“Well, we got the outside lights up and our tree, and that is about it. I shot my wad decorating the tea shop,” Bailey confessed.
“And it’s gorgeous with all those deep rose and gold decorations.”
“Well, that’s all thanks to Lupine Floral,” Bailey said modestly as she joined Olivia in the kitchen. “Those guys are great.”
“I think you can give yourself some credit,” Olivia said. Bailey had truly found her niche. She’d returned to Icicle Falls after her LA catering business had failed and, after a crisis of confidence, had reinvented herself and opened the tea shop. The place had instantly become popular and soon customers had to make a reservation a week in advance if they were to have any hope of securing a table. As the December calendar moved closer to Christmas, that week in advance had turned into two. With families visiting from out of town and kids getting out of school, demand grew. It seemed that every mother and daughter in town wanted to visit Tea Time and enjoy holiday teas served from Fitz and Floyd Santa teapots and eat special Christmas cookies and scones on fine china plates.
Bailey saw the half-filled platter sitting on Olivia’s counter. “Oh, you’re busy getting ready for tonight. I should leave.”
“Nonsense,” said Olivia. “I have plenty of time before the concert starts. I was simply being efficient.”
“I’ll help you.” Bailey stepped up to the sink and washed her hands, then got busy arranging cookies on the platter.
Olivia had known the Sterling sisters all their lives, but she had to admit Bailey had always been her favorite, probably because they shared a love of all things culinary. For a moment Olivia found herself wishing selfishly that Bailey and her younger son had made a permanent connection. Or Eric, for that matter. It was really a shame no one did arranged marriages in America.
But Bailey was wildly happy with Todd Black, reformed bad boy. True love, it roamed where it willed. Once again, she thought of that mistletoe hanging all around the lodge, of feminine parts long neglected. Did anything down there even work anymore?
And what good did it do to ask that question? “Let’s try those scones, shall we?”
Chapter Seven
Silver Bells
John Truman wandered around downtown Icicle Falls, staring at the sights like a kid in a candy shop. Man, this town really knew how to market itself. Holland, being in advertising, would be impressed. Icicle Falls proclaimed itself a Bavarian village, and the town made sure that was exactly what it looked like, from the frescoed buildings with their window boxes to the signage. Of course, the mountain backdrop didn’t hurt, either. He could almost believe he was in Oberammergau or some such place.
Except for the Salvation Army bell ringer standing next to her kettle over by the gazebo in the town square. As far as John was concerned, that was pure USA. But it was also pure Christmas, along with the canned Christmas music being piped through the speakers mounted near the bandstand.
The little outdoor ice rink was filled with people of all ages clad in winter wear and colorful hats and scarves, enjoying themselves. He could picture Holland and him skating on it, hand in hand. He hoped they’d have time to fit that in.
The shops were closed but local artists and street vendors were still doing a brisk business in the town square. He wandered over that way, lured by the smell of roasting nuts.
He’d passed booths selling everything from candles to jewelry and was studying the framed mountain meadow photographs by a local artist when Missy and her children came into sight. It’d be rude to turn his back and pretend he hadn’t seen them. He smiled and waved, and Missy smiled and waved back. On seeing him, the kids raced ahead of her.
Carlos reached him first but it was Lalla who spoke first. “Mommy’s going to buy us nuts,” she announced.
“That’s an excellent idea,” John said. Those nuts did smell enticing. He’d gotten sidetracked looking at the art, but now would be a good time to buy some.
Missy had caught up with the kids. “Isn’t this the most fabulous place?” she said to John.
“Yeah, I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive,” he said.
“Let’s get our nuts, Mommy.” Lalla tugged on her mother’s coat.
“Let me get them,” John offered.
“That’s okay, I’ve got money,” Missy said.
“Yeah, but it’s almost Christmas. I need to score more points with Santa,” John joked.
“There’s no such thing as Santa,” Carlos informed him.
“Dude, how do you know?” John countered.
Carlos kicked at a little pile of snow. “He never brings me what I want.”
“Maybe that’s because Santa knows we can’t have a dog where we live,” said his mother.
“I hate where we live,” Carlos grumbled.
“Well, how about those nuts?” John said, moving over to where the vendor was roasting different kinds of nuts. John pointed to the almonds in cinnamon and sugar. “We’ll take four,” he said, and soon he and Missy and her kids were eating warm nuts from small white paper bags.
“Thanks,” she said. “That was really nice of you.”
“Hey, it’s Christmas. If a guy can’t buy someone a treat at Christmas, when can he?”
“I suspect you’re nice all the time,” Missy said.
Was she flirting with him? That wouldn’t be good.
He was about to deny it when she added, “I bet your girlfriend is really nice, too.”
Was that the right word to describe Holland? Probably not. Clever? Hot? Fun? Fascinating? Oh, yeah. But nice? No.
