2. Claire
Claire
T he door creaked as I pushed it open, revealing my cluttered office. Papers stacked precariously on the desk, and a plate with cookie crumbs sat in the center, evidence of my late-night snack. I felt a twinge of embarrassment as Christian followed me inside.
"Nice place," Christian remarked, his eyes scanning the room.
I chuckled. "Well, it’s homey, if nothing else."
Despite the clutter, Christmas had taken over my office. Twinkling lights bordered the windows, casting a soft glow across the room. A small artificial tree stood in the corner, adorned with red and gold ornaments. Its star perched slightly askew at the top, giving it a charmingly imperfect look.
"I see you went all out," Christian said, nodding towards the decorations.
"Yeah," I replied. "It’s my favorite time of year."
He walked over to the tree and picked up a tiny wooden reindeer from beneath it. "Did you make this?"
"My mom did," I said, a smile tugging at my lips. "She used to make one every year."
He placed it back gently and turned towards me. "You’ve got a lot of memories packed in here."
"More than I can count," I admitted, glancing around at the various holiday trinkets that dotted my shelves and desk. A snow globe with a miniature village inside sat next to an old radio that played nothing but Christmas tunes this time of year.
Christian leaned against the desk, careful not to disturb the precarious stacks of paper. "You must be busy with guests this season."
I nodded. "The inn’s been bustling since December started. Families coming together, travelers seeking warmth... it’s hectic but worth it."
His lips curved up, but it wasn't much of a smile. "Bet you have some stories to tell."
"You have no idea," I said. The laughter seemed to warm up the room even more than the crackling fireplace across from my desk.
We both fell silent for a moment, taking in the festive atmosphere. The scent of pine mixed with cinnamon from a candle burning on the windowsill.
He took a seat, his posture rigid. His eyes darted around, taking in the mismatched furniture and scattered books. The walls, lined with old maps and photographs, added to the room's chaotic charm.
"Right," I said, trying to shake off the odd tension. "So, you're looking to rent?"
He nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Can I ask why?" I leaned back in my chair. "Seems a strange time to move completely."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
I blinked. "Well, I mean, it's Christmas time."
He gave me a look that suggested he wasn't interested in discussing holiday plans.
"Surely you have someone to spend Christmas with?" I asked, feeling a pang of curiosity despite myself.
He didn't say anything, just stared at the floor.
"You're right," I said, grabbing a pen from the desk. I started clicking it, the repetitive sound filling the room. "It's none of my business. Okay, paperwork, paperwork."
I pulled out a form and placed it in front of him. "I just need some information from you."
He picked up the pen and started filling in the basics—name, address, phone number. When he got to the citizenship section, he paused.
"You're a citizen?" I asked, glancing at his hesitation.
"Yes," he said firmly. "Dual citizenship."
I nodded and continued writing. His answers were concise, almost rehearsed. Something about him piqued my interest—an air of secrecy or maybe just guardedness.
"So," I continued, "how long do you plan on staying?"
"A few months at least," he replied. "Maybe longer."
I made a note of it and slid the paper back to him for his signature.
"That should cover everything," I said, watching as he signed his name with a flourish.
He handed the form back to me and stood up, looking relieved to be done with the questions.
“Okay, then,” I said, standing up. “Let me grab the keys for you…”
My knee smacked against the edge of the desk. "Shoot," I muttered, rubbing the sore spot. Christian’s lips twitched but he stayed silent. I limped over to the wall where a row of hooks held various keys, each labeled with room numbers and tiny tags.
“That's one way to label the keys,” he remarked.
“Yeah, keeps me organized... sort of,” I replied, scanning for the right set. My fingers danced over each label, murmuring under my breath until I found what I was looking for.
“Here we go.” I held up a brass key attached to a worn leather tag. “Let me show you to your—home, I guess.”
He stood up and followed me out of the office. The hallway outside was warm and inviting, with framed pictures of past guests and festive garlands strung along the walls.
“This way,” I said, leading him down a corridor lined with plush carpeting. The inn felt cozier in winter, each room like a small haven from the cold outside.
“You run this place all by yourself?” he asked as we walked.
“Mostly,” I said over my shoulder. “I have some help during busy seasons, but yeah, it’s mostly just me. And my grandma. Obviously.”
We headed up to the third floor; the stairs creaking under our weight. The loft had always been one of my favorite spots in the inn, though it hadn't seen much use since I graduated college a few years ago. I fumbled with the key for a moment before the door swung open.
Dust particles danced in the air, illuminated by the afternoon sun streaming through the skylights. The space felt colder than I remembered, and I shivered slightly.
“It might be cold since I haven’t had a tenant in… well, since I graduated college a few years ago,” I said, glancing around. “But I'll turn on the heater and it'll warm up in an hour or two. You're more than welcome to hang out in the lobby while you wait. There's a hot chocolate bar?—”
“No, thanks,” he interrupted, setting his bag down by the door. “I’ll be fine.”
I gave him a long look, searching his face for any sign of discomfort. His expression remained stoic, giving nothing away.
“All right then,” I said, moving towards the corner where an old-fashioned radiator stood. I twisted the dial until it clicked on, and a faint hum filled the room.
He walked over to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered landscape. “Nice view,” he remarked, though his voice lacked enthusiasm.
