by S Doyle
“You’re scaring the fuck out of me right now,” he told me.
I showed him fewer teeth.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, I watched as he pulled the ingredients from the refrigerator.
“I’m new here,” he said as he cut the bagel in half and popped it in the toaster oven. “The trees have obviously been my primary responsibility.”
“Obviously,” I said as I sipped my coffee and watched in some admiration as he cracked an egg one-handed into the frying pan. “What is your background, by the way? I mean, how do you get to be a guy who runs a Christmas tree farm?”
“I’m an agricultural scientist as well as an arborist.”
I blinked.
“Guy who studies trees,” he clarified.
“I knew that.” Or I might have after a few more sips of coffee.
The sound of the egg cooking filled the kitchen. He flipped it and added the cheese.
“So you were just looking for a tree farm and stumbled onto ours?”
“Something like that. Trees are sort of the family business. I wanted to leave the business, not the trees. This was a perfect place to land. Which is why you have me worried. I want to stay long term, plant roots here…”
“Arborist joke?”
He frowned. “Not really. My point is, I didn’t have any expectations about how the inn was doing, but I can tell you having been here the last few months, it’s never been full.”
“Not even in October?” I asked, startled.
The Christmas Jamboree was the biggest event of the year by far, but only slightly less popular was the month-long Octoberfest, which featured an open market downtown. Famers and craftsmen selling everything from hard apple cider to crocheted blankets to homemade wines. The town was filled with tourists in October, which meant the inn was always full—like it should be now.
“No,” Paul said somberly. “Half full at best.”
I let out a whoosh of breath. The toaster oven dinged, and Paul set about putting my sandwich together.
“Ketchup, please,” I prompted him.
“You’re one of those ketchup on egg people, huh?”
“Card carrying member,” I said, nodding as he put the plate in front of me. The yolk was hard, the cheese was gooey, the bagel was perfectly toasted. I took a healthy bite and groaned as I chewed. I couldn’t remember food tasting this good.
This man had skills.
“So what are you going to do about it?” he asked me.
“What do you mean? I’m going to eat it.” What else would I do with egg and cheese on a bagel?
“I mean about the inn. Don’t you want to see what’s happening? Why rentals are dropping off?”
“Sure. Yes. Absolutely.”
I had to. This was my dad’s retirement. I’d told Ethan I would dig into the books, and I absolutely was going to do that.
There was just this sense of trepidation, and with that came one of my worst traits. I was really competent at denial. Like, amazing at it. It had become a superpower over the past few years.
When my mom got sick, when things started to change at the company after the merger, my dad breaking his leg. If I didn’t look too closely, there weren’t any serious issues. No real problems. If I didn’t acknowledge it, then everyone could just pretend and go on like things weren’t changing. Like everything was going to stay the same.
Forever.
If I didn’t call my dad, he was doing fine. Instead of grieving the loss of my mom hard. When Ethan called to tell me he’d broken his leg, I immediately wanted to pretend it was just a small break and he’d be back on his feet in a few weeks.
Ethan had to pierce the curtain of my denial with specifics about the break. There were two. Talk about how long Dad would be in therapy once it healed. Weeks. How he might need a cane to help him walk. For the foreseeable future.
Details that couldn’t be avoided or ignored.
Things I couldn’t close my eyes to and just pretend…
If I looked at the financials, I was going to find problems. My gut said so and I didn’t want to do it.
“You know what you’re looking for?”
I glanced up at Paul, realizing I’d been lost in my thoughts. He was cleaning the pan he’d used to fry the egg.
I repeated his question in my mind.
“Yes, I know what I’m looking for.”
“Because you’re supposed to be some big-deal business person. I hope Pops didn’t overhype that.”
“I am a big-deal business person,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. “Executive VP at Hart’s Insurance, a Fortune 500 company, okay? It doesn’t get bigger than that unless I’m the CEO. I think I can handle some financial statements.”
“Just making sure. I’ve met Executive VPs in the past and a lot of them are just full of hot air. All puff, no substance.”
“Yeah, well, I’m filled with…substance. I’m going to find out what’s been happening and I’ll fix it.”
“Good. I want to plant some trees this spring and in eight years I want to be the one who chops them down.”
“You actually chop down the trees?”
He smiled. “Sure. A lot of folks who come out here want to chop them down themselves, you know, for the experience. But for some, they need a little extra muscle.”
“You really are Paul Bunyan,” I snickered.
He set the pan he’d been drying back on the stove. “Let me know what you find out. I might be able to help.”
“You’re an arborist,” I reminded him. “How are you going to help with the inn’s business problems?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got other skills.”
For whatever reason, maybe the way his voice dipped, or the way there was just a beat before he said skills, my mind went totally…there.
I fidgeted in my chair and thought about what it might mean if he made love like he cooked.
Deliciously.
Mug-Stealing Mortal Enemy!
Thank you subconscious. I needed that reminder.
“See you around, Kay-Kay.”
