Mistletoe and Mr. Right

by Sarah Morgenthaler

  “Too many balls has been the theme of the day.” She clutched the sweater to her chest as if it were a precious gift. “I love this. Please tell your mother thank you for me.”

  “Already done, darlin’. Happy holidays from the Barnetts.” He gave her a huge hug, which Lana enthusiastically returned. Rick tried not to feel awkward as he stood there, unable to get into his car and not a part of this moment of holiday joy.

  “Want to see?” she asked Rick as Graham loped back to the truck, swinging inside. Turning the sweater around, she held it up proudly.

  Rick scratched his head, trying to think of something polite to say, unwilling to dash her enthusiasm. “It’s festive.”

  Yes, festive was safe.

  Lana’s grin widened. “And?”

  “And obviously designed by a woman with a completely innocent mind.”

  “Isn’t it?” Lana exhaled a soft laugh. “I love this. My day has been far more sexually explicit than I possibly imagined when I woke up this morning.”

  Rick felt his face heat up, and he directed his eyes anywhere but the sweater. Nope, he wasn’t thinking anything at all beyond this was his car, and at some point, she would let him in.

  “Headed home?” Lana asked as she tucked her gift back in the bag.

  “Figured I might reopen the pool hall. It’s still early.”

  Lana waited, and when it became clear that Rick didn’t have anything particularly brilliant to add to his statement, she gave him a pretty smile. “Well…good night.”

  He could have stood there in the awkwardness, inhaling her perfume like a drowning fish, all night long. But that would be weird. And Rick was many things, but he tried really hard not to be weird. Instead, he nodded and put his hand on her car door, waiting until she got in before lightly closing it for her. He liked that she mouthed “thank you” through the window.

  As he got in his own car, Rick tried to ignore the fact that her smile was the best part of his day.

  * * *

  No one would have blamed Rick if he’d headed home for the night instead of reopening the pool hall until regular closing time. Most of the other business owners wouldn’t bother to go back to work after the town meeting. But the drive back to his pool hall wasn’t long, and Rick didn’t have anything better to do.

  The town of Moose Springs had gone all out for the holidays this year. Telephone poles lining the roads were decorated like giant candy canes, with signs wishing everyone happy holidays. Giant plastic snowflakes hung below streetlamps, glittering in the passing headlights. Everywhere he looked were strings of multicolored lights, tinsel-draped evergreens, and giant inflatable reindeer.

  If the reclusive Santa Moose ever made it downtown, the animal would have an absolute field day.

  As he drove, Rick did his best to ignore the decorations. Christmas used to be his favorite time of year. Since Jen had left, it pretty much sucked. Hard. Rick still liked Christmas…but damn if it didn’t seem to cut him up a little more each year.

  When Rick and his ex opened their pool hall, they made a promise to themselves: no tourists. At least not if they could help it. Rick had grown up in a small town overrun with tourism, hating the constant stream of strangers just as much as anyone. And after a drunken tourist in a sports car had T-boned Jen’s sister’s car, killing his ex-wife’s sister, brother-in-law, and niece, the choice to operate for locals only hadn’t just been a preference…it had been necessary for Jen’s sanity. But Jen was gone, and it was just Rick now.

  If he had to pick money or peace of mind, it had always felt like a no-brainer. These days though…these days, it was hard to justify the decision to stay loyal to his town and his and Jen’s dream when he could barely keep the lights on.

  At some point in his life, Rick wanted to eat red meat that wasn’t in the discount bin and maybe drink brand-name soda again.

  His nephew, Diego, was working an evening shift at Moose Springs resort tonight, so there was no one waiting for him. The holiday season had left the always busy resort absolutely overrun with tourists ready to hit the ski slopes. All it would take was sticking an open sign in his window and throwing a flyer up on the resort wall, and all his troubles would fade away.