“Yeah,” I replied, stepping back and wiping my hands on my jeans. “It’s one of my favorite parts of this place.”
The room was sparsely furnished—just a bed with a worn quilt, a small dresser, and a wooden desk that looked like it had seen better days. Despite its simplicity, there was something comforting about it.
“If you need anything,” I said, heading towards the door, “my office is just downstairs.”
He nodded but didn’t turn away from the window.
“Seriously,” I added with a small smile. “Hot chocolate bar. It’s pretty great.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips for just a moment before disappearing.
“Thanks,” he said finally.
"Oh," I said, running my fingers through my hair as I crossed the room. "This is the perfect place for a Christmas tree. Hey, have you been to Evergreen Tree Farm? Obviously not, you're new here. But you should stop by and?—"
"I don't do Christmas," he cut me off.
I blinked. "W... What?"
"I'm not," he said. "I'm not a festive guy."
"Clearly," I said, crossing my arms. "How can you not do Christmas? Maybe you've never done it right."
He shrugged, offering no further explanation.
"I honestly think if you just?—"
"Thank you for the room," he said. "But I'm fine."
I pressed my lips together, feeling the sting of his abrupt dismissal. I knew he was trying to shut me up, and I probably should. I knew I could be overly passionate, especially about Christmas.
"Right," I said finally. "Well, I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Including hot chocolate."
"Great," he replied.
"Okay," I echoed, feeling the weight of the awkwardness settle between us.
"Okay," he repeated.
I lingered for a moment longer, searching his face for any sign that he might soften, but found none. The tension in the air was palpable, and it felt like we were standing on opposite sides of an invisible chasm.
"See you around," I said, turning to leave.
His silence followed me out of the room, and as I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but wonder what had turned him into such a Christmas grinch.
I headed back into my office, the warmth of the fireplace a welcome contrast to the chilly loft. I settled into my chair, its familiar creak echoing through the room. The festive lights cast a soft glow, making the space feel cozy despite the stacks of paperwork.
I grabbed Christian's form and started inputting his information into my computer. My fingers flew over the keyboard, but I couldn’t shake the curiosity that gnawed at me. His demeanor, so guarded and stoic, hinted at a story worth knowing.
As I ran his credit check, his name popped up alongside an unfamiliar term: British SAS . I frowned, unsure what that meant. My curiosity got the better of me, and I opened a new tab to Google it.
"British SAS," I murmured to myself, hitting enter.
The search results filled the screen, and my eyes widened as I skimmed through them. Special Air Service. Elite special forces unit of the British Army. These guys were no joke—trained in counter-terrorism, hostage rescue, covert reconnaissance. The kind of stuff you only saw in movies.
I leaned back in my chair, processing this new information. Christian wasn’t just some random guy looking for a place to stay; he had a past that was far more complex than I'd imagined.
I glanced at his form again, noting the slight hesitation he’d shown when filling out certain sections. The pieces started to fit together—his guarded demeanor, his reluctance to talk about himself.
What brought someone like him to my little inn?
The question lingered in my mind as I continued entering his details into the system.
There was something about him that didn’t quite add up, but I knew better than to pry too deeply.
People came to my inn for all sorts of reasons—sometimes to escape their pasts.
As I finished inputting his information, I felt a mix of intrigue and unease. Christian was clearly not an open book, and whatever had led him here was likely something he wasn’t ready to share.
I closed out of the browser and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the sense of mystery surrounding him. There were still guests to attend to and plenty of work to be done before the day was over.
For now, I'd respect his privacy and let him settle in. But something told me that Christian’s stay at my inn would be anything but ordinary.
At that moment, my grandma shuffled into the office, holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate. The mug brimmed with marshmallows and had a candy cane hooked over the rim.
My smile tightened as she set it down in front of me. She knew I preferred whipped cream over marshmallows and candy canes, but reminding her felt like another small heartbreak. I just wanted to pretend she hadn’t forgotten this time, to hold on to the memory of when she never forgot.
“There’s a string of lights that needs fixing on the second floor,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm.
“All right,” I replied, picking up the mug and taking a careful sip. The sweetness hit me immediately, and I had to hide my grimace. “I’ll check on it in the morning. Thanks, Grandma.”
“Of course, Claire,” she said, her eyes softening as she looked at me. “You’ve been so busy this year. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
Her words warmed me more than the hot chocolate ever could. Despite everything, her love and care remained unwavering. Even if she forgot the little details now and then, her heart was always in the right place.
I took another sip, trying to get used to the overly sweet taste. “I appreciate it,” I said. “Really.”
She gave me a nod and patted my shoulder before leaving the office, humming a familiar Christmas tune under her breath.
As the door closed behind her, I set the mug down and let out a slow breath. The office felt emptier without her presence, despite its cluttered state.
I glanced at the paperwork on my desk but couldn’t bring myself to focus on it. My thoughts kept drifting back to Christian and his mysterious background. It was strange how quickly someone could shift from being a stranger to occupying your mind so thoroughly.
But there was no time for distractions. The inn needed my attention, and there were guests who counted on me to make their holiday special.
For now, I'd push thoughts of Christian aside and concentrate on keeping this place running smoothly—lights that needed fixing included.