Nice was the proverbial freckle-faced girl next door who wore cutoff jeans and went barefoot and brought you home-baked cookies. Holland wore designer jeans and spent a small fortune on shoes. And she never baked. But she had other talents. She had flair. She’d helped him decorate his apartment and thanks to her it looked...freakin’ impressive. Every man wanted her and John always felt like a rock star when she left the club with him. She had an edge to her and she brought a kind of excitement into his life that he hadn’t experienced with any other woman. “Oh, yeah, Holland is something else.”
Sometimes he wondered what she saw in him. He was an average guy earning an average salary. (Holland actually made more than he did.) He wasn’t ever going to be a famous writer or musician or even a company CEO.
And that was okay with him. All he wanted was to buy a house with a yard someday, one where he could mow the lawn and throw Super Bowl parties. Have a couple of kids. Maybe do some good deeds once in a while, like helping Habitat for Humanity. Just have an average, happy life. With Holland. Except with Holland it would be average seasoned with a dash of excitement.
Missy nodded, taking in what he’d said. The kids began darting from booth to booth and she followed them.
John fell into step with her. “What about you? Have you got a boyfriend?”
Her expression went from wistful to unhappy. She shook her head. “Hard to find someone who wants to take on two kids.”
“Their dads aren’t in the picture?”
“No. Carlos’s dad died.”
John blinked in shock. “Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“He was a good guy,” Missy said with a sigh.
“Uh, what about Lalla’s dad?”
Missy frowned. “It’s complicated. I can’t say I wish I’d never met him, though, ’cause I got Lalla out of the deal. My kids are the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Aside from her children, it didn’t sound as if very many good things had happened to her. “They’re great kids,” John said.
“They are. They deserve better than what I’m giving them,” she said softly.
She obviously didn’t have a lot of money, but her kids seemed happy, especially right now. “Hey, you’re giving them a su
per Christmas,” John pointed out.
She smiled at that. “They are having fun. I saved all year for this,” she said proudly.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a hairstylist.”
“Yeah? I should tell Holland. Where do you work?”
Now she didn’t look quite so proud. Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I work at Style Savings.”
He didn’t know one of those places from the other. There was a salon not far from his place in Belltown and he went there for his haircuts. But Holland was a more frequent salon visitor. It seemed she was always going to hers.
“Where’s that?” he asked Missy. Maybe Holland could give her some business.
She told him the area and he realized Holland would not be going to that location to give anyone any business. He nodded and wished he could think of something to say.
“I won’t always be there,” Missy said as if reading his mind. “I’m good, and I’m planning to move up to a high-end salon.”
He glanced at her clothes. He was no expert on women’s apparel, but he’d been with Holland long enough to recognize the difference between cheap and expensive. He hoped Missy had some classy outfits she could wear to interviews at those high-end salons. When it came to clothes, women could be snobs.
“I will get there,” she insisted. “It’s just a matter of time. All I need is a break.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it,” John said.
“The sooner, the better. I’ve about had it with some of the people who come into our place.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” And with that she told him about her customers earlier that day—Mrs. Steele, the old witch who’d walked off without paying, and the mad groper.
“And you like what you do, huh?” he teased.
“I do. I mean, I know I’m not healing sick kids or keeping the streets safe or even making big money, but I help women look their best and feel good about themselves.”
“Well, that’s more than I can say.” Crunching numbers wasn’t exactly brokering world peace.
“What do you do?” Missy asked.
“I’m an accountant. Pretty boring.”
“Pretty hard.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suck at math.”
John grinned. “That’s why there’re people like me.”
The vendors were starting to close up for the night now. “I guess it’s time to go back to the lodge,” Missy said. “Anyway, I don’t want to miss the piano concert. I’ve never stayed anyplace where they had a free concert. The kids are gonna love this.” She sent him a shy glance. “Are you going to hang around for the concert?”
It was either that or go up to the room alone and wish Holland was with him. “Yeah, I think I will.”
The sky was dark but the town was still lit from head to toe with Christmas bling to illuminate their walk back. And once they left downtown, they still had old-fashioned streetlights to get them to Icicle Creek Drive.
There were streetlights on that road, too, but not so many that they blocked the view of a clear, starry sky. “Wow,” Missy said, looking up at the stars. “You sure don’t see that in the city.”
“You sure don’t,” John agreed. “Hey, guys. There’s the Big Dipper.”
“I don’t see a dripper,” Lalla said.
John knelt behind her and pointed. “See? Follow the lines. It looks like a long-handled cup.”
“I see it!” Carlos cried.
And then, so did Missy. “Wow,” she breathed.
“And there’s the Little Dipper,” he said, moving his hand to show the outline of the constellation.
The kids were properly impressed. So was Missy. “I remember looking at pictures of those in books when I was in school,” she was saying, head still thrown back, “but I could never find it in the sky.”
“You don’t get a sky like this in the city,” John said.
You don’t get a life like this in the city, Missy thought.
They strolled companionably down Holly Road to the lodge, Missy with her hands stuffed in her pockets for warmth, the kids running on ahead. “You can wear my gloves if you want,” John said.