“Stop calling me, Kay-Kay,” I snapped as he left the kitchen.
He paused in the doorway, then said without looking back at me, “Yeah…no. I don’t think I will. Clean out that mug and put it back in the cabinet where it belongs, please.”
I waited until he was out of earshot before I mumbled into my mug.
“Ha, that’s what you think. You’re never going to find this mug again.”
Paul
“Ha, that’s what you think. You’re never going to find this mug again.”
I smiled from the other side of the doorway. I don’t know why I suspected she was the type to have the last word, even when there was no one around to hear it, but I did. I stopped and waited just beyond where she could see me and smiled at her evil plots to hide the mug again.
Fun.
That’s what I’d felt when I’d snuck into her room to take the mug.
I was not that guy. I didn’t invade people’s space without permission, and I certainly didn’t like having my space compromised. That came from having so many strange women in the house with me growing up. All of them thinking we should be closer than we actually were just because they had the title stepmom attached to their names.
I have no idea what compelled me, but when I’d walked by her door on the way downstairs and saw it had opened a crack, I’d peeked inside. She was sound asleep, her long dark hair piled up on her head, her mouth open, making a small whispering sound through her nose. Not a snore, but a sound a sleeping kitten might make.
She’d looked younger, way less stressed, and entirely cute. Like she was all snarling lioness when she was awake and walking the planet, but in reality she was this vulnerable little kitten.
Then I’d seen the mug sitting on her nightstand and knew immediately it was there purposefully. That she’d been trying to hide it from me.
It hadn’t been a choice. I had to take the mug.
/>
When I left her room, mug in hand, I’d been smiling. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. Just smiled because I was having fun.
On paper the executive VP of a Fortune 500 company was the last person I had any interest in getting to know. That was a world full of people I wanted to leave firmly in my rearview mirror. Except Kristen Kringle wasn’t on paper anymore. She was in the flesh.
When she’d squirmed in her chair after I told her I had skills…
Yeah, this was going to be fun.
And that was something I hadn’t had in a long time.
5
Kristen
This was a disaster. Worse than I could have imagined. I stared at the computer screen and couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell us?” I asked the screen.
The inn had been losing money for years. Since mom died, but these past two years had seen a particularly sharp drop-off. The tree farm was the only income that had remained steady, but it wasn’t enough to support the entire operation.
Hell, it was barely enough to cover any salary we might be paying to an arborist. Although for the life of me I couldn’t find a salary on the books for Paul. Just the expense of the cabin that was located on the edge of the property behind the farm.
Last I knew of that cabin, it hadn’t been livable. Given its distant location from the inn and the other cabins, it hadn’t made sense to use it as a rental. It’d been there when Dad bought the property, but he’d never used it like it was intended, as a caretaker cottage.
For years it had been our hideaway fort while Ethan, Matt, and I were growing up. When we outgrew it, Dad had boarded it up. He was afraid the roof and floor were no longer safe, and he didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
Now the arborist, who drove a Tesla, who was living in my brother’s bedroom temporarily, was planning to live there.
Permanently, or at least as long as eight years when the crop of trees he’d planted would be harvested.
There was a story there. Pieces of a puzzle that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
Only I couldn’t let that distract me from what clearly was a serious problem for my dad.
I could confront him, demand that he tell us why he didn’t let anyone know what was happening to the business, but what was the point?
Haranguing him for keeping secrets didn’t fix anything. Blaming him for letting the business go didn’t feel right either. Dad wasn’t a frilly guy. The small things were not his forte and a place like this, it was all about the small things.
How the rooms were decorated. The smell of pine trees. Fresh apple cider and homemade baked goods. You take that stuff away and it was just a big old house with a bunch of cabins out back next to a Christmas tree farm.
Mom had always made it magical. I bet my dad’s only concern had been making sure housekeeping kept up. It wasn’t enough for a place like this. Not to make a profit.
And what about advertising? I found what amounted to a marketing budget but the numbers would barely cover the printed brochures my mom had made up years ago. If we were even still printing the brochures.
It was a hot mess. One thing was for certain, we needed a plan. My first thought was to seek out Ethan at his office and tell him what we needed to do. Then I remembered how busy he’d said he was. He thought I didn’t pay attention, but I did.
Dad need to rest and heal. Ethan needed to help shoulder the burdens.
I was the boss lady. Fixing operations. Making things more efficient. Eking out a profit. Those were my skills. That’s what I did.
There were a thousand problems to fix at the inn and immediately my mind started whirring. Something like this could overwhelm people, but I thrived in this type of working environment. The key was to take on the biggest problem and fix that.
The inn was only half full leading into the Salt Springs Christmas Jamboree. We could fix that. Change the direction with an effectively targeted promotion. A way to bring people back to Salt Springs and remind them how much they loved it here. Or a way to bring new customers and give them an impression of the inn as it used to be.
