Page 2 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
I glue a bright smile onto my face. “Christmas tree coming through. Ho, ho, ho.”
Business travelers glance up from their laptops, and I wink.
Some passengers are curled in armchairs watching planes land and take off again and again and again. Others pile food onto tiny plates.
A TV plays, and the sound fills the room as I set up the Christmas tree and start to decorate it.
The anchor speaks with his customary formality despite wearing a Santa hat: “King Erik of Solberg has arrived in Nevada. He’ll visit Mistletoe Springs with his son, Crown Prince Anders. It’s the king’s first U.S. visit since Queen Sissel’s passing. Will one of the world’s most eligible men return to the dating market?”
My forehead scrunches up.
Mistletoe Springs is amazing. Close to Las Vegas but surrounded by red sandstone mountains instead of bright lights. People here love Christmas.
We’ve got royals coming from Solberg? Ain’t that some Scandinavian country? Geography has never been my specialty. Dean got Max and me passports to go to Italy, but he passed before we could go.
Mistletoe Springs has never had any royals visit it. No wonder it’s made the news. I hang bulbs on the branches and inhale the scent of pine needles and all things wonderful.
The TV flickers. A solemn blond man disembarks from one of those fancy private jets. A teenager is beside him. He looks like a slenderer, more somber version of the king.
A passenger in a crimson velvet blazer takes a scoop of salad from the buffet. “If I see the king, I’m proposing.”
“He’s straight, sugarplum,” the man beside him says, all tender scoffing.
They continue to chatter happily about the royal visit, and nope, I ain’t missing Dean. Wonder what he would make of royals in Mistletoe Springs.
Mr. Brenner’s eyes remain on me, and his jaw does one of those tightening things that means bad, bad, bad. Maybe I didn’t need to get the largest tree, but by heck this lounge deserves a big ol’ fluffy one.
Some people say lounges shouldn’t have Christmas trees because guests can celebrate the holiday once they arrive at their destination.
But what if they get stuck? What if their plane is delayed? Or worse, canceled? What if the tree makes them feel good? And makes their day gets a tiny bit brighter?
I place the Christmas tree near the unfinished glass wall, so even people in the hallway will be able to see it and enjoy it and be happy. Needles sprinkle over the fancy carpet, and I decorate the tree.
The TV anchor continues to talk about the king’s visit, and yeah, it’s huge news. We never have royals visit. It’s big news when anyone from a foreign country visits, much less one of those people who wear a crown.
Christmas music croons in the lounge, and I tap my foot as I hang up ornaments.
Passengers stare at me, suitcases tucked beside their armchairs.
Finally, I grasp the final piece. The thing that makes Christmas, Christmas.
Mistletoe.
The sprigs prickle my palm as I haul myself up the ladder. People walk through the glass hallway. They stare at me as well, like they’ve never seen anyone decorate.
Mr. Brenner glowers with the force of the truly miserable.
I square my shoulders and don’t flinch under his glare. Well, mostly not.
This is the reason I’m bringing Christmas to the VIP lounge. Everyone needs joy in their life, even if it’s the garland and red ribbon sort of joy.
“When I hired your company for a Christmas display, I didn’t expect mistletoe,” Mr. Brenner says.
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Brenner.” I concentrate on attaching the mistletoe to the ceiling.
“Leave it, Glen. We don’t want guests kissing.”
“We’re in Mistletoe Springs. We gotta have mistletoe.” I perch on my tiptoes, unfazed by the fact I’m already on a ladder.
