Page 5 of Whiskey Holiday
Tannon
It's getting late, and just when I am about to call it a day, the phone on my desk rings. Picking it up, I answer, "T&N Restoration."
The only thing I hear on the other end of the line is a sharp gasp. I wait a moment for the person to respond. When they don't, I speak again. "Hello. Did I lose you?"
"Um, hello?" an angelic voice rasps in my ear, and I feel as if someone pulled the rug from under my feet, and I swear time stands still. Shaking off the strange effect the stranger is having on me, I ask, "Can I help you, Miss…" I wait for her to provide me with a name.
"Holiday," she supplies.
I smile at her last name. "How may I help you, Miss Holiday?"
"Yes." She clears her throat. "I was given your business card earlier today. I've heard you are the best in your line of work. Anyway, I just bought this house, and I need some work done on it. Well, a lot of work actually," the woman with the sweetest voice I have ever heard chuckles.
"What kind of work are you wanting?" I ask.
"Well, I'm not quite sure. It's a rather old house, and I mostly want to restore the original structure. I'm not interested in making it too modern."
Already feeling interested in the potential new client's house, I sit up a little straighter. I love older homes. They have character. I love everything about restoring the original vision and making it new again.
"Okay. Is there a time I can swing by the house and take a look before going over the ideas you have in mind?"
"Sure. That would be great. How about tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning works for me. What is the address?" I ask, and Miss Holiday rattles off some numbers and the street name while I jot them down. "Alright, Miss Holiday, I'll see you then."
"Thank you, Mr…" This time she waits for me to give her a name.
"Christmas," I tell her, and I can hear the smile in her voice when she repeats my name.
"Thank you, Mr. Christmas. I'll see you tomorrow."
Hanging up the phone, I rest my elbows on the desk as I try to make sense of why I feel a sudden sense of loss wash over me when our brief conversation ends.
"Tannon?" I hear my name called, and look up to see Nash standing in front of my desk. I must have been in a daze because I didn't even see him come into my office.
"You okay, man? I called your name several times. It's like you had checked out," Nash asks with concern.
"I'm good. Must have been daydreaming or some shit. Long day, you know." I stand and grab my coat from the back of the chair. Duke rises from his bed in the corner and makes his way to my side.
Nash blows out a breath. "I hear you. What are your plans for tonight? I was about to head down to Whiskey Holiday for a drink. Do you want to grab a beer with me?"
Whiskey Holiday is the local watering hole and a staple in Mistletoe. I have been here months and yet to step foot in the establishment. "You know what, man? A beer sounds good."
Ten minutes later, Nash and I are walking into Whiskey Holiday. The heat from the massive stone fireplace wraps around me like a warm blanket. The aromatics in the air: oak, cinnamon, and the smell of the logs burning are inviting, like coming home. Amber lighting, along with colored Christmas lights, set an inviting and relaxed mood, and stress from a long workday leaves my body. Plush couches and leather chairs for seating are spaced perfectly about the large open space. Above my head, I take in the exposed wood ceiling beams.
A waitress carrying a tray spots us and nods toward an empty table in the back corner of the room. "I'll be right with you guys," she tells us.
Duke follows behind as we make our way to the table. The temperature is too cold outside to leave him in the truck, and one of the things I love about this town is most businesses don't mind Duke all that much. Where I go, he goes.
"This place is impressive," I comment as I slip my coat off and take a seat. Duke situates himself under the edge of the table out of the way of foot traffic.
"It is. Winter has outdone herself with it. The tourists love it too. Especially her signature drinks." Nash points to the drink menu lying beside me. Picking it up, I scan it. Christmas Snowstorm Margarita, Holly Jolly Christmas Citrus Cocktail, Candy Cane Vodka Cocktail, Jack Frost Cocktail, Mistletoe Margaritas, White Christmas Martini, the list goes on. "Who did you say owned the place?
"Winter. You'll probably find her behind the bar. She works most nights." Nash jerks his chin and gestures over his shoulder toward the bar. I look in the direction, but all I see is a glimpse of blonde hair peeking over the top of the heads of the people sitting at the bar—our waitress steps in my line of sight.
"Hey, Nash."
Nash gives the waitress a friendly smile. "How's it going, Mel?"
