“What do you want?” Rose asks.
“I would like an americano with a chocolate chip muffin, unless you have a cinnamon roll in the back, then I’ll take one of those.”
“I have regular and decaf. None of that fancy stuff. And cinnamon rolls are no longer made here.”
Holland moves her neck back as if Rose spat in her face. “Fine. I’ll take a large regular coffee with french vanilla creamer and a teaspoon of honey and the muffin.”
Rose pours coffee in a small styrofoam cup and puts a muffin in a brown paper bag. She walks to the register, pushes the goods over the counter, and rings it up. “Creamer and sugar are by the trash can. That’ll be $5.49, but I don’t have any change so credit card or charged to your room only.”
Holland turns and looks at me. “Ember, do you want something?” She gives me a cloyingly sweet grin. “I’ll put it on my room.”
I wave my hand and shake my head. I don’t want to be a part of her calculating plan. She’s taking names and writing them down on a good and bad list. I want to stay on the page that says I get to keep my job. Something tells me Rose won’t have hers much longer.
Good riddance. The cinnamon rolls used to be my favorite as well. On Rose’s first day, she said they were too complicated to make. Blake told her to take them off the menu to everyone's disappointment but his and Todd’s. She’s been complaining on a daily basis about the complexity of the big Thanksgiving meal she’s responsible for. Surprisingly so, it’s the one thing Todd and Blake haven’t backed down on.
Holland signs the receipt as Rose walks away. I try to peek at what she writes down for her room number, but she does it quickly then flips the receipt over.
Chapter 7
Holland
By noon, I realize the job is too big for the two of us. We haven’t made a dent in the Christmas storage shed. We spent the first two hours trying to organize and find everything. It was a total mess and several things were missing, including the first thing I wanted to put out--the flashing welcome sign that hangs on the Anorak bridge.
It would take us a week to get everything up--far too late for G-Daddy’s celebration and the big Christmas tree lightning event that takes place downtown this weekend and has the hotel completely booked.
I’m at a loss for what to do. I’m already worn out from a rugged morning of lifting, stringing, and tacking. I’m not built for two straight days of this. My ability to trip over my own two feet hinders me as does my lack of athleticism. I’m a bookworm, not a manual laborer, no matter how badly I want to be.
Ember is strong and agile; he can easily climb up and down a ladder to string lights on tall trees. I’ve tried not to stare, but he removed his coat, revealing rippling arm muscles that quickened my pulse. Who knew I liked that? I sure didn’t.
After almost falling off a step stool while trying to hang wreaths on windows, I plopped down on the cold, wet ground and lost it--like total emotional overload--so badly I started to hyperventilate.
I know Ember thinks I’m nuts. I think I heard him mumble “princess” under his breath when I asked him to move an animated reindeer a few inches to the left. I’m sure he thinks I’m not capable of getting my hands dirty after his ability to hang up four wreaths to my one.
He barely speaks to me. I ask questions about things I’ve noticed have changed at the inn, and he responds with one or two-word answers. The most he’s spoken was when he helped me up from my diva moment.
I can’t figure him out. I guess he’s the same caretaker that G-Daddy hired back in the spring. He’s familiar, yet he’s not. I feel like I’ve met him before. He may have been one of the teens who always hung out at the lake during the summers I spent with my grandfather. I stopped doing that when I was fourteen, only spending a week here every summer since.
After my melt down, Ember suggested it was time for a break. So here we are, walking to the inn’s restaurant for lunch in silence just as we’ve spent most of the day.
As we step into the lobby, I hold back another attack of pity that would knock me to the ground if I let it. We’ve spent the entire morning in the shed or outside, not even touching the interior. It’s totally bare save the wimpy, over-lit tree.
Ember is toting several branches he cut from outdoor pines to add more volume to it. “Could you grab a drop cloth from the utility closet in Mr. Garland’s office? I don’t want to get sap and needles all over the floor.”
And that’s the most he’s said today. Who knew he could string two sentences together?
“Sure,” I say and run off to G-Daddy’s office for the drop cloth.
I spread it out on the floor, and Ember places the fir boughs down.
“I guess I’ll spend the evening in the lobby doing as much as I can,” I say more to myself than to Ember.
“I’ll help,” Ember responds.
He was here last night and is willing to stay again tonight. Does he not have a girlfriend? I shake the thought of him being single away and glance around the lobby, taking in every bare spot. There’s got to be a way to get it all done.
Think, Holland. How can you enlist more help?
Blake’s leaning against the counter talking to two giggling blondes. The girls are out, but maybe Blake could help.
A laugh escapes at the thought of Blake doing manual labor. He’s less capable than I am.
Ember’s eyebrows squish together as his lips part. He’s got a look that tells me he thinks I’m off my rocker. A look that’s been repeated multiple times today.
“Sorry, laughing at my internal joke,” I say.
“I could use a laugh. Care to share?”
“I was thinking we need help to get it all done.” I nudge my head in Blake’s direction.
He lets out a small chuckle. “If you bring him on board, I’ll leave you two to it and go back to doing my regular job.”
