Do Not Open 'Til Christmas

by Sierra Donovan

  “Thanks.”

  In a flash she had her purse over her shoulder, car keys in hand. He’d never seen her ready to leave so quickly.

  As she started to go, she looked back over her shoulder with some reluctance. In a tone that practically froze the room with its civility, she said, “I could write up a piece on the tree lighting if you want.”

  Was it his imagination, or had her eyes gone to pure, stainless steel gray?

  “No, thanks,” he said, “I’ve got Ned out there already for a photo. If I’d known you were planning on going—” He stopped himself. “Never mind,” he said. “Enjoy it.”

  “I will,” she said. “Good night.” And she left.

  Bret wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong—which thing he’d done wrong—but one thing was abundantly clear.

  Chloe Davenport had a limit, and he’d reached it.

  Chapter 7

  Chloe huddled between her roommates in the crowd at the town square, shivering under the tall pine tree the town was named for.

  When she’d first arrived, she’d felt a little short on heavenly peace. Through the first few Christmas carols in the sing-along, she kept arguing with Bret in her head, finding clever, articulate ways to say the things she’d stopped herself from saying at the office. But eventually, the cold starry night and the songs worked their magic, and Chloe felt Christmas seep into her bones.

  The series of traditional speeches from city officials came after the sing-along. “The first Tall Pine tree lighting was held in 1947,” Margery Williams of the town council said, “the same year the town was incorporated. It was the day after Thanksgiving. World War II had been over for two years, and the new homes in the area were filling with families. The tree was dedicated by . . .”

  She’d probably heard the same speech many times over the years. Until now, she’d never felt the urge to dig in her purse for a notepad. The mental hunt for the next story was getting to be a habit.

  Stop it. You’re off the clock.

  It was pretty interesting material, though.

  “I think they’re just waiting till it gets even colder before they light it,” Tiffany whispered in her left ear.

  “At the end of the first tree lighting,” Margery went on, “those in attendance were blessed with the first snowfall of the season.”

  Chloe wondered if that was true. It sounded like it could be a convenient piece of folklore. Maybe she could research it.

  Winston Frazier stepped to the microphone, and Chloe felt the crowd’s attention lift. As senior member of the town council, he’d been leading the countdown to the tree lighting ever since Chloe could remember. With his full head of white hair, and teeth that were just a little too straight to be true, he could have passed for anywhere from sixty to a well-preserved eighty. She did some math in her head and wondered which was older, Winston or Tall Pine.

  After the countdown, the lights flared on, and Chloe felt the colors wash over her as voices around her joined in a chorus of “Silent Night.” Yes, she’d needed this. She closed her eyes and drank it in.

  When she’d left Tall Pine for college, she’d been eager for the independence, trading her small mountain town for a bigger beach town. But with each year of school, she’d found herself increasingly happy to come back home on school breaks. And she’d never missed a tree lighting.

  “Silent Night” ended, and Kate and Tiffany each gave her a quick hug.

  “Gotta go,” Kate said. “We’re due at the diner in ten minutes.”

  Right. Chloe remembered that now. Last year, the three of them had done the same thing—dashing off to work after the tree lighting with no time to spare. She didn’t envy them.

  Or did she? There had been a simplicity to it. You worked hard, but when the day was done, it was over.

  “See you later,” she said, keeping her tone bright.

  And then she was alone, surrounded by the jostling crowd. Some headed for their cars, while others went to line up for Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate or a visit with Santa. Chloe pulled up the hood of her coat—suddenly the cold felt a whole lot colder—and started her lone trek to the parking lot.

  “Chloe?” A woman’s voice came from her right.

  Absurdly glad to hear a friendly voice, she turned to see Mandy Wyndham in a red coat and blue scarf.

  “Hey!” Chloe grabbed Mandy in a hug. “Merry Christmas!”

  No other person could have been better, or more natural, to wish her first “Merry Christmas” to. Mandy and her husband Jake ran The Snowed Inn, Tall Pine’s new Christmas hotel. Chloe had interviewed them for their June soft opening a year and a half ago. It had been one of her first assignments as a freelancer for the Gazette.

