Dancing in Lake Mistletoe (Lake Mistletoe #4)

Chapter Five

Mindi

W hen I walk through the door to the great room, the heat from the fire wraps around me like a warm hug. I take in the wooden beams running across the ceiling and the twinkling string lights draped above the windows on either side of the large mantel. A cluster of pumpkins—some painted, some carved—sit next to the hearth. It feels cozy.

Inside, I spot Willa and two other women gathered around a large oak table with bowls of candy, stickers, and tiny toys spread out before them. When she notices me, she waves me over.

“Mindi, come here. I want to introduce you,” she urges.

I walk over, and the two women sitting opposite her look up.

“This is Norah. She’s my sister-in-law and Trixie’s youngest, and that’s our cousin, Hannah. Her mom—Trudy—and Trixie are sisters,” she introduces.

“Speak of the devils,” Hannah mutters just as Trixie walks in with a carbon copy on her heel.

Norah looks at Willa. “You witch. You conjured them from thin air.”

Willa rolls her eyes. “Guys, this is Mindi. She’ll be with us until after Christmas.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Norah says.

“You too,” I say as I look back at Willa. “I’m here to work. Where do you want me?”

“Right here,” Hannah says as she scoots over a chair to make room for me.

I notice two little girls sitting cross-legged on the rug nearby, sorting plastic spider rings into neat piles.

Willa follows my gaze. “Oh, I forgot. Cobie and Josie, come here for a minute.”

The two girls hop to their feet and make their way to her side.

Willa puts a hand on the taller girl’s head. “This is Cobie.” Then, she switches to the other girl. “And this is Josie.”

Recognition sparks in Josie’s eyes.

“I know you. You were at the café. You liked my a-sheppy ,” she says.

“échappé,” I correct, and then I move into first position and execute a perfect échappé.

“Wow,” the two say in unison.

“Miss Mindi here is from New York City. She’s going to be the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker this year,” Willa tells them, and their eyes go wide.

“You’re a real ballerina?” Josie says, her voice full of wonder.

“I am,” I say as I crouch down to her eye level. “But I was once a tiny dancer, learning how to do an échappé too.”

“Will you teach me?” Cobie asks.

I look at her and smile. “Do you take dance classes too?”

She shakes her head. “Mom said I can start in the new year if I keep my grades up.”

“Mom’s right. Schoolwork is the most important. And I’ll be happy to show you both a few little tricks before I leave,” I promise them.

And that earns me two huge grins.

The two of them return to their places on the rug, and Hannah pulls out the chair beside her and pats the seat. “Come sit. We’ve got lots to do.”

I settle in, pulling a plastic bowl of candy closer to me. The table is covered with everything you’d need to make the best Halloween goody bags in town—orange tissue paper, glow sticks, mini pumpkins, stickers shaped like ghosts, and of course, all kinds of candy.

Norah holds up a bag of gummy eyeballs and grins. “Look what I found at that weird little shop on Main Street.”

She tosses a gummy eyeball at Willa, and she catches it and immediately drops it.

“Ew, it feels like an actual eyeball,” Willa squeaks.

“You know kids love the gross stuff,” Norah says, rolling her eyes. “The slimier, the better.”

Trixie passes me a stack of orange paper bags. “You’re the head, Mindi. And, Willa, you’re the caboose. We need two hundred bags in total, and everyone has to have a glow stick, a spider ring, at least two pieces of candy, and one toy. Oh, and a sticker or tattoo.”

“Got it.” I start opening the folded bags, setting up a little assembly line in front of me.

We all settle into a rhythm—passing supplies down the line and chatting as we work. The conversation flows easily, jumping from one topic to the next. Willa tells us about the Pumpkin Piddle Paddle. Which happens after next weekend’s pumpkin carving contest. Every entry is lit with a tea light candle and set on a piece of floating cedar. Then, they are set adrift in the lake, like Halloween luminary lights. Hannah talks about her party planning business and tosses around a few ideas she has for this year’s Holly Ball. Trudy shares a story about a haunted hayride she went on when she was a girl and how she couldn’t sleep alone for months.

“Did you scream?” Josie asks, her eyes wide.

Trudy nods. “Like a banshee.”

The little girls giggle, delighted by the image.

I let the chatter wash over me, enjoying the sense of belonging. I’ve been too busy to say yes to things lately—to gatherings, to new people, to being part of something. With long days of practice and night after night of performances, it’s easy to retreat into my own little world sometimes. An island unto myself. But sitting here, opening orange paper bags, and laughing with these women I just met—it feels right, like I’ve been a part of this group forever, even though I’ve only just met them. They’re so warm—Willa with her effortlessly messy bun, Norah twirling a black ribbon around her finger, Hannah digging through a bag of chocolates like she’s on a mission. Trudy and Trixie sitting close together, leaning over the table and laughing at some private joke.

“I brought cookies,” Norah announces, pulling a tin from her bag. She opens the lid to reveal perfectly frosted sugar cookies shaped like jack-o’-lanterns and black cats.

“Oh, yes, please,” Willa says, reaching for one.

Norah extends the container to me. “I just thought we needed a snack to keep us going.”

I take one, and she goes over to share with the girls.

After our cookie break, we dive back into the goody bags, and Norah turns the conversation to me. “So, tell us about yourself, Mindi.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Are you married, single? Do you live in a skyscraper? Do people in New York really walk everywhere?”