“If you left it up to me and him, we’d maybe get one more wreath up, and it would be mine.” I respond to his smile with my own. “I was thinking the blondes could help.” I hold back the giggle as we walk past the registration desk.
He glances back in their direction to assess them and says, “Then you’d really be on your own.”
“Yeah, they might break one of those red daggers and cry.” Both girls have fingernails about an inch long. My nails barely pass the tips of my fingers.
He pauses at the entrance to the restaurant. “I can call in some friends to help. In fact, I had a crew of seven scheduled a few weekends ago. Your grandfa--I mean, we were paying them two hundred bucks each to get it done.”
“Why didn’t they show up?”
“Todd told me to cancel. Said there was no need for all the decorations this year. Something about saving money.”
Todd! G-Daddy must be rolling around in that urn. “You think you can get them to come tomorrow? I’ll pay them the same amount.” Well, I don’t have any money, but I’ll get Dad to pay them. He’s the one handling the accounting for the inn until they hire someone or sell the place.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts typing a text. “Consider it done.”
The restaurant only has a few guests. Lunch usually doesn’t draw the big crowds like dinner does. Dad and Todd are sitting by the window staring at a computer screen as they eat lunch. I guess I need to hit them up for the money.
“I’ll catch up with you in a little bit,” I say.
He nods and joins a group of employees having lunch in the sunroom.
“Hey, sweetie,” Dad says. “How is the decorating going?”
“That’s why I’m here. I have something I need to discuss.” I share the plan with them.
“No,” Todd says before I finish my spiel. “We don’t need to pay outside help. We don’t need that crap up anyway. Just keep it simple.”
I’m not going to lose it. I fill my lungs deep with air. Before I have a chance to respond, Dad says, “Hire them. Get it done.”
Todd’s fork clatters on his half-eate
n plate. “Are you kidding me? We’re supposed to be making decisions together.”
“Like how we decided it was time for Mrs. Mabel to retire? Like how we made the decision to not decorate this year? We’ve already had too many complaints. And Mayor Henson came by earlier this morning wondering what was wrong. It needs to get done. This town and this inn are known for going overboard at Christmastime.”
I walk away to let Dad fight my battle with his younger brother. He gave me permission and that’s all I need. I wish Todd would go back to work at his chiropractic clinic. Luckily, next week he’ll be back to seeing patients and out of my hair.
At least now I know what happened to Mrs. Mabel.
Chapter 8
Ember
“You ready to get back to it?” I ask when Holland finishes up her chocolate pie, a heavenly, frozen leftover from Mrs. Mabel.
She wipes her mouth then folds her napkin neatly and places it atop her clean plate. “Yeah, but let me look for something in my grandfather’s office first.”
We exit the restaurant and head to the office.
“I have nine guys lined up for tomorrow. Instead of two hundred each, I talked them into one-fifty. That gives you a savings of fifty dollars.”
“Nine? Wow! Thank you. You won’t need me then.”
“Who’s going to tell them the exact location the reindeer goes in if you don’t help?” I tease.
I don’t know why, but I’d be disappointed if she decided to sit tomorrow out. If this had come up before lunch, I would have been all for it, but ever since we stepped into the lobby, the air has changed between us. Yeah, she’s still a prissy girl, but she’s also a hard worker and seems to care about this place. Her caring means there’s a chance I won’t find myself homeless or unemployed.
As we ate, she openly chatted with the employees who were on break. Some of them she already knew. The ones she didn’t, she asked them questions about what they liked and didn’t like about their job in a friendly sort of way--like she wanted to make the things that have gone south since Mr. Garland died better.
If she’s smart, which I believe she is, she’ll fill in the dots of what everyone insinuated are the problems. Todd and Blake. Todd comes in here and barks orders at Blake, and Blake does nothing but barks orders at them. Based on my observations, she doesn’t have a lot of love for her uncle and cousin.
The more time I spend with her, the more at home I feel here, like I did when Mr. Garland was still around. I’m starting to see why he raved about her all the time.
Holland opens the door to her grandfather’s office and flips on the light. “I think you can manage the decorating without me. You seem to remember where everything goes better than I do. Did you come here a lot to see the lights during the holidays?”
“You could say that.”
She sits in Mr. Garland’s chair and rummages through his desk drawers.
I sit in a leather chair across from his desk. “What are you looking for? I might know where it’s at.”
“I want to see if I can find any contact information for Mr. Vine.”
I guess she hasn't made the connection as to who I am yet.
She continues as she scrolls through a notebook full of writing, "He's the previous caretaker who retired before you came on board. He may remember where the welcome sign is for the bridge.”
I can’t believe that even Mr. Garland’s own granddaughter doesn’t know that my dad was really fired. Mr. Garland promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone the real reason, but I didn’t assume that would include family.
“Um, I can definitely help with that.”
She perks up in the desk chair. “You know how to get in touch with him?”
“You could say that,” I repeat.
“Great.” She turns the phone around and hands me the receiver. “Can you call him?”
