Page 4 of Whiskey Holiday
"Daddy. I'm smarter than that." I stare down at the card and run my thumb across the raised lettering, smiling because the colors are gold and green—Christmassy.
T & N Restoration.
"I know you are," he says as I walk with my dad to his truck. He turns to face me. "I'm proud of you, Winter." My dad pulls me in for a hug.
"Thank you, Daddy. I'm pretty proud of myself too."
"As you should be." He pulls back. "Give that number a call. Also, I told Greg you were having trouble with the furnace. He'll be by first thing tomorrow morning to check it out."
"Thanks again, Daddy." I slip the business card into my coat pocket. "I love you." I kiss his cheek before he climbs behind the steering wheel of his truck.
"I love you too, kid." He closes the truck door, and I watch him pull away before retreating inside.
While dinner cooks on the stovetop, I decide to go upstairs for a long soak in the tub. As the claw tub fills with warm water, I remove my clothes and let loose the braid in my hair, only to pile it in a messy bun at the top of my head. Lighting a lavender candle, I sit it on a small table nearby beside my cell phone before slowly sinking into the water beneath the bubbles. "Thank God the water heater still works," I say out loud. Closing my eyes, I soak in the warmth from the water and relax.
I hear the bell on Mr. Jingles' collar as he enters the bathroom. I open my eyes to see him perched on top of the toilet lid, staring at me. He meows. "We survived our first week alone in a brand-new home. What do you think about that, Mr. Jingles?" He blinks before lifting his back leg and licks where his balls once were. "That bad?" I humph. "You're just mad that you've been forced to diet since you no longer have an endless supply of kitty treats and catnip at your disposal," I tell Mr. Jingles, who's the most spoiled fattest cat in town because of my mom and dad. My parents' excuse for spoiling him? Because they have no grandbabies to spoil yet. Honestly, I'm surprised my brother Nick hasn't fulfilled their dreams of grandparent status with the way he spreads his Christmas cheer around town. He's the smooth-talking, tattooed, Harley-riding mechanic of Mistletoe and all the ladies in town trip over their feet for him.
I look around the bathroom, taking in the shellac, and exposed pipes in the walls where pieces are missing. A shriek leaves my mouth the moment two beady eyes look at me from the hole in the wall. "Jesus." I flick the bathwater and suds across the room, trying to shoo it away. Another thing that came with the property—a mice problem. Just another thing to check off my list of people to call. I glance at Mr. Jingles, who hasn't budged. "A whole lot of good you are. Aren't mice supposed to be your natural enemy?" Mr. Jingle yawns, jumps to the floor, and stretches out on the shaggy bathroom rug, utterly uninterested in anything I have to say.
Hours later,the sun is setting, and I'm heading to work after dropping off a pot of chili at my parents' home on the other side of Mistletoe. I turn my truck down Main Street.
Everything is illuminated in a warm glow as I drive beneath the canopy of twinkling lights. There is pine garland wrapped around every light pole. Red, green, and gold decorations adorn storefront windows, all of which have different Christmas themes that tell a story of Christmases past.
Christmas is Mistletoe—Mistletoe is Christmas. I don't know any other way to put it. Our quaint little town looks like a Hallmark movie 365 days a year. We're a tourist town, attracting thousands of visitors every year, especially during December. I've lived here my entire life. So have my parents and my grandparents before them.
At the end of the street, I park my truck in front of Whiskey Holiday. Our family-owned tavern. I haven't changed one thing about the building since my grandad passed. Built to look like an old log cabin, it gives the bar its signature charm of an old country Christmas. Climbing out of my truck, I toss my bag over my shoulder. The warmth from the massive fireplace hugs my body as I step through the front door. It's, without a doubt, my favorite feature here. The amber light from the fire casts dancing shadows on the walls as the flames flicker. The air smells of cinnamon and cinder. The exposed beams above my head add to the rustic décor. Beside the fireplace sits a massive Douglas fir, decorated with old-world glass ornaments and bubble lights.
"Hey," Brinkley greets me.
"Hey. Listen, thanks again for coming in a bit early."
Brinkley waves me off. "Don't worry about it. You did me a favor. My mom was trying to set me up with Mrs. Tammy's nephew from Wyoming."
I laugh. "The one that looks like cousin Eddie from that movie Christmas vacation?" Walking behind the bar, I sit my bag down and grab a couple of wine glasses. Like always before we open, I pour my friend and me a drink.
"Oh, before I forget." Brinkley digs through her bag, then hands me the same business card my dad gave me this morning. "You know the restoration Molly had done to the wedding venue down on her farm?" I take a sip of my red wine and nod. "T & N Restoration did all the work. Can you believe they shipped in reclaimed wood from a one-hundred-year-old barn from Connecticut?" Brinkley takes a drink. "Anyway. Knowing you need some home repairs done, she gave me their business card to pass on to you." For the second time today, I look down at the card in my hand.T & N Restoration. They sure are making a name for themselves in our small town.
What the hell. So far, two people I trust have recommended their services. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone and tap the numbers out on the screen.
