'Twas the Kiss Before Christmas

by Susan Hatler

  “A day spa?” I asked, my tone incredulous. A new owner had sounded traumatizing enough. “You would sell to someone who planned to shut down Silver Bells completely?”

  “I have a lot of work to do today, so I won’t be back to the office.” He stood, his tone cold as he placed his napkin on the table. “Please use the company card to pay for lunch. Shall we meet in the office on Monday at say eleven-thirty?”

  “You’re the boss,” I said, wondering how our deep conversation had gone so wrong.

  Chapter Six

  After the turmoil of the day, I invited Morgan over for dinner and some girl time. Not only was I sad and disappointed that Adam was selling Silver Bells, but our conversation left me doubting that he was completely certain about his decision. The guilty feelings he had inside him could not be allowing him to think with a clear head. There had also been a little nostalgia in the way he’d talked about Christmas Mountain before he moved to New York.

  Okay, yes, I was being a bit pushy about not selling the business, especially considering I was the employee and not the boss. But if Adam sold the place and regretted it then I knew I would kick myself for not helping him be sure he was making the right choice—for him, and for his dad. Mr. Kline had been a wonderful boss and I wanted to do right by him.

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and went into the kitchen to check the pot roast I had made for dinner. I’d opened a bottle of Bordeaux and the wine was breathing on the table. I grabbed a couple of glasses from the cupboard, grimacing as I noticed the thin layer of dust on the stems. I wasn’t given to drinking alone so the glassware only made an appearance when I had guests over. Nine times out of ten my friends and I would go out to eat at Sleigh Café, or The Chop House on nicer occasions. Thus, my wine glasses didn’t get used often. I had just finished washing and drying the wine glasses when there was a knock on the door.

  “Hi!” I opened the door and gave my friend a big hug, holding her a little longer than usual. “It’s been a day. Glad you could come.”

  “Glad you invited me,” she said, slipping out of her winter jacket and hanging it up on the rack by the front door. “Where’s Ruby?”

  I’d also invited Morgan’s roommate, Ruby, whose parents owned the Sugar Plum Inn. We’d all been friends since grade school. “Ruby had a crisis at work.”

  “More drama at Divine Doggie Spa and Training? Why am I not surprised?”

  I laughed. “There’s a problem with a King Charles Spaniel’s outfit for the doggie parade this year. It’s one canine crisis after another there.”

  “I can relate,” Morgan said, then shook her head. “Not to dog owner troubles, but I’ve been rushed off my feet with all of the women in Christmas Mountain wanting their hair and nails done for the holiday season.”

  “Your business is doing so well,” I said, feeling a pang that the quirky Kline business wasn’t doing so well financially.

  “Definitely can’t complain. Tourism here is doing slightly better than last year, but nothing to cheer about so I’m lucky.”

  “Well deserving of your talent, too.” I poured wine into both glasses, and then handed one to Morgan. “Dinner won’t be long, just waiting for the veggies to cook. Come sit down.”

  Morgan sat opposite me on the couch, taking a sip of wine and then setting her glass down on the coffee table. She held her hands out to the fire appreciatively. “You’ve lit the fire. . . What’s up?”

  I smiled. Morgan knew me too well, her words reminding me that I rarely light the fire, opting for the simpler radiators in the apartment instead. As much as I adored the glow and crackle of a real fire, it was far quicker, not to mention easier, to flick a switch for almost instant heat. But I needed the comfort of the real thing after the day I’d had.

  “Let me dish up our plates and I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

  As we ate, I told Morgan about the tour, and Adam’s plan to still sell Silver Bells. She dropped in groans and sighs at all the right intervals, even though she was a shrewd businesswoman and knew that Adam’s plans made sense financially, at least for him.

  “So, I guess the eyelash extensions didn’t convince him to keep Silver Bells and stay in Christmas Mountain, huh?”

  “Not even close.” I shook my head, giving a small smile at her joke. “Seriously, Morgan, I can’t bear the thought of old Mr. Kline’s dream being torn down and turned into a day spa. You can find at least one of those in every resort, but you’ll never find another Silver Bells. I mean, where else can you take a sleigh ride through Santa’s Grotto and the entire elf village hidden away in the forest?”

