Page 9 of Stranded in A Small Town Christmas
Until Natalie brushes my arm on her way to the other side of the room.
I’m alone with her again, and I know I should be listening as she points out the features and quirks of the room I’ll be spending the night in, but it’s hard to concentrate on the remote control and thermostat.
“The underwear is new, though. Don’t worry.”
“Excuse me?” I clearly missed something. “What about underwear?”
“The packages aren’t even open.” I’m about to ask her what package because I have no idea why we’re talking about underwear, but she points to a basket I hadn’t noticed on the floor, next to the wardrobe.
It appears to be folded clothing, and on top of the pile sits two packages—one of what appears to be men’s white briefs and the other white crew socks.
“The underwear isn’t used is what I’m saying,” Natalie continues. “That would be weird.”
Or more weird, at least. “Do you keep a variety of socks and underwear on hand for your guests?”
She laughs. “No. They’re my dad’s Christmas gift from my mother. To make a long story short, in 2016, Dad bought Mom an iron and a car vacuum for Christmas and since then, she’s refused to give him anything but socks and underwear for Christmas.”
I nod because I’ve never even had a wife and I know he asked for that. “I don’t want to take his Christmas presents, though. Such as they are.”
“Mom buys during sales and stuff, and she has a stockpile. Even without these, I think Dad will find underwear under the tree for at least eight more years.” She shrugs. “And the clothes…those are not new. Mom says you’re roughly the same size as my sister’s ex. Lyla put a bunch of boxes in the attic, including some of his stuff, so Mom found you a few things. A little dusty, maybe, but it was clean when it went up there.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I know it’s probably not what you’re used to,” she says, looking around as if trying to see the room through my eyes. Then she snorts. “Not probably. It’s definitely not what you’re used to, but after the day you’ve had, I think you’ll sleep well.”
Or I might lie awake thinking about her all night. “The room is perfect. And without you, I’d probably be trying to sleep sitting up straight in an airport chair, so I really do appreciate everything you’re doing.”
“If you need anything, just call me. You can also text, of course, if it’s not urgent and you have a lot more patience with cycling through number keys than I do.”
We both laugh, and then she lingers, as if she has something else to say. Or maybe as though she’s waiting for me to say something. But what can I say? I certainly can’t tell her I’d like for her to hang out longer so I can get to know her better—a lot better.
“Goodnight, Donovan,” she says, and then she’s gone before I can say anything at all.
It’s probably for the best.
The adrenaline that’s kept me going all day—from getting the news Mom was hurt through the rush to get on a flight, losing my phone and wallet, and the drive through the storm—is seeping out of me and all I want to do is stretch out on the bed and close my eyes.
But first I need to call Mom from the cell phone Stella lent to me. I’d text her, but I’ve had a long day and cycling through numbers trying to find letters isn’t in my current skill set.
Once I’ve explained where I am, and why, I can hear the relief in her voice.
“I’m so glad you’re off the roads, honey. They’re bad, I hear, and getting worse by the minute. The resort is totally booked, too. You were going to have to sleep on the sofa in our suite.”
“Not exactly ideal,” I admit.
“Especially during our anniversary trip,” Mom adds, and she doesn’t sound as if she’s one hundred percent teasing. “This works out perfectly because you can relax for the weekend and we’ll have our driver stop by and pick you up on our way to the airport.”
It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in, and then I don’t know what to say. They’re going to stop and get me on their way through? They were checking out and flying back on Sunday. It’s Thursday. Natalie’s planning to drive me the rest of the way tomorrow, when the storm’s over, and I don’t know how she’s going to feel about fronting me a room for two extra nights.
But there’s no room at the resort, and I absolutely don’t want to crash Mom and Judy’s anniversary trip.
Once I’m off the phone, I rummage through the basket of borrowed clothes. They’re definitely not fashion choices I would make for myself, but they’re clean and I’m surprised to see they will probably fit me. There’s a pair of sweatpants, so I strip out of my suit and take a long, hot shower.
I don’t remember my head hitting the pillow, but the next thing I know, sunlight is streaming into the room and I’m wide awake. I also feel surprisingly refreshed, probably a combination of yesterday’s rollercoaster and an excellent mattress.
I’m more of a black boxer brief guy, but I open the package of white briefs and pull a pair of jeans and a blue flannel shirt out of the basket. My shoes definitely don’t vibe with the flannel, so I pull on the socks and figure I’ll worry about footwear later. Right now, finding coffee is a lot higher on my priority list.
I step into the hall and turn toward the stairs, only to stop short with a strangled sound of surprise stuck in my throat. Not a scream, of course. More like a grunt.