  “Merry Christmas.” Mandy returned the greeting and the hug warmly. “Are you here by yourself?”

  “My friends had to leave for work. What about you?”

  “We’re shorthanded at the hotel tonight. Jake couldn’t get away. In fact, I’d better get back pretty quick.” Mandy inclined her head toward the parking lot. “Are you going this way?”

  Chloe nodded and fell into step with Mandy, feeling just a little unmoored. Mandy, Tiffany, and Kate all had a place where they needed to be tonight. Chloe had already put in a day’s work; she should be glad for the freedom. Instead, she felt a little lost.

  “So, you’re full-time at the paper now?” Mandy asked. “I’ve been seeing your bylines with ‘Staff Writer’ underneath.”

  “It’s kind of a temporary-for-now thing. The editor’s out of town for a few months, and they needed an extra writer, so I’m filling in. We’ll see how it works out after that.”

  “How’s it working out so far?”

  “It’s—” Chloe’s tongue fumbled for an answer.

  When most people asked how you were doing, it was pretty much a rhetorical question. When Mandy asked—although Chloe didn’t know her all that well—it sounded as if she really wanted to know.

  “It’s—a little frustrating,” she conceded, and she really intended to leave it at that.

  But there was a hesitation in her voice, and Mandy heard it. She stopped, empathetic blue eyes focused on Chloe. And the next thing Chloe knew, the story of her day spilled out, about coming in on a holiday weekend and fixing mistakes that didn’t need fixing and barely making it to the tree lighting. Probably half of it didn’t even make sense. But Mandy stood in the cold and listened to the jumble of words until Chloe paused for breath, embarrassed.

  “It’ll work out. I can handle it,” she finished awkwardly.

  “Of course you can. You’ve been handling it. You’re just a little worn out, and who could blame you?” Mandy nudged her elbow, starting them back toward the parking lot. “Follow me over to the hotel. I know just what you need. A cup of hot chocolate.”

  * * *

  Bret had most of Saturday and all of Sunday laid out by the time Ned arrived with the camera card of photos from the tree lighting. All Bret needed was one picture to drop into the space he’d saved for it in tomorrow’s paper. A quick caption, and Saturday would be done.

  “How do they look?” Ned asked as Bret clicked through the image files on his computer screen.

  “Good.” Bret nodded as he contemplated the pictures. Ned had given him an abundance of choices, as always, but this was one time Bret wanted to make his decision as quickly as possible.

  Fortunately, as would often happen, one of the shots simply popped out at him. Bret clicked through the rest to be sure, then unerringly went back to the photo of a toddler on her dad’s shoulders. Ned had caught them in a profile shot that included the newly lit tree. What made the picture was the glow on the little girl’s face—an expression of unguarded wonderment.

  “That one,” Bret said.

  Ned smiled. “I liked that one myself.”

  Bret poised his fingers to enter the caption information. “Got their names?”

  “Dane Davidson is the dad. The little girl is Gracie.”


  “Perfect.” Bret typed the caption and glanced back over his shoulder at Ned. The Gazette’s resident new dad was sporting some reddish stubble these days. Bret wasn’t sure if the photographer was trying for a style, or if having a newborn in the house just didn’t allow much time for shaving. “That could be you and your boy next year.”

  “If someone gives me the night off,” Ned said.

  “Don’t look at me. Next year you can talk to McCrea about that. Now, go home before I find something else for you to do.”

  Ned didn’t need a second invitation. He slipped out, leaving Bret with the pictures still on his screen. He clicked idly through them one more time. A faint pang of envy surfaced at the general look of holiday cheer on the faces, although he had to chuckle at one photo: an eight-year-old boy, his head hunkered down between knit cap and his drawn-up coat collar, brows drawn down in disgruntlement. The little guy looked cold and ready to go home.

  So not everyone was jolly.

  As he skimmed the photos, Bret caught himself searching the crowd for a certain blond head. If Chloe hadn’t covered it with a hood or a cap, she shouldn’t be hard to spot. Of course, she was also fairly short, and Ned couldn’t photograph everyone. It looked like she’d escaped his camera lens.