  Her eyes crinkled. “The North Pole?”

  “Exactly!” I placed my glass down a little too hard as I emphasized my point, which slopped wine over the side onto the table. I wiped up the burgundy pool, before licking my finger. “That’s exactly what makes Silver Bells so special. It’s as close as you can get to the real deal, and there’s no other place like it. It would be a crime to destroy it.”

  Morgan set her knife and fork down on her plate, and pushed it away from her as she settled her elbows on the table. “My mother would kill me for sitting like this. Don’t put your elbows on the table Morgan, it’s not ladylike, she’d say.”

  It always made me laugh when Morgan mimicked her mom. I liked Mrs. Reed, but she was what my own mother would call society—her way of saying they had money, which of course they did, given that they owned Reed Bank.

  “Okay, so Adam wants to sell and you don’t want him to sell, right?” Morgan picked up the bottle of wine and held it out in front of me to ask if I wanted more. I nodded and she poured another splash into each of our glasses before grinning.

  “Morgan Reed, I know that smile. You’re hatching a plan.”

  She set the bottle down and leaned toward me. “Maybe you could make sure he can’t sell it. Like, sew raw fish into the hem of the curtains or something.”

  “We have wooden blinds.” I wrinkled my nose, another one of Morgan’s mom’s pet hates: Wrinkles give you lines, dear, she’d say to me. “Plus, why would I bring fish into the equation?”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Well, would you buy a store that smelled like rotting pond life? I know I wouldn’t.” She sat back in her chair, her pear-green eyes twinkling with mischief as she watched me over the rim of her glass. “Stick a fish in the blinds. Make Silver Bells un-buyable.”

  I picked up my glass and stood. “Let’s go outside, it’s starting to snow.”

  Morgan grabbed a couple of blankets off the couch and followed me out onto my porch, before handing one to me and wrapping the other around her shoulders. “I was joking about the fish. Well, kind of. But seriously, Faith, there are things you could do to mess with his plans. At the very least it’ll buy you time to convince Adam of Silver Bells’ charm.”

  I sat on one of the rocking chairs, which my grandmother had left me, a throwback to my childhood when she’d pull me onto her lap and read me stories before bed. “Okay, so scrap the fish thing, but what else could we do?”

  Morgan tapped her cheek for a minute. “You could buy stink bombs from old Mr. Hardy’s store, and set them off in the store?”

  “Or I could fill the potential buyers’ city slicker shoes with reindeer poop while they’re trudging around outside in snow boots?” I suggested, getting into this.

  Morgan slapped the arm of the other rocker as she warmed to her subject. “I know, I know . . . you could get them to stay overnight and then creep into their room since you have a master key. You could wear a white sheet and scare them away, telling them the whole site is haunted by the Kline ancestors, who vowed to torment anyone who threatened to destroy the place.”

  “Like this?” I pulled the blanket over my head, spread out my arms, and got up, looming over Morgan’s chair and letting out ghostly wails as I did so.

  She shrieked. “Yeah, but lose the multi-colored throw, Faith. There’s nothing scary about a rainbow ghost!” Morgan sto
od, and draped her blanket over the chair she had just vacated. “You’ll think of something, Faith, you always do.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I should go. My mom is coming in to get her hair done.” She gave a mock shock face, and then turned to leave. “See you soon.”

  As I heard the front door of her SUV close, I smiled as I thought about the evening. Morgan and her silly sabotage plans. What was she thinking? Too funny. But as I leaned on the porch railing, looking out at the snowy scene I loved so much, a plan formed in my mind. Putting off potential buyers might not be such a farfetched idea after all.

  It wasn’t like I had any other strategies up my parka and desperate times called for anything-that-could-possibly work. Right? I had an idea or two percolating, but I’d have to ask for help from a certain someone. With that settled, I went inside to make a phone call.

