AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Welcome!" The woman at the desk called. "Forgive our mess, won't you? We're a little behind in getting our holiday decorations up this year, and I don't know if you heard, butHoliday Homesis being filmed in Singletree," the woman paused, leaning over the front desk and looking around conspiratorially, "and we want to impress those folks."
"Okay, well," I said. "I'm just checking in." I slid my ID and credit card over the smooth polished wood and managed a smile for the rosy-cheeked woman. "April Hall." The woman who accepted my cards with a wide cheerful smile was wearing a sweater that was made to make her look like a Christmas present. It had actual ribbon stitched against a ridiculously busy pattern of snowmen and skiers. The bow sat on her shoulder and the ends of it kept popping into her face, where she had to repeatedly push them away. I wondered how many times a day she had to push that ribbon out of her face.
The woman punched a few keys on the computer behind the desk, and made a few noises of concern. She raised a finger to me and then ducked beneath the desk, shuffling around in a drawer. "Just a second, so sorry," she squeaked, popping up again and punching a few more keys as she batted the shiny green ribbon from her mouth. "Would your reservation be under a different name, maybe?"
The cross-country flight and confusing drive began to weigh on me, and I leaned an elbow on the desk. "Oh, right. Yes, look up Juliann Stevens. I took her spot."
"Aha, here she is! Oh, but..." the woman's eyes widened and she glanced quickly from the screen to me and back down again. "Ms. Stevens was part of the show," she said, her voice breathy. "Does that mean you're...?"
I cringed. I would have liked to maintain my anonymity, at least at the hotel where I would be coming to escape all the Christmas craziness every night, but I didn't see how that would be possible, given that the whole crew was also staying here. "Yes, I'm the producer ofHoliday Homes," I confirmed, my voice ragged with exhaustion.
"Ah!" The woman chirped. "Wonderful! I'll be right back!" She disappeared into a room behind the check-in area and I slumped farther over the counter, wishing for nothing more than a quiet room and maybe a warm bath. "Here it is!"
I couldn't see the woman's face because she returned carrying an enormous basket wrapped in cellophane. It was hard to tell what was inside, but I could see a variety of items decorated with crabs and the Maryland state flag, and plenty of Christmas mugs and candy canes and glittery ornaments. The entire thing was tied with a huge ribbon that shone in metallic and glittery red and green and seemed to be vomiting silver glitter. "A little something from the Inn," the woman said, hoisting the basket to the counter and into my face. Tiny showers of sparkly glitter cascaded to the counter.
"Oh," I said, leaning to the side to see around the massive basket. "That's so...well, wow. That's lovely. Thank you."
"We're tickled to have you," the woman told her, her face pink with excitement under the close-cropped gray curls, which were now dusted with red and green sparkles. "I'm Annabelle Adams. I own the inn, and don't you hesitate to come to me for just anything at all, okay?"
"Thanks so much." I considered asking for a dust buster and lint roller to combat the glitter I was now certain would be attached to me for the remainder of my stay in Singletree.
"Now, let's see. Miss Hall. I've got you in our Dickens Suite. That's on the top floor."
"That sounds lovely," I said, accepting my card and ID back and tucking them into my pocket.
"It's our most festive room during the holidays," Annabelle said with a nod.
My spirits sank further. Evidently producing the Christmas episode meant everyone I met would automatically assume I was just as Christmas-crazy as the people who decked out every inch of their houses on the show. "Great," I said with no inflection at all.
"Here's your key, and you call me if you need anything. We've got a cocktail hour every night here in the lobby at five, and there are usually guests in the library after that playing board games and sitting by the fire."
"Great," I said again, nearly desperate now to just sit down somewhere quiet. The bustle of the workers around the lobby was almost comical. People were dashing to and fro, carrying bells and faux candles. Just as I turned from the desk, a looming presence appeared behind me and I stifled a scream as a life-sized St. Nicolas doll stopped inches from my face and then moved in a jolting progression farther across the lobby.
"Isn't he amazing?" Annabelle asked.
"Erm. Yes," I said, watching the enormous old fashioned Santa make his way to a far corner, carried by a worker about half the statue's size.
A few minutes later, I was unlocking the door to the Dickens Suite and stepping inside. The young man from the front door was behind me with my suitcase and the oversized Christmas basket in his arms. A festive trail of green and red glitter spilled down the hallway and through my door as he moved past me to put things down, thanks to the exuberant bow on the basket.
The suite was lovely, if you could overlook the wreaths and glittering globes and the huge tree standing in one corner wafting pine scent throughout the space. The tree was festooned with ribbons and balls, gleaming in the light, and I knew that anyone else stepping into this charming room would feel their spirits lift and would probably experience some kind of warm nostalgia relating to the holiday season. But the sight of the tree and the stockings hanging from the mantle caused a hard knot to form in my gut and settle there as my own memories soured any enthusiasm I might have scraped together for my new job.
"I'll just put this down here," he said, setting the basket on a table. He left the suitcase by the door, accepted the tip I extended and wished me goodnight, and finally, I was alone. I looked around, a dark feeling of something like sorrow filling me as the tree twinkled merrily in its corner.
“Nope,” I said, realizing I’d never be able to function in a room decorated to within an inch of its life. I moved quickly through the suite of rooms, removing every holiday item I could easily detach from where it had been stuck, hung or placed, and deposited as much of it as I could in the dry cleaning bag hanging in the closet. I couldn't think with all the sparkle and cheer around me. The stockings came down, the reindeer was removed, and the festive hand towels in the bathroom were switched out for the plain white ones I found in the top of the closet. I wrestled the glittery bow from the basket, hoping to banish it to the trash can so it couldn't infect one more item with clingy glitter, but I mostly managed to explode the stuff all over the room and myself in the effort.
When I was finished undecorating, only the tree glittered mockingly from its corner, and I almost believed I could feel my mind clearing, despite the glitter I’d probably never get washed from my hands.
2
Take Your Code and Shove it
Callan
Ipulled my car up to the big iron gates at the address I’d been given over the phone, taking a moment to marvel at the sheer size of the house beyond the gate. It was big, and it was isolated, that was for sure—I’d driven down a long lane with fields on each side, and turned onto that from a quiet country road. I couldn't see another house from where I sat. No people. No cars. No neighbors.
Good. This was exactly what I told the real estate agent I wanted. And now it was mine.
As I sat staring at the tall iron gates of my new home, another car pulled down the long lane and stopped behind my own. A tall woman with dark hair slicked into a knot, wearing a huge scarf and big sunglasses got out and approached my window. “Callan Whitewood?" She leaned down, grinning, one hand holding the scarf down to keep it beneath her chin.
