Page 7 of Stranded in A Small Town Christmas
I can tell from the vehicles in the parking area that most of my family left early, before the storm got bad. But my parents and Nana Jo are still here, as well as my sister Lyla and her two girls. Mel and Elsie are six and four, and once a sleepover at the inn has been promised, not even Mother Nature can retract it.
Usually I go around to the back door, but I have a billionaire with me, so I lead him up the walkway—illuminated by subtle, solar powered lighting—to the front door. Thankfully, it’s been freshly salted, probably by my dad, so neither of us fall on our asses. None of us asked Santa for a personal injury lawsuit this year.
“Is everything okay?” Donovan asks, and I realize I’m standing with my hand on the doorknob, looking at him. “You’re frowning at me again.”
I don’t want to confess I was wondering if he’d sue us if he fell. On the one hand, it’s not as if he needs the money. On the other hand, a man doesn’t get a billion dollars by leaving money on the table. But he hasn’t fallen—I knock on the wooden door to fend off the jinx—so it doesn’t matter.
“Sorry. I was thinking about what a skating rink that driveway’s going to be in the morning,” I lie, and then I push open the door and almost knock the older of my two nieces on her ass.
“Mel! What are you doing?”
“You knocked on the door, so I was going to open it.”
“You did knock, which I thought was a little odd since you said you live here,” Donovan confirms, and I remember the light rap I’d given the door to ensure our guest didn’t fall and bankrupt us.
I don’t really have a good reason for knocking I care to share, though, so I lean down to look Mel over. “I didn’t bonk you in the head, did I?”
“No bonks.” She giggles and then turns her attention to Donovan. “Who died?”
“I…” Donovan stops, clearly confused. “I don’t know.”
“Nobody died. Funerals are the only time her dad and granddad ever wear a suit like that,” I explain. Neither of them actually owns a suit that nice, but I keep that to myself as Elsie runs into the foyer. I give her a quick hug before introducing them to Donovan. “This is Mr. Wilson. And these are my nieces—Mel, who is six, and Elsie is four.”
He gives them a dramatic bow that makes them laugh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t know you could have twins two years apart.”
It’s not the first time we’ve heard that joke, but I laugh anyway. “They’re both the spitting image of their mother, too. Just be warned, if you mention the strong resemblance in front of my mom, you’ll spend your evening looking at every picture she ever took of Lyla when she was their ages. And Mom takes a lot of pictures.”
“Somebody has to,” Mom says as she steps into the foyer, with my dad, grandmother, and sister right behind her. They’re probably all curious to hear about the stranger I’d not only let into my Jeep, but brought home with me. “If it had been up to your father, all we’d have to remember your childhoods by would be school pictures and somehow all three of you girls managed to look like you just crawled out of a dumpster after a three-day bender on picture days.”
“This is Donovan Wilson, who doesn’t need to know everything about our lives. He’s trying to get to Stowe because his mom was hurt skiing—she’s okay—but the weather turned ugly on us. Donovan, my parents—Stella and Randy Byrne—and my sister, Lyla. I don’t need to tell you she’s Mel and Elsie’s mom, of course. And my grandmother, Josephine, who goes by Nana Jo whether she’s your nana or not.”
“It’s nice to meet you all,” Donovan says. “I appreciate the hospitality. I left my briefcase on the plane, with my phone and wallet in it, so I was stranded at the airport.”
“And now you’re stranded in Charming Lake,” Mom says. “There are worse places to be.”
“You put your wallet in your briefcase?” Dad asks, and then he grunts when Mom elbows him in the side.
“I won’t do it again,” Donovan says easily. “Luckily, Natalie rescued me.”
“Natalie loves to bring home strays, and this is much better than the time she brought home the stray raccoon.” Donovan gives me a questioning look, and I roll my eyes. My parents have worked Robby the Raccoon into a surprising number of conversations over the years, and I’m tired of hearing about him. “You two must be hungry. Everybody’s going in the TV room to watch Christmas movies while wrapping gifts for the Santa Fund kids, but you go sit in the dining room and I’ll bring you plates.”
I notice Donovan doesn’t seem to have a problem with being bossed around by my mother. I doubt being told what to do is a big part of his personality, but if he went straight from a business meeting to a plane, he probably hasn’t had a decent meal in a while.
It’s hard to say if he’s going to have a decent meal now or not. It depends on who made it, since we’re mediocre cooks at best. My mom’s friend freelance cooks for us if we have guests who request meals, but there’s a reason we’re an inn and not a bed-and-breakfast. Nobody’s handing out stars for cold cereal and over-toasted bagels.
I guess it’s Donovan’s lucky day because not only did he get rescued by a woman who owns a four-wheel-drive and an inn, but Mom carries two plates of Nana Jo’s lasagna into the dining room. Of all the Byrne women, she’s the best in the kitchen, but it’s a low bar.
“Thank you,” Donovan says when she sets a plate in front of him. “I was going to ask to borrow your phone to let my mother know I’m off the roads for the night, but this smells amazing.”
I slide my phone toward him. “You can send her a text if you want. It’s a pretty formal dining room, but no guests means no rules.”
“Thank you, but I’ll just wait and call her. Once a text exchange with my mom is started, it's hard to get out of. Same with a phone call, actually.”
“Oh!” Mom was almost out of the dining room, but now she turns back. “You don’t have your phone.”
“It’s in my briefcase with my wallet,” Donovan reminds her, his fork in midair because he was about to take his first bite of lasagna.
“I have that prepaid cell phone Marilyn bought to harass…” My mom hesitates, leaving a few awkward seconds of silence before she rallies. “The one she bought before she lost her husband. I just charged it, too, because I was thinking about giving it to somebody who might need it. Let me get it from the kitchen.”
