string of colorful words—mostly of the four-letter variety—spilling out of my mouth, remembering two things—there’s a child in the room, and I have to stay employed. “You’re really something special.”
Good save.
I think.
“Let’s get Noelle to her lesson,” he says as he dries his hands. “Then, I’ll show you around town.”
Chapter 9
“And a partridge in a pear tree.”
My fellow inn guests are singing a rousing off-key rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas as we walk through the dining room. Fortunately, they’re so wrapped up in gold rings, milking maids, and other holiday doodads that they don’t notice us strolling by.
Entering the small lobby area, we grab our coats hanging on the hooks near the entrance and leave the inn. The bitter cold blast of air shocks my system. Every molecule in my body demands I crawl b
ack to bed, where it’s warm and toasty. But I can’t pass up the opportunity that’s landed on my lap—alone time with Nick Snow in a non-business setting.
We step on the porch, where the chairs and swing are vacant. There’s something about relaxing on a front porch that rubs me the wrong way. Is this where the guests sit and judge people who walk by?
I know I would.
“Come on, Summer.” Noelle grabs my hand and drags me off the porch. “Ms. Carol’s is only a few houses away.”
“We’re walking?” In the freezing cold? When there’s a car with heat available? “Super,” I lie, taking a quick glance at Nick, who’s not even pretending to hide his amusement.
“We could drive,” he smirks, “if it’s too cold for you.” Damn him. This arctic-loving bastard is teasing me.
“Walking is fine,” I grumble. Releasing Noelle’s hand, I march up the sidewalk, turn left, and leave them in my chilly dust.
“Hey, Summer,” he calls out.
Miffed, I stop in my tracks and whip my head around in his direction. “What, Nick?”
“Her house is to the right.”
“Oh.” My face is now heated by the embarrassed blush creeping across it. I about-face and walk in the other direction.
They catch up to me, and we continue walking together. Now that it’s morning, I can really appreciate the dedication the residents of this town put into decorating. Even in daylight, every square inch of this place wreaks of Christmas cheer.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Noelle asks. Sheesh. Talk about a question coming out of nowhere.
“Um. I did. But not anymore.”
“Why not?” Oprah Jr. probes.
Because he’s a selfish jerk—who wants me to remain the pillar of virtue while he’s out manwhoring.
“We wanted different things.”
She turns to Nick. “You should ask her out.”
He shakes his head and laughs uncomfortably. “I… Err… No.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with her?” she asks.
My brow lifts, and I stare at him. Yeah, buddy, what’s wrong with me?
“First of all, Summer lives in New York. Second, we hardly know each other. Third, you need to mind your business. And lastly, stop trying to find me a girlfriend.” He turns his attention to me. “I’m sorry. She means well.”
“She’s better than Ever,” Noelle snaps.
“Ever?” I ask.
“His last girlfriend.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m glad he dumped her.”
Ever? That’s a name?
“That’s enough, Noelle,” he says sternly… and it’s kind of hot.
“Okay, okay.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and stomps a few steps ahead of us.
“Guess she didn’t like your Ex,” I whisper.
“Ever was...” He sighs, staring up at the cloudless sky. “She needed a lot of attention. Too much for my niece’s liking.”
“And yours?” I ask.
He nods. “She was exhausting.”
Noelle turns up a sidewalk in front of an extravagantly decorated Victorian home. There’s a whole lot of decking of halls, boughs of hollies, and festive wraparound porching. Nick catches up to her when she reaches the front door. I stay behind—a safe distance from meeting another cheery person. The front door swings open, and a middle-aged woman wearing a Christmas sweater adorned with a blinking, red-nosed reindeer greets them with enthusiastic hugs.
Level of my surprise in her attire?
Zilch.
They converse on the porch then stare in my direction. Three sets of eyes all focused on me. I wish they’d stop. It’s making me uncomfortable. Nick crooks his index finger, beckoning me to join them.
Crud. This place is lousy with neighborly friendliness.
Reluctantly, I plaster on a smile, slowly stroll up to her sidewalk, and join my gawkers.
“Summer. This is Carol. Carol, Summer Sloane. Summer’s thinking of buying property in Arid Falls.”
I extend my hand to shake hers, when she, a total stranger, wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a bear hug. “Nice to meet you, Summer.”
“Umm… oh wow,” I manage to squeeze out, despite my crushed diaphragm.
She releases me from her grip, and I suck in a breath.
“Carol’s a hugger,” Nick states the obvious.