  Of course, those problems would promptly be replaced with new ones. Like his wine selection being subpar or his bathrooms not having the properly scented soap. He’d be hit with the thousands of complaints the business owners who were open to tourists had to deal with on a daily basis, leaving them desperate for a place to escape. The tourists were a constant presence. On the streets, in the grocery store, clogging up the gas station lines, and having accidents on the icy Alaskan roads.

  They were everywhere.

  Moose Springs was a small town, and it didn’t take much to get from one end of Main Street to the other. There wasn’t a “bad side” of town, but the side street he turned off of was less appealing to someone searching for the quaint Alaskan appeal Moose Springs was renowned for.

  Gone were the brightly painted reds, sky blues, and cheerful oranges of the tourist attractions, replaced by muted and faded paint, weathered wood siding, and buildings constructed of plain concrete block walls. Here, weathered sheet metal roofing protected businesses instead of new shingles, and some of their walks hadn’t been cleared. Most storefronts seemed unoccupied to the outside eye, with parking lots discreetly set in the back of the buildings so the tourists wouldn’t be tempted to stop in. Anything to give the appearance of being uninteresting to the outside world.

  The town was split evenly these days. Half of the businesses welcoming tourists and half of them doing everything in their power to go unnoticed.

  From the outside, the pool hall blended in with the rest of the town’s buildings, but Rick was rather proud of the inside. He’d replaced the flooring himself with rich wooden planking when he’d first opened the business. The fireplace in the corner was cozy and often the preferred spot for his customers to gather. The pool tables themselves were in good condition, and the barstool tables lining the walls were level, the seats worn but immaculately clean.

  The short, modest bar in the corner might only serve a few customers a day, but the wood was carefully stained and polished until it gleamed.

  Rick’s pool hall had started as only a pool hall. But the winters were cold, and the nights were long. Plus, there was only so much he could charge for a game. Serving pizza and beer filled in the gap but never quite enough to make more than ends meet…if that. More than once, Rick had wondered if a more successful business would have made a difference in his failed marriage. High school sweethearts turned just one more statistic. Jen had stuck it out for eight years, two months, and fifteen days. Then she’d packed her bags and moved on. She hadn’t wanted anything in the divorce. Not half the bar, not the house, not alimony. Jen only wanted to be free.

  Funny. Up until then, Rick hadn’t realized being with him was a prison. Even now, three years after the ink had dried on their divorce papers, the shame still burned hot in his veins.

  The reindeer bells he’d hung on the door handle jingled as a lone customer came in, the first in an hour. Truly, Rick tried not to look, but when it came to Lana, not looking was awfully difficult. Especially when she was walking into his pool hall with nothing but ten empty pool tables between them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing around with a quizzical expression on her face. “I didn’t realize you were closing already.”

  “Not closed,” Rick replied, feeling the back of his neck heat up at the lack of customers. “Some weeknights are slow.”

  Slow. Dying. Currently death rattling as they spoke. It was mortifying, considering she was his landlady. If the emptiness bothered her, Lana covered it well, choosing to meet him at the bar and slide into one of the seats.

  “I figured you were headed home like everyone else.”

  “I guess we
have preferring a pool hall in common.” Lana crossed her mile-long legs as she leaned an elbow on the bar top. Offering him a quirked curve of her lips, she added, “A hotel isn’t as homey as one might wish, even if it is a pleasant place to stay.”

  Pleasant. That monstrosity on the hill pretty much summed up all the things he—and most of the town—would never be able to afford. For her, it was merely pleasant.

  Why was she there? Rick’s heart hammered in his chest, which was more than inconvenient considering his stomach was twisting into knots. She must know about the back rent. Someone had let it slip over the summer that Rick’s place existed, bringing Lana and Zoey in for the first time. Since then, Lana had never come there unless she was with Zoey or Graham, so showing up alone must mean she was there for business.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, trying to cover his distress with a relaxed tone.

  “A glass of wine would be nice.”

