“Choices,” Trevor said. “How about this pink stuff?”
“Pink, interesting choice?” Angie bit back the grin.
“Give it up with the romance, huh? I’m sure in this case, pink means lemonade.”
Angie forced a sober smile but could not stop her eyes from delivering one last tease. “Sounds delicious, thank you.”
Trevor scooped a few chunks of ice into a tall glass and then filled it to the brim with pink lemonade. As he passed it over, his gaze shifted behind her, and for an instant the same shadow she’d noticed earlier crossed his face. She followed his eyes to the bar where a group of young men stood ordering their drinks. Another thought hit Angie. Maybe not only was he suffering love-loss but perhaps he also had a drinking problem. He never argued at her non-alcoholic choice when they’d shared drinks together last night. Trevor Dristoll seemed an unsteady package delivered to the Inn for healing. That’s what her mother would say if she were alive. She’d always picked that special someone in need of pampering during the Christmas celebration – both times of the year. Angie decided she would make every effort to see that Trevor had a good time while visiting her hometown.
“What are you staring at?” Trevor asked.
Startled, Angie noticed him questioning her intense scrutiny. “Nothing at all.” Embarrassed, she downed a large mouthful of cold drink to avoid further confrontation. The pulp caught in her throat and she gagged.
Trevor patted and rubbed her back until the attack eased off. His grin might read as ridicule, but she saw the playfulness lurking behind. “Next time, take slow sips. Cold liquid in a parched throat is not a good mix.”
Angie felt her face growing crimson and grabbed his hand. “Let’s dance.”
The band was playing a stomping cowboy tune, and she noticed the line dancers who had formed on one side. She glanced at Trevor. “Are you familiar with the steps?”
“Not at all. But I’d love to stand back and watch you.”
“Not yet, Santa,” Angie said as she flipped at the tassel on his red hat. They began to move to their own rhythm of dance and were soon enjoying a carefree time. When the string of fast dances ended, Angie turned to leave. Trevor reached for her arm. “Running away so soon? I’m ready for slow and could use a shoulder to lean on. How about you?”
Angie never admitted to anyone how she longed for the sensation of touch. She’d always heard it was a human need for emotional health, and since her family’s death, agreed. Perhaps Trevor required a shoulder this week for his own reasons. Surely she could oblige and satisfy both their needs in one dance. Only one thing scared her – Trevor was more than likeable and she secretly feared for her vulnerable heart.
What Angie did not expect were the tidal waves of emotion that flooded her the instant she moved into his arms. She attempted to keep a safe distance, but with little force, he pulled her in and broke down her resistance. Angie felt every muscle in his chest and feared he would hear her heart thumping out of beat with the music.
Trevor whispered in Angie’s ear. “My shoulder won’t bite.”
She felt certain he was grinning on the inside, but the outside only revealed a sweet invitation for… comfort? Could it be that simple?
Angie timidly leaned against his shoulder, but the brief contact was enough to acknowledge the need for this tiny piece of intimacy. Tears trickled down her cheek, unnoticed by Trevor, as she openly acknowledged this void in her life. She missed hugs from her parents. Angie had no one now. Greedily, she leaned in and relaxed. This man would soon be leaving. She’d take the shoulder while he offered it.
CHRISTMAS TREASURES
Saturday dawned. A time when flea markets, yard sales, church bazaars, and many backyards, provided tables full to overflowing of used merchandise. Someone always paid good money for another person’s junk. Travis distributed maps to everyone and teams of people headed off to find the prize of a lifetime. Lots of Christmas extras would be in abundance and the only requirement for this outing was that each guest return to the Inn with a novelty item under five-dollars to donate to the afternoon stocking event. Trevor remained behind after the groups pulled out.
Angie noticed him in the sitting room reading a book. “I thought you’d enjoy this activity with your friends.”
“My tour friends? No, I don’t go there. Creating a certain distance is always the best way to run a tour successfully.”