Splashing back on my fake smile, I nod. “Totally fine. You sure have that hugging thing down.” I hate personal space invaders. “So, your name is Carol, and you teach Christmas songs to your students. That’s pretty funny.”
“Why is it funny?” she asks, puzzled.
“Christmas Carol? Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?”
Again, three sets of eyes focus on me like I grew a second head.
“Forget it. It’s nice to meet you.” I give up on this backwards town.
“So, where are you looking to live?” she asks.
New York City. Upper West Side. Reliable heat. Working elevators.
“I’m going to look around and see what jumps out at me.” Not telling the whole truth. But not entirely lying either.
“Arid Falls is a beautiful town. You must check out Arid Lake. It’s lovely. Nick lives there.”
“I have a small business I run out of part of the house,” he explains. “We live in the rest.”
None of this information is new to me. Thankfully he’s vague enough with details that I can feign ignorance and pretend I don’t know the exact dimensions of the lot his house sits on.
“Sounds nice,” I tell him.
“Noelle and I like it.”
Unsure how to respond, I nod and smile politely. A small pang of guilt stabs at my belly. I’m so fixated on acquiring his property... I forgot it’s also his home—the place where he’s raising a little girl.
I blink a few times to wipe that realization out of my head. Focus, Summer. This is business. They can live anywhere.
“Something in your eye?” Nick asks. “You’re blinking like crazy.”
“Eyelash. I’m fine.”
“Are you ready to see my town?”
“I sure am.”
Chapter 10
After a quick goodbye to Noelle and a not-so-quick hug from Carol, we walk back to the inn to get Nick’s car.
“Carol seems nice,” I tell him.
“She is. Her husband, Carroll, is a fine man too.”
“She married a man with the same name?”
“Same name, different spelling.”
“Carol and Carroll.” I grab his arm. “What’s their last name? Don’t tell me, it’s Carole.”
He shakes his head, amused. “Eng. He’s half Irish, half Chinese.”
“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
Tilting his head slightly, he stares at me, confused.
“Carol Eng. Caroling. Carol Eng teaches caroling. Please don’t tell me this never occurred to you.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Wow, that’s crazy.”
He raises his brow then smirks.
I smack his arm. “Oh my God, you’re such a lying jerk.”
He laughs, rubbing the spot on his arm I just hit. “You’re pretty gullible… for a city girl.”
“You lie pretty easily… for an Officer of the Law.”
“Volunteer Deputy.”
“Whatever.” I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent a smile. “Are you going to show me around or what?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a grin.
Facing the Holly Inn directly, I get my first extended look at the property in the daylight. It’s enormous. Acres and acres of pine trees are behind the inn. To the right is a barn with a small pond nearby and a few benches surrounding it.
“This,” I wave my hand in the direction of the massive lot of land, “is all theirs?”
“It sure is.”
I look a few yards to the left of the Holly Inn s
ign and spot another worn wooden sign.
Snow Family Christmas Tree Farm
“It’s a Christmas tree farm?” I ask.
“What kind of farm did you think they ran in the winter?”
“Didn’t give it much thought,” I lie, keeping my frozen vegetable farm theory to myself.
“It’s been in my family for fifty years. Uncle Kris and my father ran it together until my dad passed away.”
I place my hand gently on his shoulder. “I’m very sorry.”
“My mother died a year earlier after a short illness. And my father died from a broken heart soon after her.”
“That’s so sad. I’ve read about Broken Heart Syndrome after your partner dies. Is that what happened?” I ask.
“The town fifty miles over, Dry Hollow, has a Pumpkin Chunkin’ event every Halloween. The pumpkin misfired into the spectators and hit him square in the chest. Ventricular rupture. Literally broke his heart.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
“It’s more common than you think,” he says.
Ah, no, it’s not. Not even a little.
“Just a second,” I tell him suspiciously, wagging my index finger back and forth. “I’m not falling for your b.s. again. Was his last name Eng too?”
His brows wrinkle as he cocks his head slightly to the side. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what they say, fool me once…”
“I was thirteen and standing right next to him when he took his last breath,” he says quietly.
I wait for a smirk, a wink, even a tiny chuckle—but it doesn’t happen.
Shit. He’s serious.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I thought you were…” I sigh, a sinking feeling tightens in the pit of my stomach. “Nick, I apologize. Truly.”
He points to the inn’s front door. “Dad had a saying about life and death. He’d say life is like that string of Christmas lights going around the door. Eventually, a bulb is going to burn out.”