  Bret finished adding the photo and moved on. Now that the tree picture was in place for tomorrow’s paper, he just had Monday to finish. But as he worked, two images replayed in his mind: the flicker of Christmas tree lights, and the flash of annoyance in Chloe’s eyes as she left.

  Okay, he wished the day had ended differently. But what could he do about it?

  Curiosity pulled him away from his work again. He opened the database of the Gazette’s archives. Not sure what he was looking for, he typed in Chloe’s byline and the word Christmas.

  She’d covered a couple of holiday fundraisers last year. Not surprising. She’d also written up the soft opening of The Snowed Inn a year ago last June. Chuck, he remembered, had covered the big grand opening at the start of last year’s Christmas season.

  Bret read over the article. Nice. With well-chosen quotes from Jake and even a couple from Mandy, it displayed Chloe’s knack for capturing a mood without being too sugary. She did have a way with a feature story. If she left the paper before McCrea got back, his editor wouldn’t be happy.

  And she had been photocopying résumés a couple of weeks ago.

  Yeah, that’s what he was concerned about. Just a valuable employee. Nothing to do with her charm or her wit . . . or the way she looked when she bit her lip.

  Bret finished reading and decided the last touches on Monday’s paper could wait.

  He’d learned to trust his hunches. And somehow, he had a feeling he knew where he’d find Chloe Davenport.

  * * *

  The moment Bret stepped into the lobby of The Snowed Inn, the scent of evergreen and the sound of carols engulfed him. Okay, what else did he expect? After all, he’d wandered into a Christmas hotel the day after Thanksgiving.

  A dark-haired young woman smiled behind the front desk. Bret did a quick memory scan: Alyssa Chen. Tall Pine High. A couple of years behind him.

  “Merry Christmas,” she greeted him.

  “Hi, Alyssa.” Bret returned her smile, took a deep breath, and followed the sound of murmuring voices into the lobby.

  A few months after opening the hotel, Mandy and Jake had started serving hot beverages in the lobby. You wouldn’t have thought their clientele would have reached much beyond the hotel’s guests, but word had spread. Except for the diner, Tall Pine didn’t have anything like a Starbucks; chain restaurants in the little community were still taboo. But to hear people tell it, The Snowed Inn was a cozy gathering place with great hot chocolate, and even a small conference-type room for business meetings.

  The next best thing to Starbucks . . . if you were into Christmas.

  He ventured farther into the lobby, where people clustered around tables over their cups of coffee and cocoa. He knew local restaurants would be doing a good business after the tree lighting, but The Snowed Inn was definitely getting its share, despite its less central location on the highway leading out of town.

  She might not even be here.

  He swam through the sea of white mini-lights and literal boughs of holly. He’d expected a riot of red and green, but there was nothing that garish. No elves on shelves peered at him anywhere, and the place gave off a warmth that Bret couldn’t deny. If it weren’t for past associations—

  There she was. Sitting all by herself at a small round table next to the stone fireplace, hands clutched around her cup. At first glance, she looked lonely and plaintive, like the little match girl. But when Bret got a few steps closer, her expression was visibly content, her lips curled faintly upward in a half smile.

  Until she saw him, at least. Then her eyes widened, and the mug she held stopped halfway to her mouth.

  He stepped up and spoke quickly before he could hesitate. “I won’t take up much of your time.” He indicated the vacant chair across from her. “May I sit down?”

  “Sure.” Chloe nodded. She looked puzzled, but her eyes had lost the stainless-steel gray they’d had earlier. Bret dropped into his seat.

  He’d barely landed in the chair when a woman spoke beside him. “Hi, Bret. Can I get you anything?”

  Where had she come from so fast? He turned to see Mandy Wyndham. “Hi, Mandy. I’ll have a cup of coffee, please.”

  Mandy’s brows furrowed, her eyes wandering briefly from Bret to Chloe, before she replaced her frown with a sunny smile. “How about a hot chocolate instead? It’s our specialty.”