“It sounds lonely,” Angie said.
“Perhaps, but I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.”
“I hear a story coming on,” Angie said.
“Had a lady guest once who loved the concept of free travel, and eyed me as sugar-candy, which she tried to polish off frequently.” It surprised Angie to see the amusement in his face. Then he tossed in the finish line. “It was awkward, and the gentleman in me did not want to hurt the old lady.”
“Old lady?” Angie said, trying to hold back the grin.
“She was over fifty, still good looking, but fifty! All she really wanted was a cheap way to travel around the countryside. Tick things off her bucket list. Her kids had given her the tour as a gift and she was using it to her full advantage.”
“What did you do?” asked Angie.
“I made up sheets of expectations and rules of conduct – for both sides – and stick to it religiously. And I also raised the price tag. Wealthy people want nothing from me but a memorable tour. The contract suits everyone.”
“And did you break the woman’s heart?” Angie was curious.
“We spoke, and she apologized. In the end, it all worked out. She took up with a lonely elderly man with lots of money.”
Angie laughed so hard that it hurt her sides. “Oh, so that’s what happens on tour buses. And so, if I invited you to join me on my flea marketing adventure, would you consider that a come-on, Mr. Dristoll?”
Trevor stood to his feet and stretched his tall frame. “You, my dear lady, are not fifty, or under contract. And after last night, I’d rather enjoy spending more time with you – even if it’s traipsing around yards to find trashy gifts. I can’t believe all these rich people fell for this activity.”
“Judging from the way they raced out of here, I think they were pretty excited that they just might find a lost treasure stashed in a back yard box.”
“By now they will have picked through all the decent stuff, leaving nothing for us to put in a stocking.” Trevor pointed to the door. “We better get going.”
“Now that’s the spirit.”
They walked for three miles, or so her stepper recorded. On the final trek down the last street, she saw it – a stocking-stuffer to die for.
Angie lifted the item from the nearly full table. “However did you keep this gem so long?”
“Don’t know. Think the crowds are bypassing this street. Did you see my sign before you headed up?”
“I saw the sign,” Angie said.
“My theory is that a higher source was preserving this table just for you, Angie,” said Trevor.
“You mean like Santa Claus or the Miracle Maker?” the old man said.
The blood drained from Trevor’s face, turning him white as a ghost. He silently cast a plea for help in Angie’s direction.
“Why Mr. Fagerty, we all know that you’ve experienced proof firsthand when it involves matters of the heart. I recall you and your Mrs. receiving some special magic before you married.”
“Sixty-eight years ago, but I remember it like yesterday.”
“Tell Trevor your story while I pick out my treasures.”
“Listen up, young man. You ever felt yearnings from the heart? No need to answer. I see the absence of it in your face. But your day for a miracle is close by, just like it was for Bessie and me.”
It took the old gentleman ten minutes to relate his tale of love, and he held Trevor’s attention the entire time. He was like a sponge, soaking it all in and letting the wonder of a surprise encounter fill the vacant dream in his eyes. With Trevor left
speechless at the end, Angie stepped in to rescue him.
“Mr. Fagerty, we all miss your Bessie so much at church and the socials. She used to be a regular at the Inn – getting all gussied up at the spa just for you.”
The old man chuckled. “Did that to keep me on my toes. There wasn’t another woman in the whole town could match her in the beauty department.”
Angie held up a picture of an owl. “Don’t you think this looks like my Dibber in the barn?” she asked Mr. Fagerty.
“I reckon she does. What are you going to do with it? Hang it out there?”
“I have the museum in the back that people come from far and wide to see.”
“I know. Bessie and me came at least once a year to check on the new generation of owls setting up housekeeping in your rafters.” He looked at Trevor.
“Have you been out to see the miracle in the barn, boy?”
“No, sir. Can’t say I have.”
“He hasn’t been here long, Mr. Fagerty. I’ll be taking all the guests out soon – definitely before the bus pulls out.”
