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"I'll be totally honest. I have no clue who you are—I mean, if you're someone I should know, well, I don’t, sorry. So you don't have to worry about me asking you for a selfie or anything like that. And I don't really need anything from you," April said, her words coming fast. "I just need your house."
Surprise flooded me and I couldn't help a bark of laughter that rolled out of me at her honesty and her pitch for my new home. "It's not for sale."
"No, no." April ran a hand through that mass of dark hair and it fell back around her neck and shoulders, glossy and thick. "Look, I'm sorry for barging in. I'm the producer of the showHoliday Homes. I was sent out here to solidify locations in Singletree to feature on the Christmas show, and your house is at the top of our list. Someone should have spoken to you already, and my executive producer says the contract was signed long ago, but maybe since you're just moving in…"
Frustration made my head pound. A contract? A television show? She had to be kidding. "No thanks."
"Mr. Whitewood, you bought the oldest and most historic house in town—the place was a plantation manor in the seventeen hundreds, and it's a critical part of the area's history. There's only one other house here with the same merits, history, and charm, and the woman who owns it ran our producers off her land with a shotgun in one hand and a joint in the other when they made their initial site visits. Your house is it, and featuring it on the show is a way to honor that incredible legacy, and if everyone I've talked to in town so far is right, the show won't be complete without it. The real estate agent my predecessor worked with promised us she'd spoken to you about it and that you signed the show contract, agreeing to be featured."
I scanned my foggy memory. Jessicahadsaid something about decorating, or holidays…I hadn't paid much attention once I’d had the keys. Still, no one could barge in and force me to hang tinsel in my own house. I shook my head, "I didn't sign a contract that I recall, and I'm pretty sure I just told you no thanks." I moved around April, hoping that if I started walking down the stairs, she might follow, and it would put an end to this ridiculous conversation. I came here to get out of a spotlight, not to shine one directly inside my home.
April followed me down the stairs. "Look," she tried again, but I didn't stop limping toward the exit. "It's just that, I mean...I'm kind of in a bad situation." Her voice softened, and I could hear that she wasn't trying to sell anything now. She sounded legitimately sad, and I hated the way my blood warmed in some misplaced protective instinct. I faced her, against my better judgment. "It's kind of my last chance, this show...and well, if I can't feature your house, I'm pretty sure I'll lose my job." The bright eyes glistened as she stopped on the bottom stair, turning and looking back at me, her pretty lips pressed together.
I chuckled as I realized she was definitely still selling me—this was just another tactic. She was good, I thought. I almost believed her, not that it would have changed my mind. I was about to say something that would probably have been less than friendly when her face seemed to crumple, but then she quickly regained composure, pushing a hand through that incredible hair once more.
"I'm so sorry. That—that last part—that shouldn't make a difference. That's my problem, and clearly, I just need to do a better job explaining things, and—"
"No," I said, wondering now how much of her explanation was an act and how much was real. "Look, it has nothing to do with you. And I'm sure it's a great show and everything, okay? It's just that I'm really trying to keep my life private right now," I said. "To keep a low profile. You understand? I'll talk to a lawyer if I need to. I was kind of on autopilot when I signed all the paperwork, so whatever I signed—well, I'll just get it undone. I'm sorry for the confusion."
We stood on the bottom step of the grand sweeping staircase, and the movers came in and out the big front door ahead of us, carrying furniture and boxes. The sounds of scraping and shifting floated through the air along with the damp fecund smell of moist leaves littering the ground outside. April stared at me for a long moment, her eyes piercing the shield I’d been working impossibly hard to maintain as I felt a little piece of my wall shatter and fall, and then she nodded quickly. "I get it. I do."
She stepped down the final step and looked back up at me, her bright eyes glowing again. "But you should know I don't give up easily."
"The gate out front isn't usually standing wide open, you know."
She peered out the front door at the iron gate standing open at the entrance of my driveway. "I think I can scale it. I'm pretty athletic." She winked at me and then strode to the open door, turning. "See you again soon!"
That simple statement should have irritated me—I hated it when people wouldn't take no for an answer—and it did bother me, a little bit. But it also struck me like a promise, and despite the many promises broken in my life lately, I couldn't help feeling a little flicker of hope that April might keep hers. Even if I had no intention of being on her show, I wouldn't mind seeing her again.
3
There is Such a Thing as Too Much Cheer
April
Ireturned to the Inn that Christmas ate, only slightly demoralized by my less-than-successful attempt to confirm the most important home on the list. At least I’d had no issues with the other two homeowners I’d visited. They'd been friendly and almost too excited about the whole thing. I was shuffling papers into my bag as I entered the inn, wishing I’d paid more attention to my mother's organizing tips, when Annabelle at the front desk called out for me.
"Oh, Miss Hall!"
The front desk was an explosion of cheer now that the lobby décor was finished, and Annabelle wore an elf hat and a little white collar with peppermints fastened to the points that draped around her shoulders and chest. I approached, unable to stop my mouth from dropping open as I got a good look at my hostess. Annabelle's ears were usually hidden by the soft short gray curls that framed her face, but today they were visible. And they were pointed, like an elf's. Only upon closer inspection could I see the lines around the prosthetic additions to the woman's natural ears.
"Aren't they marvelous?" Annabelle raised a hand to touch the pointy tip of one ear.
I smiled to keep myself from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. "They are something," I agreed.
"I have something special for you," Annabelle said, reaching beneath the counter and producing a huge gingerbread house on a foil-covered tray, dotted with gumdrops and candy canes and absolutely screaming of Christmas cheer.
"That's...for me?" I stared at the thing, which was easily as large as my overnight bag.
"The third graders had a field trip to the corner cafe today and they all worked together to make this in honor of the show coming to Singletree." Annabelle said, her smile wide and open. "Everyone's just so excited about it."
"Not everyone," I said, before I could stop myself.
Annabelle's smile faded and she shook her head a touch, as if trying to imagine who in the world wouldn't be excited about my insane holiday spectacle of a show. Her eyebrows pulled together.
"Is something wrong, dear?" Annabelle set the house on the reception counter.
I hadn't actually meant to confide in Annabelle, and a little spike of fear edged through me, accelerating my heartbeat. I needed to walk a fine line producing this show. I couldn't break any rules, couldn't even slip a toe into the rule-breaking pool. I needed to pretend that pool wasn't even there, not even spare a glance at any rule-breaking skinny dippers who might be cavorting over there, trying to coax me toward the swim-up bar. So I wondered, was confiding in an innkeeper about a difficult host breaking a rule? "It's not a big deal. Just ran into a little reluctance today over at Singletree Manor."