There was no way I was going to be able to tackle all the other issues and handle the promotion. That was another skill I had. I knew when to own something and when to delegate. Trying to pull together a campaign at this late date was going to be full-time work.
Who did I know in the area who could handle a job like this with short notice?
I smiled as a name immediately came to mind.
Would Matt care?
Would Matt even know?
Didn’t matter. He wasn’t here and we needed the help.
I looked up her name, and sure enough, she had a website that showcased her skills, if not her client list. Dad had told me something went wrong with her last firm and now she was on her own. Dad had always liked Jasmine, Matt’s high-school girlfriend. She’d been a cheerleader and one of the most optimistic people I’d ever met.
For my sake, the inn’s sake, I hoped she still believed she could do anything. Because, right now, I needed a little optimism.
I made my way into town and followed the direction to the address on Jasmine’s website. However, when I stopped and looked up at the building, I realized it was probably just her apartment.
Made sense. When starting a business you wanted the least amount of overhead you could have. Keep it lean and simple until you started turning a profit and then carefully expand.
Look at me, I thought. Boss Lady with all the sound business advice. If only people would just listen to me…
I found the buzzer outside the building with her name on it and rang it.
“Yes?”
Good. She was home. “Jasmine, it’s Kristen Kringle.”
“Kristen? What are you doing back in Salt Springs…oh, wait, I heard about your dad. Is he okay?”
“Broken leg, but he’s healing. Actually I want to talk to you about a job. Can I come up? Or maybe get coffee someplace?”
“Yes! Coffee. I’ll be right down. Just give me five minutes. Four minutes!”
I laughed. That sounded like Jas. I’d been in college when she and Matt were dating, but she was around when I was home his senior year. Petite, blonde. Cheerful. I didn’t know if Jasmine even knew what sarcasm was. My total opposite in every way. I’d always thought I should hate her. But I never could.
I don’t think it was possible to hate Jasmine. Certainly Matt hadn’t. At least, not back in the day. For the few months they’d dated he’d only had two thoughts in his head. Hockey and Jas. Ultimately, hockey won. I never asked what broke them up, but it was easy enough to see Matt hadn’t taken it well. He was cranky on his best day.
After he and Jas split, well, those had not been his best days.
But that was a long time ago. In fact it felt like a hundred years ago. Like I’d lived three lives during my time after college, working in New York, and now I was this dried up old woman. One stiff wind and I would blow apart.
I didn’t look it, though. I’d packed a few business suits, because you never knew when a business opportunity might present itself, and was wearing one now for this interview.
Navy blue pinstripe pantsuit. Custom made. A crisp white blouse underneath. My only problem was my shoes. Jimmy Choos were not made for snowy slushy sidewalks, so my feet were freezing. But it wasn’t like I was going to pair the suit with my boots.
White cashmere overcoat, black leather gloves, my hair slicked back into my normal working ponytail that I knew made my face look even more pointed and narrow. Sharp clothes, sharp face, sharp attitude.
I practically screamed Manhattan.
That was going to have to change. Eventually.
The building door open and Jas bounced out. Still petite, blonde, and adorable. Even in business casual attire.
Bitch.
“Kristen! It’s so good to see you. This is a real surprise.”
“Let’s walk,”
I said. I didn’t want to waste time with chit-chat, what-have-you-been-doings, or any other type of small talk. I could have called ahead, but my gut said that I needed a face-to-face. What I was going to ask might be impossible. I would either get that sense from her immediately, or I would see if she was up for the challenge.
I found the nearest coffee shop and stepped inside. The smell, as it always did, gave me a little extra edge.
“What do you drink?” I asked her.
“Hmm. A caramel frappuccino sounds good.”
Right. Because she was all gooey sweetness. I really was going to make an effort to hate her this time.
I ordered a frappuccino for her and a black coffee for me. Before I made it back to the table I took a sip from my cup and thought it wasn’t as good as Paul’s.
Paul made a really good breakfast and really good coffee. I assumed he made really good trees, otherwise Dad wouldn’t have hired him.
What else did he make that was really good?
One thought came to mind and I squashed it.
Jasmine had claimed a small table in a corner of the coffee shop and I joined her, setting her drink down in front of her.
“Let me cut to the chase. I’m looking to put together a major promotional campaign for the inn in…” I looked at my watch to check the date. “Five days.”
She smiled, in that way that suggested I’ve said something entirely crazy. “Five days?”
“Five days. Put together a plan, show me. If I like it, I’ll hire you and we can discuss budget then, but if I say yes, I need to see immediate results. I want the inn full for Christmas.”
Again I’d said something to startle her. “You mean it’s not?”
I pressed my lips together. I know I moved at light speed compared to everyone else, but she really needed to catch up.
“Jasmine. Would I be interviewing you and expecting to launch a campaign in five days if it were?”
She gulped. “Got it. Okay. Five days…that’s short notice to be sure. I’ll need at least two days to put together the plan. Can you give me a sense of budget so I can scale it?”
