Page 22 of There's Only One Sleigh
Tomorrow, I think. The roads will be clear and I’ll get to see Whitney again.
Chapter
Seventeen
Whitney
Once the Charming Lake Fire Department has cleared the scene in front of the inn and driven away, there isn’t much to keep me occupied.
The boss doesn’t need anything from me, nor does his wife. The office is running smoothly. There really isn’t anything I can check off the Christmas fair list while trapped inside. Information and tasks can only be organized so much without doing the actual work.
With nothing to keep my brain too occupied to replay kissing Rob over and over, I wander toward the kitchen, looking for distraction. The closer I get, the more delicious the house smells, so at the very least, I might score a yummy snack.
Penny looks up from the process of dropping cookie dough onto a sheet pan, but I can see a rack of freshly baked cookies cooling behind her.
“Is there something you need, Miss Forrester?”
“No, thank you. I’m just going to grab a coffee to fuel my aimless wanderings.”
“I brewed a pot not too long ago, and I’ve only had one cup from it. It’s still pretty fresh.” She sighs and looks over the baking supplies strewn over the kitchen island. “I’m just trying to get these cookies baked before I head home to Maine for the holidays on Thursday morning.”
My brain is so muddled by the aroma of freshly baked cookies and promise of coffee, it takes a minute for the rest of what she said to sink in. “You’re leaving Thursday?”
“Christmas is a big deal for my family. And the inn closes for the holidays, reopening the weekend after New Year’s, so it’s a lovely paid vacation for me.”
Usually I’d be focused on the fiscal impact of not only closing down a business for weeks, but paying employees for the time off. Right now, though, I’m more focused on the factthe inn is closing.
“Mr. Wilson didn’t tell me the inn is closing.” He also didn’t tell me where I’m supposed to sleep once it does. Am I supposed to go back to the city earlier than I thought? I assumed I’d stay through the fair itself, at least.
“Closing toguests,” she says quickly. “The family stays here, so you won’t be rattling around this big house alone.”
“The family stays here,” I repeat, and I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. “All of them?”
Penny laughs. “No, not all of them. And they come and go. Nana Jo stays in the room on this floor because getting ready for the Christmas fair means the entire family will come through at some point. The grandkids stay. And Donovan’s mom and stepmom are coming this year, so they’ll get one of the rooms. I’m not sure how many are planning to sleep here, but it’ll all get figured out.”
I barely keep myself from asking if Rob stays at the house. I’m guessing not, since it sounds like the place will be full and,whether he’s at his home or the fire station, it’s close enough to pop by.
Even though I enjoy his company—and there’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one—it’s probably for the best. I have a hard enough time forcing myself to sleep instead of imagining all the things I’d like to do with Rob Byrne without him being under the same roof.
After preparing myself a large mug of coffee, I lean my hip against the counter and watch Penny slide the cookie sheet into the oven. After setting the timer, she takes a long sip of her own coffee.
“You said you’re headinghometo Maine,” I say. “Are you not from here, then?”
“No, I’m not.” She chuckles. “It’s funny that I said goinghometo Maine when I’ve lived in Charming Lake for almost twenty years. My husband took a teaching job at the elementary school, so we moved here. The marriage ended, but my love for this town didn’t, so here I am.”
The phone rings—the inn’s business line—before I can ask her any more questions, so when she waves for me to help myself to the cooling rack, I top off my coffee, take two cookies and leave her to the phone call.
Rather than going back upstairs to my room, I head for the cozy sitting room. The gas fireplace is on, the flames low, and I curl up at one end of the comfortable sofa. There are coasters on the antique wooden coffee table, and I set my mug down while I nibble at the cookies and skim through my email.
As expected, there isn’t much going on in my email account this close to Christmas. Even though it’s still two weeks away, any sense of urgency has given way to the inevitableafter the holidays.
I open the Facebook app and scroll through the various posts from my family and friends. I rarely say anything myself, but I enjoy seeing photos.
At this time of year, most of them have to do with the upcoming holiday, of course. And by some weird twist of algorithmic fate, my stepmother’s decorated living room photo is followed immediately by my mother’s.
My father’s house has been decorated in the same style for as long as I remember—elegant, with a lot of green boughs and white lights. The few ornaments are glass and perfectly matched. The decor isn’t exactly warm and festive, but it certainly photographs well.
My mother’s house, though? It looks like somebody spent ten years buying Christmas decorations at rummage sales, put them in a big bin, shook it, and then tossed it around her living room. If there was a theme, it would beraggedy Christmas decorations her daughter made in school, and no matter how many times I see her holiday photos come up year after year, they always make me smile.