  “No, thanks. Just coffee. With plenty of creamer.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to try—”

  Jake appeared behind Mandy, resting a hand on her shoulder. Bret fought the urge to look past Jake and see if the rest of Tall Pine was forming a line behind him.

  “Remember, Mandy,” Jake said, “the customer is always right.” A look passed between them, some kind of unspoken married-couple communication, and then Jake’s eyes went to their table. “Hi, Chloe. Hi, Bret. I don’t think you’ve been in here before, have you?”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Bret gave a tight smile. He’d avoided the Christmas hotel the way vampires avoid the beach, but Jake wouldn’t know about that.

  “Good to see you,” Jake said. “Let me know what you think.” One hand still on Mandy’s shoulder, he drew his wife away from their table.

  “They’re nice,” Chloe offered.

  “Extremely.” It was true. He didn’t think there was a kinder person than Mandy. He’d interviewed Jake once, before the hotel got off the ground, and in the past few years Jake had beaten him at racquetball half a dozen times. In spite of the latter, yes, he was nice.

  “So,” Chloe said carefully, “what brings you here?”

  It felt like an invitation for him to apologize. Just do it. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now. I’ll keep it quick.”

  * * *

  As Jake steered her into the kitchen, Mandy had the feeling she was living in an I Love Lucy rerun. Or one of those other old sitcoms, where the husband was always scolding the wife. He stopped her beside the refrigerator, his arm curved around her. They were as far as they could get from earshot of Angie, who was pouring a cappuccino at the counter.

  “Mandy.” Jake spoke in a near whisper. “What are you trying to do in there? He ordered coffee. Twice.”

  “You don’t understand,” Mandy said urgently. They’d left Chloe alone with Bret. She had to get back in there. “If anybody ever needed a hot chocolate, it’s Bret.”

  It had been a weird discovery, and Mandy didn’t understand it herself, but her hot chocolate seemed to have a way of making people more . . . mellow with each other. She and Jake had seen it happen too many times not to believe it. And it sounded like Bret had given Chloe a heck of a day.

  “It’ll be okay,” Jake said. “Bret�
�s a decent guy.”

  Mandy sighed. Bret had been two grades ahead of her at Tall Pine High. Back then, she’d only known two things about him: he was quiet and wickedly smart. Certainly nothing like a bully. But from what Chloe said, maybe the power of running the paper had gone to his head.

  “They’re not evenly matched,” Mandy protested. “She’s had one and he hasn’t.”

  And she’s already had a long, hard day. Because of him.

  “Mandy,” Jake coaxed. They’d been together three years now, and his direct brown eyes were still every bit as hard for her to resist. “I can’t tell you what to do. But you don’t want to manipulate anyone. Giving Chloe a pick-me-up after a hard day is one thing. Trying to turn your hot chocolate into Love Potion Number Nine is another.”

  Was that what he thought she was trying to do? “That’s never happened! It couldn’t make anything happen if they didn’t already—”

  Jake was nodding at her significantly. She turned her head in the direction of Chloe and Bret’s table, but the kitchen wall stood in the way.

  She frowned. “Really?”

  “Those two? Oh, yeah.”

  Jake was pretty intuitive, for a guy. He was rarely wrong about people. Had she really missed that?

  Her eyes lingered, wishing she could see through the wall into the next room, trying to imagine the pair of them at their table. A smile played at her lips.

  Jake sighed. “I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”

  “Excuse me.” With a gentle nudge, Mandy moved away from Jake to join Angie at the kitchen counter. “I have an order to fill.”

  * * *

  Chloe had already made up her mind that Bret wasn’t going to spoil her good mood. After a little time cozied up by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate, the world looked a lot better. And now that he was outside his domain of the newsroom, Chloe thought she even detected a faint discomfiture from him. It was enough to make a girl feel charitable.

  Elbows on the table, she took another sip from her cooling drink, savoring the rich cocoa.

  Bret raked a hand through his hair and met her eyes dead on. “I know I haven’t made things easy for you.”