Mr. Fagerty appeared obsessed with Trevor. He moved in close and stared into his eyes. Angie was about to interfere when he spoke. “Don’t you be leaving until you find your destiny. Magic or miracles don’t come your way every day.”
Angie watched Trevor squirm and break eye contact with the man. He hurried toward her grabbing something off the table. “I found something to buy. We best get back to the Inn. It’s almost lunch.”
They brought a basket of treasures from Mr. Fagerty, but although Angie paid for her other purchases, the owner refused to take a penny for the owl picture. Instead, he passed it to Trevor. “Be a gentleman and hang it up for the lady, okay?”
Trevor smiled awkwardly. “Sure, I can do that, sir.”
“Good.” He started to shuffle with his cane toward his lawn chair but twisted round and with a wide grin winked. “Goodbye you two. Happy Christmas in July. Hope you find the love sent from the Spirit of the Season.”
“He’s an odd duck, isn’t he?” Trevor said when they were out of earshot.
“He is a gem; an old family friend and I love him to bits.”
“Okay, can’t account for your taste, but I’ll go with the flow.”
“I know he’s eccentric. He and his wife were pillars of the community for many years. Age has a way of making one appear mystical, when in fact, it’s simply sharing wisdom and experience to an unenlightened audience.”
“Nice take on old age.”
“You have a bone to pick with senior citizens?”
Trevor’s sigh was deep and agonizing. “No, not at all. You must think me horrible. Guess I’m just grieving for those who never made it that far.”
“We all have an appointed day. Some earlier than others. That’s why I try to live each day as if it were my last. Does that make any sense at all?”
“More than you think.”
No one spoke the rest of the trip to the resort. As they strolled up the cobblestone walkway, Trevor broke the silence.
“It’s a grand spectacle, you know? You could sell tickets just to tour this place.”
“It’s not a museum, it’s my home. And a place for guests to gather and enjoy a well-deserved vacation. So don’t give my staff any of your ideas. They can dream up enough to keep me hopping.”
“Deal.” Trevor opened the door and beckoned for Angie to enter first. “Back safe and sound and not a minute to spare. Isn’t that the lunch bell I hear?”
“It is. Let me dump this stuff in my office and we’ll get in there.”
“So, the craft session starts at two-o’clock, right?” Trevor asked as soon as they sat down.
“Are you good at creating pieces of art?” Angie asked.
“Not sure. Haven’t tried it since I was in elementary school.”
“If you need any tips, ask the social director. He’s a whiz.”
“Does that mean you’re skipping class?”
“I have mountains of work in my office and meetings with department heads. I don’t want to miss decorating the tree this evening.”
They had only a few moments of peace. When the bell summoned a second time, people appeared from all directions, chatting and making their way into the dining room. During the rest of the meal, the buzz around the table revolved around the plan of attack for the upcoming craft session. All remained very secretive about the morning shopping excursion, the gift, and the recipient. Excitement was in the air, as only the joy of Christmas can bring.
On her way past the craft room, Angie smiled at the enthusiasm of the adult guests. She noticed Trevor sitting off to the side staring at the construction paper in front of him. While she watched, he stood and surveyed the string of homemade stockings that were close-pinned to a line. He stopped at one and examined it. Then he folded the paper in his hand and tucked it deep inside the stocking. He scanned the room with a strange expression before he took something from his pocket and pushed it into the bottom of the red felt stocking. Trevor hurried from the room via another door.
He was a complex man who had the ability to leave Angie baffled on more than one occasion. Despite her best effort to avoid listening to her heart, she kept an eye out for him the remainder of the afternoon. He’d been far too down-in-the-mouth when he left the craft room. Angie hoped she had read him wrong.
“Charles, have you seen Mrs. Dristoll this afternoon?”
“Saw him heading toward the beach a while ago. Suppose he thought he’d own the sand with all the guests doing crafts.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Are the Christmas trees up yet?” asked Angie.