“Let’s see. I’m not married. I’m recently single. I dated a fellow dancer, Michael, for several years, but he broke up with me a couple of weeks before I came out here. I don’t live in a skyscraper. You’d have to be independently wealthy to afford that. And unfortunately, I live on peanuts, so it’s a rent-controlled sixth-floor walk-up apartment that I share with five other dancers. And, yes, we walk a lot, but we also have taxis and the subway.”

“Six-story walk-up? Like, you don’t have an elevator?” Hannah asks, her eyes wide.

“That’s correct.”

“Jeez, and I feel guilty because we don’t have one for our third-floor guests,” Willa says.

“No wonder you’re in such good shape. I’d be dead,” Norah says.

Hannah gives Norah a look. “Sure, the steps in her apartment are why the professional ballerina is in shape.”

“Six flooooors!” Norah stresses.

“Okay, so it probably doesn’t hurt,” Hannah relents.

“I thought professional dancers would make bank. Like musicians or actors,” Norah says.

I scoff. “Yeah, principal dancers maybe, but the corps de ballet barely scrape by. You know, paying our dues and all.”

“How long does it take to become a principal?” Hannah asks.

I shrug. “It varies, depending on your skill level and the company’s interest or need for a new principal, but usually seven and a half years. Unless you’re a freak of nature, like Aran Bell, who made it by age twenty-one. The truth is, most won’t make it at all.”

“Really? Then what?” Norah asks.

“You retire at thirty or thirty-five and probably end up teaching.”

“Ah, like football players or wrestlers,” she says as she nods.

I laugh as I reach for another bag. “Um, guys, there aren’t any more bags. I think we’re done,” I announce.

The end of the table is filled with rows of neatly packed goody bags, each one tied with a ribbon and topped with a sticker. Cobie and Josie clap their hands, thrilled with our handiwork.

“Wonderful.” Trixie stands to fetch two large baskets.

Hannah and Norah help her load the bags inside.

“Now, we’re all set for the trick-or-treaters,” Trixie says.

“We did it!” Josie shouts, her face glowing with pride.

“Yes, we did,” Trixie says, high-fiving both girls. “Now, go with Trudy so she can wash the icing off your faces while we clean up and get the movie ready.”

“Sticky fingers everywhere,” Trudy says with a sigh as she chases the two out of the room.

As the group begins to tidy up, I linger for a moment, looking around the room. The Gingerbread Inn feels like a little haven today—a place where everything is warm and light, where people laugh and share and just … be together.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I say quietly to Willa as I help her gather stray candy wrappers.

She smiles. “Of course. You’re a part of this place now. Every guest who stays at the inn is a member of our family.”

I think she actually means that.

I feel a small knot in my chest loosen at her words. I’d love to belong here, with these women, in this little pocket of community they’ve built. Eden is the only person I’ve ever had a connection with—other than my mother and, for a while, Michael.

I’ve only been here a couple of days, but there’s just something about this place. Something magical.

The room glows with soft, flickering light from candles scattered across the mantel and coffee table, their tiny flames making shadows dance along the walls, and the scent of spiced cider and clove lingers in the air. Willa had Keller and her father-in-law, Bob, come in to carry the large table to the courtyard to make room, and she and Trixie set up the screen against the far wall and made blanket pallets on the floor for the kids. The adults pile onto the soft leather couch and chairs.

Norah leans over from the armchair. “All right, who’s ready for some Witches Brew?” she asks, grinning as she carefully ladles a mixture into black ceramic mugs, steam curling in lazy tendrils from the surface.

“I do!” Cobie and Josie shout as they shuffle on their knees over to the coffee table.

“Sorry, ladies, but this is for the adults. Trixie has a thermos for you two,” she informs them.

“But we want Witches Brew,” Josie says.

Norah leans down and whispers to them, “The thermos is filled with Butterbeer.”

Their eyes go wide.

“Like Harry Potter?” Cobie asks.

“Yep. I heard that Trixie called Hogwarts and got the recipe directly from Hagrid,” Norah tells them.

“My daddy is reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets to me at night!” Josie squeals.

“Hmm, aren’t you a little young for that book?” Hannah asks.

Josie gives her an offended look. “No, I’m not a baby. We read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone , and I didn’t get scared or anything.”

“Oh, pardon me. I must be thinking of a less mature seven-year-old I know,” Hannah says.

Trixie arrives with thermal cups and bowls of homemade Chex Mix for the girls, and Norah turns back to us and raises one of the black mugs.

“I’ll take a Witches Brew!” I raise my hand from the couch, wiggling my fingers.

The others—Willa, Hannah, Trixie, and Trudy—chime in too, each reaching for a cup. Cobie and Josie settle off to the side with their treats, tucking themselves under fuzzy blankets, ready for the movie to start.

I bring the warm cup to my nose, seeing an orange peel and star anise swimming on the surface, and inhale deeply. It smells delicious, like autumn in a cup.

“What is this?” I ask.

“It’s my own concoction of apple cider and apple pie moonshine with some added mulling spices and a hint of citrus. It will warm you up from the top of your head to the tips of your toes,” Norah says as she brings her mug up to clink with mine. “Happy almost Halloween. Nothing beats this. Except maybe my Mistletoe Martinis. I’ll make that for you on one of our Christmas movie nights.”

Warmth spreads through my chest—and not just from the sweet, spicy liquid.

Willa kicks her feet up onto the ottoman and pulls a blanket over her lap. “Okay, everyone, get ready. It’s Hocus Pocus time .”

The movie’s opening music fills the room, and I sink deeper into the couch, tucking my feet beneath me and pulling a throw over my legs.