She shook her head. “I’m fine, but you can bet the first thing I’m gonna do tomorrow is find a place that sells mittens.”
Once back at the lodge, the fact that she was missing gloves didn’t stop Missy from flopping down onto the lawn with her kids and making snow angels. She giggled. “Aren’t you gonna make one?” she asked John.
“Snow angels are easy,” Carlos told him, and immediately demonstrated.
Making snow angels wasn’t something John would do with Holland. She was simply too...sophisticated for that sort of thing. So was he, really, but what the hey. He hadn’t done it since he was a kid and he found it freeing to fall onto the snow and flap his arms and legs back and forth.
“Now, that’s a serious snow angel,” Missy said after he’d gotten up.
Yeah, he’d been good at snow angels when he was a kid. Good at building snow forts, too. If Holland wasn’t coming up the next day, he would’ve offered to help Carlos build one. Every boy needed someone to build a snow fort with. And to show him how to write in the snow with his pee. Totally gross but an important guy winter sport.
Who did guy stuff with little Carlos? There had to be a grandpa or an uncle or someone. “So how come you guys are here all by yourselves?” John asked as they made their way up the steps of the lodge. “Do your parents live out of state or something?”
She bit her lip. “It was only my mom and me, and she’s dead now.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry,” he said. So Missy Monroe really was on her own.
“It’s okay,” she said brightly. “We’re having fun. Who knows? Maybe we’ll come up here every Christmas.”
He could sure see himself coming up here every Christmas with his wife, and then later a couple of kids.
They walked inside the lodge to find that several people had made themselves at home on the sofa and chairs and by the fireplace hearth. As they all chatted with one another, the woman who’d checked him and Missy in was circulating, carrying a big platter of Christmas cookies.
“Cookies!” Carlos took off at a run, Lalla in hot pursuit.
A skinny old woman with long gray hair, wearing black pants and a red sweater, looked up and frowned in disapproval.
“Just walk,” Missy called, and hurried after her son.
Too late. Carlos had already managed to trample the old lady’s toes in his haste to get to the cookies. She let out a yelp and glared first at him and then at his mother, who quickly began apologizing.
John followed at a more leisurely pace and decided he wasn’t in any hurry to have kids, after all.
* * *
Olivia appreciated everyone who spent time (and money) at the lodge, but some she appreciated more than others. The cranky old bat who was now muttering that kids should be in bed after a certain hour was not going to make Olivia’s list of favorite guests.
The young mother blushed as she removed her children’s coats, and Olivia gave her a pat on the shoulder and a red napkin. “Every child gets excited at Christmas.”
“Thanks,” the young woman said gratefully.
“Try one of the sugar cookies,” Olivia urged, and her embarrassed guest selected one in the shape of a star. “Monroe, right?” Olivia asked. She worked hard to remember the names of her guests.
The young woman nodded. “Missy.”
“Now, there’s a cute name. What do you do, Missy?”
“I’m a hairstylist,” Missy said.
“Figures,” snorted the cranky woman in the armchair. “The blue hair was a dead giveaway,” she said to her friend, who was seated next to her, barely bothering to lower her vo
ice. “She looks like a Smurf.”
“You’re showing your age, Jane,” her friend hissed. “All the young girls these days are coloring their hair like that.”
“I know,” Jane retorted. “But if you ask me, it’s ridiculous.”
“I think it’s fun,” Olivia said to Missy, and slipped Carlos another cookie before moving on to where Mr. Claussen and his family were seated. Lalla, her tiara firmly in place, was Olivia’s shadow, moving along behind her.
“How did you enjoy your visit to town?” she asked the family as she distributed red napkins to hold their cookies.
“Very much,” the man replied. “As you can see, the clothes worked fine.”
She’d thought they would. Mr. Claussen was a big, burly man, just as her George had been.
“I’m glad.” She proffered the platter of cookies and he took one shaped like a Santa. “Now, why am I not surprised to see that you took a Santa?”
“We Santas have to stick together,” he said.
“Are you Santa?” Lalla asked eagerly.
Olivia could tell from his expression that the man regretted his slip. But he smiled at the little girl and said, “Now, if I was Santa I’d be wearing my red suit, wouldn’t I?”
Lalla nodded slowly.
“And Santa doesn’t have time to sit around and eat cookies. He’s too busy loading his sleigh with toys for good boys and girls.”
“I’ve been good,” Lalla said.
“I’m sure you have,” said Mr. Claussen.
“Maybe Santa will bring me a grandma for Christmas,” she continued.
“Well, he’ll bring you something,” her mother said.
There was no grandma in the picture, that was obvious. Otherwise, this young woman and her children wouldn’t be here alone, and surely the children would’ve had nicer clothes. They would if she were their grandma.
“And Carlos wants a dog,” Lalla finished. “Except Santa won’t bring him one ’cause he hasn’t been good. He hit me yesterday.”
The Lodge on Holly Road Page 8