Page 75 of About Last Christmas
Leo palms his neck and sighs. “Looks like someone had fun on Temu.”
I laugh. “It’s so ridiculous, it almost doesn’t feel real.” But it is. Today has officially clenched the title of the weirdest day of my life. And I’ve had some strong contenders.
The infamous heart-shaped jacuzzi tub is in the far corner, but thankfully, there’s a shower in the bathroom to the right.
Leo slides his gym bag off his shoulder and sets it by an oversized gummy bear. He removes his jacket, revealing a button-down shirt. My sneaking glance must be more obvious than I think because he catches me. “What?”
“You’re dressed up more than usual. Did you miss something important today?” A date, maybe? Not that it’s any of my business.
He shakes his head. “Something for work, but it’s not a big deal. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Me too.” He moves to the desk that is surprisingly normal, as if the design funding got cut off once they reached the far side of the suite. “Let’s get room service.”
“You’ve spent enough already. Can we subsist on vending machine junk? It’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.”
“It’s fine, really.” He plucks a menu from the desktop. Along with the menu, there’s an agenda for the SugarFest events and a brochure with “Things to Do” around the area.
I pick up the brochure. It’s outdated, the pages are wrinkly, and I wince at all the germs no doubt layering every inch of this thing. As I leaf through it, a familiar storefront catches my eye. “The Antique Emporium.” I show Leo the picture. “I completely forgot about Alice’s place.”
“Who’s Alice?”
“She’s another antique dealer. I haven’t been in contact with her for years, but it might be worth checking with her for the Vallerton. She’s old school, like Midge. No online presence.” I point to where there’s only an address and phone listed. “I’ll call her in the morning when she reopens.”
He nods. “Maybe we can hit the place tomorrow before we head back.”
In my search for the Vallerton, I’ve neglected my Secret Santa duty. I left the folder in the car and am not motivated toretrieve it. Maybe I can take a break from everything tonight. Yet I’m running out of time as it is. Today’s the seventh, which means I have less than two weeks to find my recipient.
“Looks like we need a Plan B.” Leo’s voice cuts through my overthinking.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no room service tonight because the kitchen’s preparing for the Dough Ball.” He picks up the SugarFest flyer.
I join him in reading the paper. The Dough Ball is a fundraiser event for next year’s SugarFest. “It’s a weirdly clever play on words.”
His eyes meet mine. “The room package comes with two tickets.”
I scoff. “You seriously want to attend?”
He flicks the corner of the page. “They’re serving sirloin and shrimp.”
“Enough said.” But then. “Wait. Is there a dress code?” I glance at Leo’s dirt-stained pants, which I doubt qualifies for ballroom attire.
“Ah, but don’t forget.” He grabs my hand. “We also have store credit.”
I catch on to his reasoning. “Which, according to Dorian the Dubious, has everything from nail files to formalwear.”
Time for shopping.
CHAPTER 22
“I thinkDorian should’ve specified the formalwear is not from this century.” I grimace at an evening gown with shoulder pads so large I can easily pose as a linebacker. You know, if linebackers wore rhinestones. Because this number is glitzed up.
In all the times I’ve visited this town, I’ve never had a reason to go to the hotel. I know from reading the flyer that SugarFest is an annual event that’s been steadily growing, but I have so many questions. What’s the draw? And why does an inn in rural Ohio sell evening attire? Hotel shops should have nail clippers shaped like flip-flops, license plate keychains with names on them, and T-shirts with sayings that were trendy five years ago. While I do spot a sweatshirt that reads, “Powered by Cane Sugar and Bad Decisions,” it’s literally hanging next to a tiered chiffon gown that reminds me of a macaron.
I can’t make it make sense. Such has been the theme of my day.