“Yes, and all the decorations are out of storage. Tonight, we will transform the Inn.”
“Good. One can never get enough good cheer.”
“As your father would say, Angie, the spirit of Christmas is with us all year long. We just need to remember to call upon him.”
“Thank you, Charles. You have been a true friend to this family.”
“And plan to continue with you. You will grow Heritage Inn into the future, and I could not be more proud to tag along for the ride.”
”Do you miss, Jerrod?” Angie asked. She never spoke of her brother to anyone except Charles. He’d always cared deeply for the lost boy he saw struggling under all the pain.
“I do. He missed his calling.”
Angie nodded. At thirteen he’d started to hang out with the wrong crowd, the only bunch of thugs this laid-back piece of America housed. And our Jerrod had found them. His life spiraled out of control. The booze, the drugs, the addictions that refused to let him go. Somewhere in the mix, she’d lost a brother and her parents suffered the heartbreak of failing their only son. Jerrod’s death was a tragic loss – all of their deaths had been.
Angie shook herself free of negative thoughts. But for the grace of God, there go I. She would overcome despair, not because she was stronger than the rest of her family, but because she clung to a greater force and welcomed Him to lead her through grief’s stronghold into freedom.
Outside, Angie drank in the warm sunshine. She walked toward the beach and scanned the area. No sign of Trevor. The health-spa crossed her line of vision and she wondered if he visited there often. His body certainly looked like he worked out, with muscles clearly bulging from under his shirt. When constructing the new building, they’d installed a full gym for athletic types, just like him. She decided to pop in. This addition to the original Inn was Trish’s department, and she often accused her boss of neglecting her division. Sadly, it was true. There seemed so few hours to spare in her day, and Angie felt confident in Trish’s leadership. The woman was a perfectionist – great at what she did – and Angie had no hick-ups with the spa part of the operation. But perhaps, like everyone else, her employee needed encouragement now and then. Trish deserved a pat on the back. She was the main reason for the financial success of the resort this past year, as they expanded into the modern craze of fitness a
nd relaxation.
Angie peeked in Trish’s office but it was empty. Her absence served as a feasible excuse to roam around the place. Glancing at the registrar, Angie noted that the names of passengers from the bus filled the page.
A voice caught her attention. “Morning, Miss Parkinson. Can I help you with anything?”
“Just thought I’d check in on you all over here. Trish thinks I avoid her.”
“She’s a kidder to be sure. Even though we postponed classes for the people in town, the days are busy with massages, treatments, and boot camp exercise. This group groaned at the thought of no dance or stretch classes, so we sort of threw a couple in there. Hope you don’t mind?”
“Certainly not. It’s all about keeping the guests happy. No wonder I never need to come and check. You people think on your feet.”
“Whose thinking on their feet?” asked Trish and she hurried into the room. “I could use a good foot soak and massage.”
“I can do one for you before I head home, Trish,” the obliging employee said.
“I may take you up on it. Tonight is the Christmas tree decorating at the Inn so folks should desert us by late afternoon.”
“Well, I was just going to take a walk around the facility. Thanks for your hard work, girls.” Angie turned and walked down the adjoining hallway, making her way casually toward the gym entrance. Sure enough, Trevor was there, running on the treadmill like he had miles to cover before nightfall. I strolled over and stood in front of him.
“I’d have thought you’d enjoy running on the beach. Most people do.”
“Hurts my feet. Guess I’m just a tender-totter. You hunting me up or is this a chance meeting?”
Angie couldn’t lie. “A little of both. Haven’t been to the spa much lately, and Charles said he’d seen you head for the beach, probably before the craft session let out. Did the art experience not trigger fond memories of your childhood days?”
Trevor grinned. “I suppose it possessed that element. It reminded me of the reason I earned a D in arts and crafts.”
Christmas Owls in July (Ornamental Match Maker Series Book 19) Page 4