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"Okay," I said. I was here to solve problems. I might have no idea how to solve the issue with Callan and Uncle Rob, but this? I could handle this. "So, is this a…never mind," I said quickly.
But it was too late.
"It's our sex swing," Mr. Wentworth said, without a lick of shame in his voice. "The exposed beams in here make it the perfect place to hang it. Plus we like to look at the tree."
Oh for the love of Santa! I tried to keep my face neutral as my heart rate sped up. "Sean," I turned to the cameraman who was bright red with the effort of holding his breath so he didn't laugh. "Can you get that ladder so we might get up there and see if maybe one of you guys can loosen that stuck bolt?"
Sean cleared his throat loudly, tried to speak, and released a garbled sound before nodding and heading for the front door.
As I turned back to the sex swing, hanging merrily in the center of the living room, something on the tree caught my attention. And then something else. Oh god, how distracted had I been when I was here before? This was not happening…I had enough problems. As my eyes traveled over the Christmas tree, I realized I should have inspected the actual tree decorations much more closely when I’d been here before. I lifted a hand to one of the hanging decorations and stepped closer. "Are these…?"
"Nipple clamps," Mrs. Wentworth said, coming to my side. "Aren't they pretty?"
I could only nod. No, they were not pretty. They were creepy, and why were they on the tree? What exactly was happening here? I turned to look at the demure Mrs. Wentworth, who was quickly morphing from sweet little matronly lady into some kind of sexual diva in my mind. "Oh," I managed. "And this is…"
"A cock ring," Mr. Wentworth said. "The missus spent hours spray painting those with glitter." He grinned at me as the second cameraman, James, sputtered in the corner of the room while I struggled not to laugh, or cry, or pass out.
"And here is," my hand moved toward another item hanging on the tree as my eyes widened and my breath caught.
"That's an anal plug, dear," Mrs. Wentworth said. "Surely you knew that," she laughed as if she'd just corrected me on the names of the reindeer, not on the fact that the gaudy red plastic plug hanging from the Christmas tree was meant to go up someone's actual butt.
"So your tree is themed," I said, feeling somewhat comatose suddenly. My thoughts scattered as I gazed around at the cozy cottage that had suddenly become some kind of octogenarian pleasure palace. It wouldn't matter if Callan did the show or not. I was going to get fired for not realizing the Wentworths were sex fiends.
"Yes," Mr. Wentworth said. "We thought it would be a good representation of who we are." He and his wife were holding hands, and their fingers were stroking one another somewhat eagerly. I took a step away, feeling oddly touched and repulsed all at once.
Just then, Sean returned with the ladder. "Let's see if we can get the sex swing out of the shot, shall we?" He asked merrily, evidently having regained control of himself outside.
"We might need to just…adjust the décor on the tree," I said, hesitant to actually touch half the items dangling from the pine branches before me.
"Oh, do we have to?" Mrs. Wentworth pouted.
I turned to her, telling myself Mrs. Wentworth was just the nice old lady I’d met before, even if she did have a far more active sex life than…well, than anyone. "We do, I'm afraid," I said. "The show is PG, and we try to avoid too much suggestion of…well…sex."
"It's not like we're going to actually have sex on camera," Mr. Wentworth said loudly. Then he looked over at the camera James was setting up and his face smoothed as an idea clearly popped into his head. "Unless—"
"No, of course not," I cut him off. "Do you have any other decorations for the tree? Maybe something a little more traditional?"
Mrs. Wentworth sighed. "In the back shed. There's a box out there. I think it's labeled 'boring holiday décor.'" I sincerely hoped that meant glass bubbles and reindeer. Boring sounded pretty good at that moment.
I nodded at James to go investigate as I began reluctantly plucking sex toys from the tree and making a small pile at my feet as the Wentworths murmured their disappointment.
Relief claimed me when the couple didn't put up a fight about changing their décor, and I began to feel a little bit more confident about my ability to do my job. Now I just needed to decide how to handle Callan's house. Would I do what my uncle expected? Or was there maybe a way I could give him something so spectacular he wouldn't care whether Callan was on camera or not? And what would happen when my uncle realized my level of involvement with Callan Whitewood? Could I keep it a secret at this point, even though I knew very well I was in love with him?
A full hour later than planned, the filming was finally underway, the Wentworths watching hand-in-hand as the crew progressed through their desexified house slowly.
By the time they'd finished for the day and I’d had a final pre-filming meeting with the crew back at the inn, I had decided what to do.
I composed an email to my uncle, hit 'send,' and closed my laptop, feeling like I had done the best I could in a difficult situation. But this was my job. I’d handled it like a professional. Everyone would just have to accept that this was work—it wasn't personal.
I was just preparing to text Callan, to let him know I was heading over and to ask if I should pick up some food, when Annabelle approached me in the lobby, a wary look on her pretty round face.
"Hi April," she said, her voice a couple notes too high. Her Mrs. Santa costume must have been too tight, I figured, knowing Annabelle would certainly sacrifice her own comfort in the name of holiday cheer.
"Annabelle! How are you?"
Annabelle held a box in her arms, and it looked heavy, but she hugged it tightly to her and dropped her eyes to it for a moment.
"Hey," I said when my friend remained silent. Annabelle seemed upset. Something was wrong. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