  Most people didn’t have a glass of wine while evicting their tenants. At least Rick didn’t think they did. Honestly, he had no idea what it was like on the other side of this arrangement.

  “I have red or white.” Rick shifted on his feet, glancing at the door. Was it too much to ask for another customer to walk in and save him from the financial conversation he knew was coming? “Or I could mix the two, make some rosé for you.” Even as he said it, Rick cringed.

  “I’ll take the rosé.”

  Of course she would. So Rick went about adding cheap red wine to cheap white wine, feeling her eyes watching him as he did so. He handed her the glass. She took a sip without missing a beat, so either his concoction was successful, or she had one heck of a poker face. He’d tried tasting it before, but Rick wasn’t much of a wine drinker, so he didn’t know the difference between good wine and bad.

  Since most people didn’t order the house blush, he’d always assumed it was bad.

  Settling into her seat more comfortably, Lana leaned on the counter. “Christmas in Moose Springs. This is a first for me.” Swirling his terrible excuse for a rosé in her glass, she glanced out the window. “Anything I should know?”

  “About the holiday or about what toes not to step on?”

  A pretty smile curved her lips. “Both.”

  “The hotel you’re staying in is about to be stuffed to bursting. When the Christmas crowd flocks in, it’s standing room only up there.”

  “It’s been a little crowded for my taste,” Lana said. “Although it’s always nice seeing everyone full of the holiday cheer. The decorations are fabulous.”

  Rick glanced at his pitiful attempts to spruce the place up. A fake Charlie Brown Christmas tree on the end of the bar with beer cap ornaments wasn’t exactly high-end design. His ex had put it up the first year they’d opened, and Rick hadn’t been able to throw out that sparse excuse of a tree, no matter how many extra needles it lost every time he pulled it out.

  Lana followed his glance toward the tree, then she smiled at him. “But I always did prefer holiday decor with meaning.”

  An awkward silence fell between them, in which he tried and failed to think of something to say and she sat there, sipping her wine and not rescuing him.

  “I make you very uncomfortable, don’t I?” Lana finally sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t be long. I wasn’t ready to go back to the resort and face the pile of paperwork waiting for me. There’s too much to do back there and never enough hours in the day.”

  “We probably should talk about the rent,” he said tightly. It was best, he supposed, to get it all out in the open. “I know the check I wrote this month isn’t enough, but the list of crap that keeps breaking down is ridiculous.”

  “We don’t have to talk about that unless you want to. I actually came for a drink. I’d normally go to the Tourist Trap, but…”

  “But Graham fell in love, and who knows where he’ll be?”

  “Oh, I know exactly where he is.” Lana’s lips curved before she took another sip. “And I know they’re not interested in having any company right now.”

  “There’s a nice bar at the resort.” Nicer than his anyway.

  “Is that your way of asking me to leave?” She flashed that playful look of hers his way, and suddenly Rick realized something very important about Lana Montgomery. That breezy smile of hers, the one she used no matter what the situation? It was total bullshit.

  There was a bottle of bourbon beneath the bar that was Rick’s private stash. He’d never opened it before because…well…it was pricy, and he hadn’t had any reason to.

  The top was sealed in wax, dripped artfully down the neck. Instead of trying to pretend to be someone he wasn’t—someone used to bottles like these—Rick pulled his knife out of the leather case he kept clipped to his belt. It had been his father’s knife and his grandfather’s knife, passed down in the family since his grandfather had gotten it after coming home from World War II.

  Once, Rick had assumed it would be his son’s knife. Then life had taught him a few lessons, and he’d set those assumptions aside. Today, it was the knife that scored a circle around a bottle of bourbon he hadn’t planned on opening. After popping the top off, Rick poured her a glass first, then a second for him.

  “Thank you.” Manicured fingers lifted the drink. Lana sniffed delicately, as one was probably taught to do with alcohol. Rick didn’t know. He was more of a Bud Light kind of guy.

