Page 13 of No Room in the Inn

I run my hand over my hair, feeling self-conscious. And when he leaves, closing the door behind him, I’m left with a whiff of his cologne and the realization that I never got his name.

Chapter 6

Nixon

What just happened?

It’s all I can think as I walk away from the changing room now occupied by a woman dressed like a Christmas tree.

Willow. Granny’s granddaughter. That was Granny’s granddaughter in there wearing that ridiculous dress. Granny’s granddaughter who up and left all those years ago, abandoning that sweet old woman.

It would be one thing if she kept in touch. Leaving town isn’t a crime, after all. But she didn’t. Not that I know of, anyway.

In general I don’t like to lie, and technically I didn’t, but…there may have been some misleading going on back there. I didn’t tell Willow that I knew Granny. I even made it sound like I didn’t. I definitely didn’t mention that Granny was the closest thing I’ve had to family in years.

Yeah, I misled her. I almost—almost—feel bad about it. Then I remember how sad Granny looked as she showed me pictures of Willow, talking about the things they used to do together, and I can’t quite manage to feel sorry. Granny missed Willow. She missed her so much.

I don’t know why Willow left. Granny never offered that information, and I didn’t feel like it was my place to ask. All she would say is that she knew Willow loved her. But you don’t leave the people you love; not like that. If you leave and don’t look back, you’re just running away. It’s cowardice, plain and simple.

I have a lot of faults—I’ve done some horrible things—but I’m no coward.

I move as quickly down the hallway as I can, heading for the men’s bathroom. I could have stayed in the dressing room—it’s easier to get my Santa stuff on in there because there’s more room—but once I realized who Willow was, once I was hit with that surge of frustration and then guilt, I just wanted out.

I give a snort of laughter as I think of the dress pulled up over her head. It was the last thing I expected to see when I walked into that changing room. I was a gentleman and kept my gaze from wandering, but I still know what must have been on display.

Because fine, she was easy on the eyes. Long, dark hair; big, brown eyes; a button nose and lips spouting some serious sass. Just my type, to be honest. Too bad I already don’t like her.

And what do I know? Maybe there’s more to the story. Maybe Willow isn’t as guilty as my mind is making her out to be. But I hope she doesn’t stick around long enough for me to find out.

Chapter 7

Willow

The crowd outside the community center is bustling and jolly and reminds me of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Different locale and far fewer people, but the atmosphere is much the same.

I’m not a parade person, personally. Summer parades might be okay, I guess, or at least better than winter parades. But right now I am in heels and an itty bitty dress that blocks exactly none of the wind, and part of me is still mourning my recently deceased grandmother. It’s safe to say my heart isn’t in it.

And yet here I go, making my way to Sarah—who doesn’t look any warmer than I feel—all because a tiny two-year-old has taken control of our lives. Flora isn’t even my child and I already know I would give her the moon if she asked. But she didn’t want the moon; she wanted the parade. So here we are.

It’s because I love Sarah that I don’t give her a tongue lashing when she snickers at the sight of me in this dress. Flora’s presence may also have something to do with me holding my tongue. Either way, I just sidle up to them, rubbing my hands up and down my arms in an attempt at some heat.

“What took you so long?” Sarah says.

I grimace. “I had a mishap with the dress.”

Flora tugs on the bottom of Sarah’s coat and stretches her little arms up.

“Do you want to sit on my shoulders, sweetheart?” I say to Flora, patting my shoulders. “So you can see better?”

The parade has already started, though just barely; it will make its way from the community center all the way down Main, through a cross road to Center, down Center, and then back to the community center. Main Street is lined with people as far down as I can see, many of them wearing red and green. I fit right in.

There appear to be eight floats in all, although it’s hard to tell what the ones in the front look like. The one bringing up the rear—the one still in front of the community center—is an explosion of red and green—surprise, surprise—and features an enormous inflatable reindeer, easily two stories tall. I stare at it for a second, wondering vaguely about the logistics of a reindeer that big—how small does it get when it’s deflated? Where do they store it?—before looking back to Flora.

“Do you want up?” I ask again.

She finally smiles, her chubby cheeks dimpling, and nods.

“Let’s do that,” I say to her. “Also,” I add to Sarah, diving right in because there’s no preamble that could make this less strange, “I met Santa, and he was hot.”

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