Page 41 of Five Days of Christmas Spice

“What’s up, cuz?” She sounds like she’s in a rush, as usual.

“I’ve just finished a facial and thought I’d call you.”

“Lucky you! We’re on our way to the in-laws.”

“So I’m wondering if you got a call today from the guys who want to buy gran’s farm?”

“Holly, I asked you to deal with this–I don’t have time to take their latest offer to a lawyer, and you are a lawyer. Right?”

I’m thankful that my Mom never cared about titles because even though I went to school for law and took a course on Entertainment Law, I was lucky to land an internship with the talent agency I’m at now. So, I never completed the licensing necessary to practice as a lawyer. But I read contracts all day long, and I feel guilty that I haven’t wanted to deal with this and left Stella–to deal with it.

“No, but I can read a contract. Email it, and I’ll go over it, okay? Stella, what do you guys want to do?”

A child screams in the background, and there is the thump of a door. I move to a small sitting room and sit in a plush chair, grabbing something wrapped in puff pastry off the tray.

“Holly, I need a new roof. I want my mortgage paid off and to start saving for all these kids. I want to sell.”

I know that’s how she’s felt, but until now, Stella has tiptoed around the issue.

“Okay. I think I’m ready to sell.”

“Really?” Stella squeals.

I’m hit with another wave of guilt because though Stella and her husband do okay, they are nowhere near my yearly salary. I bought my condo on a deal, and Max and Mom helped me with the down payment.

“Amazing that you don’t hate me,” I tell her.

“Holly, how could I hate you? I get that your emotions are tied up in it, but I’m in the weeds here trying to keep tiny humans alive. I loved Gran’s farm, but it’s time to let it go. She’s gone, and it’s not the same.”

“I know. I’ll let you know what I think of the offer.”

“Thanks, Holly. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I snap the phone off.

A woman with a long braid comes into the room, smiles at me and takes down a book from the shelf. Following her is a tall, muscled man.

“Holly? It’s time for your massage. My name is Vince.”

I follow Vince through to a gorgeous room. It has a soft waterfall feature wall in the back, and orange and white candles are on every available shelf and surface. The scent of bergamot and vanilla is thick in the air.

The stone floor is cool under the slippers they gave me, and I pause at the table. “I’ll give you a moment to get set on the table.”

I smile my thanks, and as Vince leaves me, I drop my robe and get under the soft sheet on the table. This is the comfiest massage table I’ve ever laid on.

“All ready?” Vince asks.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Vince takes me to heaven as his strong, firm hands work out the knots in my neck. I gained them all from the endless days of talking to clients at my desk. When dealing with a difficult phone conversation, I flip through photos on my desktop of faraway places. It gives me a visual point of focus while I listen and problem-solve. It’s a trick I picked up in my second year that I was an agent, and seven years later, I still do it, including titling my head as I scroll through the photos and cause these knots.

Vince’s hands run down my back, and I can’t help but let out an oomph. My face feels so relaxed and smooth from the facial treatment, and my eyelids start close, lulled by the soothing touch. If I close my eyes, I could be in a spa in the Great Alps or in the resort in Bali I went to the year before I met Phil. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment.

This man is good, and the tension ebbs out of my body under his firm hands as he works over my glutes in the wholly detached way of professionals.

Who needs Cozumel when you have this kind of luxury. I never thought it would be in the middle of nowhere, Ontario. That’s what makes this place. If you strip away all the kink, it could stand on its own.

---