  Rick took a drink and then started choking. This time, her breezy laugh was softer, throatier. Real.

  “Some people cut this with water or add ice,” she told him before taking a sip. “It’s more of a slow drink than a…”

  “Chug?”

  “Yeah, you totally chugged it.”

  Rick added a couple of ice cubes to his drink. He offered her the same, but Lana shook her head. It shouldn’t turn him on knowing she was sipping an alcohol that had made him choke, but there he was, trying his darnedest not to look at her lips touching the rim of the glass.

  “I figured it’s better than the rosé. Still, probably not like what you’re used to.”

  She hummed in a noncommittal fashion.

  It took him a while to look up at her, and by then, she’d gone back to staring out the window.

  “I promise I’m not half as bad as they think I am,” Lana told him, that bright, teasing smile back on her face as she absently played with the single string of miniature multicolor lights he’d taped along the bar. “Only a third as bad, sometimes a quarter.”

  Such total bullshit. He’d hurt her feelings.

  “Never thought you were.”

  Four words that wouldn’t fix what he’d broke, but the sweet look she gave him almost made him think he’d been forgiven.

  “Besides, I kept expecting you to come in here,” Rick said, giving her another opening to talk about the back rent. Another opening she didn’t take. Instead, she sipped her bourbon.

  “This is really quite lovely.” Lana ran a thumb along the rim of the glass, her finger trembling lightly. Maybe she was cold?

  Of course she was cold. The furnace in the place sucked.

  “Any advice for me? Rumor has it that you’re no stranger to moose catching.”

  Rick shook his head. “With that moose? Not a one. We’ve tried and failed to catch it every year.”

  “Well, I’ve already started brainstorming. I think the key is to find the right lure. Just like with fishing, if you know what attracts it the most, even a Santa Moose can be snagged.”

  “Just be careful out there. Fish aren’t over six feet tall, and they can’t kick your head off,” Rick said with a chuckle.

  “I’m tougher than I look,” Lana promised with a little curve of her lips. “I’m betting I can pull this off.”

  “If anyone could, my money’s on you,” Rick told her, leaning
on the bar between them. She flushed in pleasure, which hadn’t been his intention, but Rick sure didn’t mind. “So what’s it like owning the town?”

  Lana shook her head. “I don’t own the town. I’m simply a caretaker of some of the buildings for now. Speaking of which, you mentioned things are breaking.”

  “Is this where you ask for the tour?”

  “Are you offering?”

  The last thing he wanted to do was take Lana around in the back, but Rick knew he didn’t have a choice.

  So he showed her the modest kitchen, where he made and froze pizzas to cook for later. Everything was spotlessly clean…Rick had learned early that a clean kitchen was incredibly important in a business, but what he had was either run-down, breaking, or broken. Rick had stuck Post-it notes to everything based on priority of fixing. The freezer door that kept sticking was low priority. He could muscle it open as necessary.

  The heater was shot, leaving a cold kitchen with space heaters positioned under sinks to keep the pipes from freezing. That was a little higher up the list but still not the worst of his troubles by a long shot.

  “It’s not half this cold in the other room,” Lana said, shivering.

  “The ducting is jacked up somewhere, but I’m too large to access it. I think an animal ripped it up. It stays cool enough not to need an air conditioner in the summer, or I grab a fan. It’s a waste of money to dump heat in here in the winters, so I use space heaters under the pipes. I shoved some insulating foam in the vents I could access to keep the air in the front room as much as possible. The fireplace out there helps a lot.”

  “Foam in the ducting? Isn’t that a fire hazard?” She sounded concerned.

  “I used the rubber kind, and I check it to make sure it doesn’t get too hot.”

  “Didn’t you tell the previous owners?” When Rick shifted uncomfortably, Lana’s frown deepened. “Let me guess—they said any internal building issues were the tenant’s responsibility. The contracts they made you sign were ridiculous.”