by S Doyle
He was quiet for a moment while he digested that.
“Now, I’m really sorry I ate all your brownies.”
7
The Next Morning
Paul
This was a problem. Not something I expected. Looking down at Kay-Kay sound asleep in her bed, her messy bun undone, and her hair spread out all over the pillow, this weird feeling swelled in my chest.
I liked her.
I did not want to like her. In fact, all signs pointed to my hating her. She was controlling, demanding, condescending. High strung. Typical high-powered executive who expected everything to be done just the way she intended.
Change a flat tire.
Use the right mug.
Don’t come into my room while I’m sleeping.
She stirred on the bed. She was probably going to be pissed off I was in her room, sitting on her bed, watching her while she slept.
But I had to admit that was part of the fun.
Eventually the smell of the coffee got to her.
She sniffed with her eyes closed, turned her head. Her eyes popped open, she looked around, getting her bearings. She saw me sitting on her bed and…
She screamed.
“You do that a lot around me,” I noted.
“You keep freaking, freaking me out. What are you doing in my room? Again?”
“I brought you coffee. In your mug,” I said, pointing to the steaming mug of coffee I’d set down on her nightstand.
She sat up, flipped her hair out of her face. “And you felt delivery was necessary?”
“It was getting late. I couldn’t wait anymore for you to come downstairs. And I wanted to show you how gracious I was being by letting you have your boss lady mug.”
She flopped her arms on the bed and looked super adorable doing it.
“Let’s make this clear, right now. You are not to come into my room without an invitation.”
I made my eyes go wide. “Kay-Kay, are you planning on inviting me into your bedroom?”
She sputtered. Clamped her jaw shut. Then she glared at me so hard my dick started to twitch. I coughed and leaned over to pick up her mug and put it in her hands. She took it like a troll might take payment for crossing the bridge.
“I thought we bonded over brownies last night,” I explained, as an excuse for my overstepping the boundaries. “I thought we were brownie buddies.”
“We’re not buddies,” she grumbled as she sipped her coffee. Then she blinked. “Wait. Does this have cream in it?”
“Sweet vanilla cream.”
“I drink my coffee black.”
“Sure, you can,” I said. “But doesn’t it taste better this way?”
She took another sip. “It tastes really, really good.”
“I know, right? See, that’s what buddies are for.”
“I don’t need a buddy,” she grumbled.
“Why not?”
She didn’t really have a good answer for that.
“Buddies are great. You can share your burdens with them, you can ask them for favors. Like moving,” I pointed out.
“What about helping you to change a flat tire?” she asked, her lips quirked.
“Absolutely. Unless of course the lug nuts are put on with machines, then it’s impossible.”
She smiled. “Where is my dad?”
“He walked to the inn, over my objection because I think he’s not spending enough time on his ass letting his leg heal, to which he told me to mind my own beeswax.”
“That sounds like my dad,” she said and took another sip of her coffee. Not quite hiding the moan at the back of her throat.
It was a toss up as to what was hotter. Watching her drink sweetened coffee or eat a brownie in the middle of the night.
“I know you have your hands full saving the inn, something I strongly support and will do anything I can to help, but if you have time in your schedule you should come down and check out the tree farm operation. I promise you at least that is being run at a profit.”
“I know it is. I saw the numbers. But only because you’re not taking a salary.”
“Two acres of land and a cabin. In some of the most beautiful country imaginable. I’m not complaining.”
“Fine. I’ll have to accept that. Now get out of my room,” she ordered.
“Yes, Kay-Kay.”
“And stop calling me Kay-Kay!”
“Sure, Kay-Kay,” I said, getting up. I was almost to the door when she stopped me.
“Hey, wait! Did you hear me snore? Or see me drool?”
I looked back at her. “Buddies don’t care about snoring or drooling. That’s a fact.”
I shut the door behind me and headed down the stairs.
A fucking huge smile on my face the whole time.
Kristen
Paul wasn’t wrong about how late it was. I stared at the clock on my nightstand in shock. I’d slept until almost nine, which was unheard of for me, despite having stayed up until almost two a.m. last night.
With Paul. My brownie buddy.
A buddy. A friend. Someone I could share my burdens with. I didn’t have those things in my life. I didn’t have time. My life was my job. The people I spent time with were the people who worked for me. Lunches and dinners were about making deals. Building my business network.
A friend. An honest-to-goodness friend. I hadn’t had a relationship like that since college.
Which, coincidentally, was the last time I had an honest-to-goodness relationship.
That thing with David a few years ago was more about two busy people finding time to have sex whenever we could fit it into our schedules.
Maybe it would be nice to have a new friend. I would have someone to text funny memes to. We could develop a GIF shorthand.
I could tell him the truth, that I didn’t know if I could save the family business. Or I could ask for advice about my future prospects.
I could share the one secret I was holding onto that I hadn’t even told my family.