  Chapter Seven

  On Monday morning at just past eleven, Morgan’s older brother, Connor Reed, walked into the Silver Bells Luxury Tours store per my request. The Reed family was a distinguished group here in Christmas Mountain and Connor looked every bit the part. He managed the loan department at Reed Bank, drove a silver BMW, and dressed for work like he owned the bank himself. He had the same pear-green eyes as Morgan, his dark hair was neatly styled back, and he wore a designer sweater that fit his muscular physique. The guy was a catch, for sure.

  Back when I was a sophomore in high school, I’d gone with Connor to his senior prom. We’d double dated with his best friend Dallas and his date Nina, hit the dance floor hard, and had an amazing time. There was talk that we were a couple after that, but nothing could be further from the truth. With zero chemistry between us, we stayed in the friend zone, which was why he’d agreed to this favor I’d asked of him.

  As he came toward me, I straightened next to the newly-fixed mannequin, who had two arms again—yay! She made me think back to how cute Adam had looked after de-arming her last week, which made me feel a little guilty about my plan to sabotage his potential buyers. But I reminded myself that this was for a good cause.

  “Good morning, Faith.” Connor’s pear-green eyes twinkled at me. “You know you owe me big time for this. Now tell me what my role is.”

  “Just hang out here in the store and act like that’s a normal routine for you. Get in the way of the potential buyers. Be a bit of a nuisance.” I twisted my hands together. “Act like you feel this is home and you’re not sure about them being here, like they’re not worthy.”

  Laughter spilled from his mouth. “What?”

  I patted his arm. “Just go with whatever I say, okay? Please.”

  He nodded. “I got you. I think I can handle it.”

  “Great. Just, um . . .” I looked around for Harmony, knowing I needed her to drop that paperwork Adam wanted on his desk for me. “Make yourself at home.”

  “All right.” He plopped down in a camp chair just as Harmony came in.

  Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not going to ask why you’re sitting in that camp chair. I don’t even want to know. Okay, maybe I want to know a little. What are you doing here, Connor?”

  “I’m just a guy in a camp chair.” He leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. He flopped one booted foot onto a box holding new items that needed shelving. He was using it as a makeshift Ottoman. I told myself it was fine.

  “Adam asked for these figures, if you wouldn’t mind taking them to him.” I handed Harmony the paperwork he wanted for his potential buyers and the numbers didn’t bode well for keeping Silver Bells from becoming a day spa (oh the horror).

  “Will do,” Harmony said, and nodded, going back to the business office.

  I dipped my fingers into a thermos I’d filled with snow, dropping bits of snow here and there along the floor, which took me a few minutes as I did a thorough job. Then I grabbed a magazine and tossed it at Connor just as the door opened and Adam swept through the front door with the prospective buyers.

  The couple walking behind him looked glossy-magazine cover worthy. I’m talking perfect hair, designer clothes that looked like something right off the slopes of Aspen—if we pulled this off I needed to add that line to our store—with tanned faces and glowing skin. Their smiles? The next time the power went out, I wanted someone with teeth that big, white, and perfect nearby.

  But who was the man behind them? The couple’s goober younger brother they were obligated to bring along? The younger man wore a rumpled suit, wire-rimmed glasses, and his coat looked like he’d thrown it on in a hurry. It also looked two sizes too big.

  Adam strode toward me. “Faith, there you are.”

  “Who’s the guy?” I whispered.

  “Another buyer,” he whispered, flaring his eyes.

  “You’re showing to multiple buyers at the same time?” I asked, thinking that was a dumb move and maybe I wouldn’t need much sabotage to kill these potential deals.

  “Not intentionally,” he whispered, making a show of shaking my hand, presumably to fool the buyers into thinking we were exchanging professional information but really his touch only succeeded in making my belly flip. “The guy behind them showed up unannounced and insisted on coming. He’s from New York and was supposed to arrive on Wednesday. I’m not happy, but not much I can do. Would appreciate your help.”

  “Of course.” I grimaced, remembering my talk with Harmony this morning and that this guy from New York was the one who wanted to turn the business into a day spa if it wasn’t profitable. I’d have to let Connor know to really scare this goob away.