I place the phone down on the holder. “How about we stop by his place? He still lives on property.”
A corner of her mouth twists upward as her spine conforms to the leather chair. “Really? So you didn’t take the caretaker’s cabin when you started working here?”
“I live there.”
“Where did Mr. Vine move to then?”
“He still lives there.”
She stares blankly with an open mouth then says, “You live with Mr. Vine? Isn’t that a little weird?”
“Do you think it’s weird to live with your father?”
She leans forward again and places her elbows on the desk, nestling her chin in her hands. “Oh. That means… but I thought Mr. Vine’s son was Beau.”
“Beau is my first name. In seventh grade, I started going by Ember.” She doesn’t need to know why.
“Wow. I didn’t… I always thought… how old are you? It always seemed like you were much older than me. You’re one of those hoodlums who always hung out at the cliffs, jumping off and doing all sorts of crazy stunts in the lake.”
I lean forward and mimic her hands-on-the-desk pose. “I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty next month. And yes, I was one of the hoodlums doing stupid stuff. And nine more of those hoodlums will be here tomorrow.”
Her face looks just like someone told her Santa Claus isn’t real. And it’s so darn cute.
“Let’s go ask Mr. Vine where he put the welcome sign.” I stand and walk around the desk, extending my hand to help her out of the chair. She takes it with a timid smile.
I pull up to my two-bedroom cabin home. “Wait right here. I’ll run in and ask my dad where he stored it.”
She hugs herself. “But it’s getting cold out here, and I’d like to say hey to your dad. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.”
The image of my dad in a dirty tank top with crushed beer cans scattered about his feet makes an appearance in my mind. “He may not be up for visitors. I’ll prepare him and let you visit another time.” After I’ve cleaned up the mess.
“Oh. That’s right. I forgot he retired due to health problems.”
Alcoholism is a health problem. Maybe she does know the real reason.
She pulls her hoodie around her head. I hate that I’m leaving her out in the cold, but there’s no way I’m letting her in.
Dad is passed out in his threadbare recliner. It takes me a minute to shake him awake. The beer can he’s holding tumbles to the ground, spewing its contents over the pine floors.
“Pig skins,” he says.
I run to the bathroom for a towel and clean up the pool of liquid.
“Dad, do you recall where you stored the welcome sign that goes on the Anorak Bridge?”
He scratches his head, messing up his hair even more. “I think it’s in the storage shed by Old Man Garland’s fishing cabin.”
I would've never thought to check where we store the summer gear.
“And why did you put it there?”
He nibbles on his dingy fingernails. “I had a reason, but I don’t remember what it was. There’s several Christmas things in that storage shed.”
Great! Maybe it’s all the ones we’re missing. Holland will be abated.
I walk out without saying goodbye.
“We’re in luck,” I say as I reverse the cart out of the cabin’s driveway. “How about an excursion to the lake?”
“Did your dad toss them in the lake?”
“Ha ha. Nope. There’s a shed next to your grandfather’s lake cabin that holds the summer equipment. I never thought to check in a shed that’s supposed to be storage for the hot season. He said he stored the sign there with some other things. I’m hoping so. I’ve been there many times, but don’t remember seeing any Christmas stuff. Although, I wasn’t looking for it.”
Her smile lights up the cloudy day.
I park the cart next to the shed. Holland jumps out and takes the stairs up to Mr. Garland’s lake cabin. She runs her fingers along the gone fishing sign that hangs from the front porch. Her eyes mist over, and she turns with her back to me.
She must know he passed aw
ay here.
“I’ll be in the shed,” I say, giving her a moment alone with her thoughts.
She nods. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Her voice is low and rough.
I prop the door open with a sign that Holland’s been looking for that reads, Santa Stops Here. Mr. Garland had an igloo made out of styrofoam with spinning penguins sitting next to the fountain in the inn’s lobby, with this sign sticking out the top of the igloo.
Glancing around, I realize we’ve struck gold. Every piece Holland has been looking for is here. How did I not notice this stuff here before?
I start pulling out the Christmas items that are mixed in with the bikes, kayaks, and wakeboards, using my phone to light up the dark space. I should’ve grabbed a flashlight from the cart’s toolbox.
“Any luck?” Holland asks. “Yes! My sign.” She picks up the sign and dances it above her head.
What little light that’s streaming in from the door starts to narrow. I run toward her in a panic.
“Don’t close--” The light disappears. “--the door,” I say, a little too late.
I reach the door when it shuts completely.
Chapter 9
Holland
I’ve seen Ember do some pretty impressive things today, but nothing quite like the moves he just made to prevent the door from closing.
He jerks on the handle; the door doesn’t budge. “Not good.”
“Um, what’s wrong with the door?” I ask.
He pulls out his phone. “Crap. No service.”
I tug on the door. “Are we stuck in here?”
“Yeah. Do you have service?”
I retrieve my phone from my coat pocket. “No bars and no networks.”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Your grandfather never wanted Wi-Fi in his cabin, and we shut down the systems at the marina for the winter.”
“So, we’re stuck in here,” I repeat.
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