I was thirty-six years old and I didn’t have any friends. Any deep personal relationships.
I had a job.
“My job. My big deal job,” I muttered to no one.
Not ready to acknowledge the events of the last few weeks, I focused on the task at hand. It was now almost nine-thirty. Thirty minutes of wallowing in a pity party of my own making when work needed to be done was inexcusable.
I could save the family business.
I could do that. I had to do that.
Now that the coffee was kicking in, I needed a shower and a plan of action. I hopped out of bed and made my way to the bathroom.
The person I needed to start with was Dad. He’d been running the show into the ground and the hard reality was that it was time to put him on the bench.
There was a new coach in town.
I was pushing through the door of the inn when I saw Darlene. She had a stack of six bakery boxes in her hand, all tied together with string. Perfect.
“Now Darlene, I didn’t order any of that.”
My dad was behind the front desk. Standing on his crutches instead of sitting and already getting in my way.
“Dad! You need to be sitting down. That was our deal if you were still going to work behind the desk.”
He grumbled, but then carefully moved to take a seat on the chair I’d set up for him.
“Kristen!” Darlene greeted me. Darlene was a middle-aged woman wearing a heavy coat and a practical wool hat on her head. She had a genuine smile and a good head for numbers. We’d gotten along almost immediately upon meeting. “Oh good, you’re here. I’ve got everything we talked about and I threw in some experimental recipes for free. The only the caveat is that you have to tell me what works and what doesn’t.”
“Excellent. I really appreciate you making this happen so quickly.”
She nodded. “No problem. Just call tonight with your order and I’ll make sure it will be here by ten.”
I placed th
e boxes on the front desk and beamed.
Darlene left and I turned to face my dad. His expression was mutinous.
None of this was going to be easy. He was my dad, after all.
“What’s all this?” he asked, waving at the boxes.
“Baked goods. The Kringle Inn always has baked goods available.”
He made a noise. “Yes, but that was your mother’s doing. She liked to make things for the customers.”
“Yes. Because she knew the customers, liked them. Dad, please tell me you can’t be oblivious to the reality that for the first time in years we’re only half filled for Christmas.”
He folded his hands over his round belly and frowned.
“I’m old, I’m not senile!” he barked at me.
I rushed around the front desk and got on my knees beside his chair. I took his hand with the skin so pale I could see the color of his veins, and squeezed.
“Dad, I know you’re not senile. But you have to admit the Kringle Inn is in trouble.”
“Trouble is relative.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. That was such a dad thing to say. Nothing was serious. Nothing was dangerous. Nothing was real trouble.
Until it was.
I knew who I’d inherited my propensity for denial from.
“No, Dad. This is actual trouble. The numbers do not lie.”
“You’re always fussing about the numbers. We’re doing fine.”
“You’re not doing fine, you’re bleeding money and if we don’t turn it around our options are going to narrow.”
He did that thing where he tilted his head and looked at me over the rim of his bifocals. It always managed to make me feel like I was a ten-year-old girl.
“Don’t you use that fancy business speak with me, little lady. Options are going to narrow. What nonsense.”
I stood up then and towered over him. “Fine. You want plain speaking. If we don’t turn it around, you’ll only have two options. Sell or go bankrupt. And I can’t sell the place unless I can make it attractive to a buyer.”
My dad snorted and fidgeted in his chair. “Oh, and you think a few brownies are going to do that.”
“No. That’s the easiest task on my list. But it’s done, which means I can move on to the next.”
That’s when it happened. A wave of sadness washed over his face so deep and profound it made me catch my breath.
“I don’t do things like her. Like your mother,” he said softly. “She just had this way. Made it all seem so easy and simple. I thought it was a lot of fuss and I didn’t bother. Things…they started to change.”
I crouched down again so I was below eye level for him.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
He harumphed. “You wait until you have kids someday. And you have to tell them how you failed them. Failed their legacy.”
“Dad, you did not fail! Mom died. You were grieving and lost and…”
I stopped because the words I was going to say next were almost too hard to hear. But I had to say them. That’s why I did. I said the hard part out loud.
“And I didn’t come home to help,” I finished. “You needed me and I was oblivious to all of it.”
“You were in New York. Living your life. That’s all your mother and I wanted for you kids. To live your lives, fulfill your dreams.”
I smiled up at him. His sweet face, his gray beard, his round belly. If there was anyone who embodied the spirit of Santa it was this man. I stood again and patted him on the shoulder.
“Being right here. With you. This is living my life and fulfilling my dreams.”
He snorted. “You’re going to tell me the Kringle Inn is as exciting as running a big-deal insurance company in Manhattan.”
No, maybe not as exciting. But it was a heck of a lot more important.
“I need to go make a call,” I told him. “Then I want to check out the tree farm. At least that’s making a small profit. Maybe we can expand on it some.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Our new public relations manager. She’s going to fill this inn by Christmas. No matter what it takes.”