  Adam introduced the couple to me first, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. He was in finance and they loved resort towns and had been to Christmas Mountain many times over the years. The other guy was Miles Wilson, from New York.

  “Faith is our manager and can help you with anything you need,” Adam said, making me feel special and appreciated before I remembered he wanted me to work against Silver Bells’ interests.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile as I shook their hands.

  Connor looked up from his magazine as Harmony came back in carrying two boxes filled with cinnamon rolls.

  “Please help yourselves to our wonderful coffee bar, with cocoa, too. The pastries are fresh from Jingle Bells Bakery,” I said.

  “Yummy!” Connor sprang to his feet, practically elbowing the Johnsons out of the way as he grabbed a pastry. Then he poured himself a tall coffee, returned to his chair, and flopped back.

  I bit my upper lip, trying to suppress the burst of laughter that wanted to escape.

  All eyes watched as Connor took a hearty bite, a heartier gulp, and then immersed himself in the magazine again. It was then that I realized it was the latest issue of a women’s magazine. The cover showed a woman in a sparkly sweater and carried the promise of “The Most Delicious Low-Cal Christmas Treats You’ll Ever Bake!”

  Harmony’s jaw dropped open for a moment, before she ducked her head and escaped back into the business office.

  Adam gave Connor a sidelong glance, turned to me and lifted his eyebrows.

  “Nothing to worry about,” I whispered, waving my hand. “He’s in here all the time.”

  If the Johnsons and Miles Wilson seemed bothered by the odd man in the chair, they didn’t show it. Instead, they went to the coffee bar and returned with cups and treats in hand. Darn. But then Connor yawned loudly, raising his arms above his head before scratching his belly.

  Miles Wilson was giving Connor some serious side eye, so maybe the plan was working. I decided to press it a little.

  “The store’s known for being welcoming, even to those with less than adventurous souls. I never turn a customer down, and I really think we might be able to book a tour with this guy today,” I said, using an upbeat sales-worthy tone.

  Adam darted a look at Connor that said he wished he would find his welcome a little less . . .warm. I had to stifle a laugh. I was going to owe Connor big time, but it would be totally worth it. Connor looked like he
had settled in for the duration. I wouldn’t have been shocked if he kicked his shoes off and went after some of the high-end fur-lined slippers we sold.

  Connor looked up right on cue. “I was wondering, how survival-ready are those SUVs you use for tours anyway? I mean, say you might get us to the top of the mountain but what if we get an avalanche?”

  “An avalanche?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

  “It’s what happens after a big slab of snow forms on top of looser snow.” Connor held out his arms and seemed to be using some surfer-dude kind of voice like he was an extra in Point Break. “The looser snow can’t hold it. The big slab goes down, taking whatever’s in its path along for the ride. You can get boulders, debris . . .”

  “Fallen tree limbs,” I put in.

  “Smaller rocks and a lot of loose snow,” Connor continued.

  Miles, clearly a man who considered risks, chimed in, “They can knock down a house and take out the roofs and walls too.”

  Connor lifted his chin. “An avalanche could take out the whole town. At any minute.”

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug him or slug him. He was putting it on more thickly than I had hoped for. Maybe too dire.

  “Well, an avalanche can happen,” Mr. Johnson said. “But it’s usually back country. We’ve never seen one in a single skiing season, have we, honey?”

  Mrs. Johnson’s cheek dimpled. But she looked nervous.

  “We haven’t had one in a while, thank goodness,” Connor said, and I could hear the audible sigh Mrs. Johnson let out. “But when we get them, they just keep on coming. It’s like the mountain has decided to throw a whopper of a snowball fight.”

  Adam’s mouth fell open. He held up a finger, dropped it, and closed his mouth.

  “The SUVs?” Connor asked.

  Adam’s jaw tensed. “Our SUVs are very well equipped and in the very unlikely event that we were going off-road and near an avalanche, we should be able to get all our clients away from danger long before there was anything to worry about.”