Page 19 of No Room in the Inn

I swear I almost hear the old woman chuckle.

Chapter 10

Willow

When I wake up the next morning, there’s another foot of snow on the ground on top of what was already there, making me glad I didn’t force Santa to leave the inn.

Ha—force him to leave. I’m not sure that would work anyway.

“Good morning,” I say to Sarah once I’ve dressed and gone into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Sarah says, sounding distracted as she tries to coax Flora into eating a bite of oatmeal. “Come on, sweetheart,” she says to Flora. “Please. Two more big bites. Then you can be done.”

“I done,” Flora says, and I smile; her tiny little voice is just so cute. She’s dressed in a princess nightgown, and her hair is adorably messy. I know kids are a ton of work, but seeing little snippets of moments like this make me want to have some someday.

“No, you’re not,” Sarah says, but I can tell she’s relenting. She sighs. “All right, one more bite. Not two, just one. Come on. Open up.” She nudges the spoonful of oatmeal against Flora’s tightly sealed lips, but Flora doesn’t budge.

“Good girl,” I say. “Don’t let anyone push you around. Stand your ground.”

“Perfect,” Sarah says over her shoulder as I grab the milk from the fridge. “That’s just what I want you to teach her right now. Thanks.”

I grin. “Sorry. But you know she won’t let herself starve,” I add.

Sarah sighs, pushing one blonde lock off of her forehead and out of her eyes. “I know.” With that she puts the spoon back in the bowl and lets Flora out of the high chair. Flora promptly zooms away, her squeals of delight fading as she runs back in the direction of her bedroom.

“What are you doing this morning?” Sarah asks. “Cute top, by the way. Your boobs look amazing.” She gestures to my chest.

I look down at my shirt, a fitted, long-sleeved sweater with a v-neck. “Thanks!” I say. “But it’s not actually the shirt. I just finally got a bra that fit.”

“That will do it,” Sarah says, nodding. “I had that one in high school, remember, that was so tight everything just bulged all over the place.”

“Oof. We’ve all had one of those,” I say, pouring a glass of milk and then putting the carton back in the fridge. “Well, I’m going to go see Myrtle this morning.” Because I really have to see my cat. I’ll make it quick so that hopefully I can avoid too much of a run-in with my parents, but…I have to see Myrtle. There’s a picture of her on my nightstand, for goodness’ sake. I love her more than I love 99 percent of the people in my life.

“And then you’re going to the inn?”

“Yep,” I say. “At ten.”

“I can’t believe your squatter turned out to be Hot Santa,” she says, glancing at me; I told her everything last night.

“Me either,” I admit.

“Is that why you’re wearing the sweater?” Sarah asks with a grin.

“No,” I say, but I can tell my cheeks are reddening a bit. I bite my lip. “Well, sort of,” I admit. “It’s just…he looks so good, and that’s intimidating.”

Sarah opens her mouth to say something, but I hold up a hand.

“Changing the subject,” I say, and her mouth snaps shut. “If I can get this guy out, I’ll stay there. I’ve missed the place.” I down my glass and then rinse it in the sink. “When will you be back?”

Sarah shrugs. “Around four sometime.”

I nod, grabbing the keys to my rental off the counter. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you later then.”

I make my way out to the car. The temperature is definitely lower today than it was yesterday, which I don’t love but am not surprised by. My insides squirm the whole way over to my parents’ house, and I give myself a brief pep talk before getting out of the car when I arrive.

“You’re here for Myrtle,” I tell myself. “You will be polite, you will see your cat, and you will leave. You will not engage.” And with that I exit the car, walk up the driveway, and go in through the garage. I consider knocking, but my hope is that I can sneak in unnoticed and avoid my parents altogether. Instead I open the door off the garage and tiptoe quietly in.

My parents’ house, like my parents themselves, has changed very little. It still smells the same as it always has. The same rooster clock is ticking loudly in the kitchen, the same faded pillows are propped on the couch, and the same photos still line the walls. I don’t see or hear anyone, though I’m sure my mom is here somewhere since her car was in the garage.

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