I’d read Jasmine’s proposal. She hadn’t needed all the time I gave her and I liked that. She wanted the job, which meant she’d be motivated.
“A PR person,” my dad moaned. “That’s worse than baked goods. What’s Ethan got to say about all of this?”
“Dad, Ethan is a lawyer and a politician. You want to save a business, you call a business person. I will let Ethan know exactly what I’m doing. Matt, too, if he even cares. But I’m not making decisions by committee. This is my show, I’m running it how I see fit, and you’re all going to accept that.”
“I don’t get a say in my own inn?” my dad snapped.
I’d forgotten how proud my father was. He didn’t come off that way. More the low-key, relaxed hippie he’d always been. But there was still steel in his spine. I needed to remember that.
“You’ll get a say. Because it is your inn. I’m just telling you we can’t have that many fingers in the pot. Let Ethan do his thing, Matt do his thing, and we’ll do ours. Together.”
His face changed again. This time when he looked at me there was only love and pride. He reached out to grab my hand and squeezed.
“Together,” he said softly. “I like the sound of that.”
Strangely, because I didn’t think I was the type to compromise very well, but when it came to my dad I liked the sound of it, too.
8
Kringle Christmas Tree Farm
Paul
“That one, Mom!”
I smiled. The kid had a good eye. The pine tree he’d picked out for their family had great shape.
“Honey, I don’t know. That one seems a little big.”
Billy’s mom was holding a borrowed saw in her hand, eyeing the tree with not a little skepticism.
That was the charm of the Kringle Christmas Tree Farm. Families could come out here and roam the rows of trees up and down until they found the perfect one for them. Some brought their own axes and saws, but I always had loaners, sharp and at the ready.
Billy’s mom, a single mom from what I’d gathered from the way they spoke to each other, as if the world was just the two of them, seemed worried about the task in front of her.
“I can help you with that,” I said, stepping closer to where they stood in front of the tree.
“This is a self-service farm,” she said. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Mom, I can do it!”
“Billy, you cannot cut down a tree.”
“What’s the big deal?” he asked.
“You’re nine. I’m not handing you an ax.”
The boy looked so crestfallen, I had to laugh. “How about this. I’ll get her started. Then together you two can use the saw to finish her off. I’ll even out the stump and tie her up for you. She’s all fluff, so once I wrap her up tight you should be able to manage her. She won’t be too heavy for you, I promise.”
Billy looked up at me. “How come you call her a she? It’s a tree.”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. For me trees are more like people. Some trees are she, some are he, some I can’t decide. This one, she’s definitely a she though. I named her Gloria.”
The kid’s eyes widened. “That’s my grandmother’s name!”
I’d overheard his Mom talking on her cell to someone named Gloria. Figured the kid would connect with the name.
“What do you say, Mom?” I prompted her. “Should we cut her down together and you can take her home?”
The woman’s lips quirked in a way that reminded me of Kay-Kay. The two women were nothing alike. This woman was petite and blonde and looked like she hadn’t slept properly in nine years, but still they shared the same sense of humor.
“Gloria is my ex-mother-in-law. There is nothing I would like better than chopping her down a peg or two.”
“Well, then let’s get at it.”
I ca
rried a short ax in my utility belt. Not many of the trees were more than six inches wide in diameter. A few strong whacks would open up enough room for them to get the saw into the groove I made and finish the job.
It wouldn’t be easy. They would have to work the saw together. Slowly and carefully until they built a rhythm. But that was the point. That was the thing that made lasting memories.
If my father could see me now he’d be shaking his head at what a sentimental sap I was becoming. But he couldn’t see me, because he wasn’t here and I was never going back.
I had them stand back and I bent over. The angle wasn’t great but having spent the last two weeks doing this same service, I’d gotten to be a pro at it. I raised and lowered the ax and it made a satisfying thunk as I buried it in the tree trunk. A few more, and Billy and his mom had something to work with.
“Okay, nice and slow.” I showed them, making a motion with my hand. “Back and forth with the saw. You don’t need a lot of pressure. Just let the saw do its work. It’s going to fall forward. Just holler when it does and I’ll be back with the netting and string to tie her up.”
“Thank you!” they said in unison.
I left them to it, checking to see if any of the other customers needed help. I stopped when I saw Kay-Kay a couple of feet away. She had apparently watched everything go down.
Hopefully, I’d impressed her more with my ax skills than I had with my ability to change a tire.
“Kay-Kay!”
She frowned and made this growly sound in her throat.
“Fine,” she said. “If that’s how you want to play it, Paul Bunyan.”
“Did I impress you with my ax?”
Her face blushed.
“Ax,” I repeated. “Not ass.”
“I knew what you meant,” she snapped.
“No, you didn’t,” I teased. “I think you were checking out my ass when I was bent over.”
