Page 51 of No Room in the Inn

Well, the most obvious downside is that I don’t get the money I would make selling the inn. It would also give me continuing business in Woodfield, which, now that I’m being completely honest with myself, I can admit I don’t love.

And then there’s the matter of working with Nixon. This would make us partners, basically. Could we sustain that kind of relationship? Because so far we get along like oil and water. Mostly, anyway.

“Look,” Nixon says quickly, maybe because he can see my hesitation. “Don’t answer yet, okay? Just…think about it. Can you do that?”

I sigh, already regretting the words I’m about to say. But I feel like I owe it to Nixon—and to Granny—to at least consider.

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

Chapter 24

Willow

One morning a week later I’m just pouring milk in my cereal when Nixon enters the kitchen, dressed in—you guessed it—his Santa suit. I smile at the sight; I can’t help it. It’s still just so weird to see someone that attractive dressing up as Santa.

We’ve fallen into an easy routine that involves not talking about the bed and breakfast. It’s better that way; arguing with Nixon is exhausting, partly because I feel for him. I understand where he’s coming from and what this place means to him. I’ve been thinking over his offer a lot, but I haven’t made any decisions yet. Part of my hesitation comes from the desire to see how we get along as time goes on.

I can’t help thinking about the possibilities, though. We’d have to come up with the money somewhere, but we could expand this place; maybe add a greenhouse, which is something Granny always wanted to do. She wanted to grow the vegetables she used to cook with.

Even though I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, it wouldn’t hurt to do a couple sketches. Nothing fancy or official, of course. It would be most just for fun.

When Nixon looks up and sees me, I’m pulled out of my daydreaming. I point wordlessly to the cup of hot chocolate I’ve made for him, like I’ve done every morning for the past week.

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing the mug and taking a long drink. “You going anywhere this morning?”

I nod, and he holds up one hand to me. I toss him the keys to my rental, and he bustles out of the kitchen to turn on both our cars so they’ll be warm.

“Thank you,” I say. “But I still don’t like you,” I add, calling to him as he leaves. I hear his faint response—“I don’t like you either!”—before the front door closes loudly. I grin, shaking my head.

The guy who came to look at the inn a week ago seemed primarily interested in the plot of land, which worries me a little. I answered his questions politely—as well as I could, anyway—but I was glad to see him leave, and I know Nixon was too. One more person has come to look at the inn since then, and another is supposed to come sometime tomorrow. I’ve had an electrician in to look at the wiring, because we don’t want any more fires when the repairs start.

Which, if all goes according to plan, should be tomorrow. Nixon has been suspiciously quiet about that; he knows they’re coming, but he hasn’t tried to dissuade me from the idea once. I guess he wants the inn repaired as much as I do; I’m just surprised he hasn’t said anything more about me selling.

He comes back into the kitchen a few minutes later, just as I’m finishing my cereal.

“So,” he says, and I look up at him.

“So,” I say.

He grins. “So I know you’ve sworn off Hallmark activities—”

“Because I ruin them,” I point out, rinsing my cereal bowl and sticking it in the dishwasher.

“You do seem to have bad luck,” he agrees.

I lean back against the counter, folding my arms over my chest and tilting my head to one side. “Would you call being tone deaf bad luck?”

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to consider. “We could call it genetic bad luck.”

I nod, trying not to smile. “Genetic bad luck, then.”

“Anyway”—he pulls out a chair and sits at the table—“I know you’ve given all that up, but how do you feel about one last foray into the Hallmark spirit?”

I narrow my eyes at him, considering. “I’m listening,” I say.

He nods. “Okay. We need a Christmas tree.”

I frown. “Why?” Because honestly, what’s the point? It’s just us here, and it wouldn’t be up for very long anyway, plus it’s one more thing we’d have to put back away if—no,when—someone else takes over.

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