Chapter 4
Four
Holly
Just twenty minutes south of Silver Bell Falls, Reindeer Corners is our fancier, even more festive-obsessed cousin.
Kind of like if a Hallmark Christmas movie and The White Lotus had a baby who really loved artisanal hot cocoa…
The moment I step inside the Reindeer Corners Inn, I’m enveloped in the most perfect holiday scent imaginable—a rich blend of fresh-cut pine, warm gingerbread from the kitchen, and spiced cider simmering in the breakfast room.
The inn’s lobby is peak Vermont Christmas fantasy with exposed timber beams that date back to when Captain Herbert still hobbled around these woods, a massive stone fireplace, and enough twinkling lights to guide Santa’s sleigh from three states away.
It’s the kind of place that makes you believe in Christmas magic.
Every time I walk in, I fall in love all over again.
My friend Candy really does have one of the best jobs ever.
I can’t wait until she and Kayla buy the inn and make it theirs, for real.
They’re the ones responsible for the renovations that transformed the inn from a cozy mainstay to a coveted destination for New England’s elite, but it won’t technically be under “new ownership” until they save up the rest of their seed money.
But they’ll make it happen.
All my girlfriends are impressive, accomplished women, but Candy and Kayla really take girl bossing to new heights.
Like now, for example. Behind the desk, Candy leans gently forward, nodding as she listens to an unhappy-looking blonde in pricey athletic wear, her expression a perfect mixture of professional concern and small-town warmth.
You’d never guess she was dealing with a challenging guest, but as I draw closer, it’s obvious this woman is Difficult with a capital D.
“We were just looking forward to the same kind we had last year,” the blond whines, sounding more like a four-year-old than a woman in her forties. “I mean, if something’s not broken, why ‘fix’ it? I certainly don’t consider it fixed. At all.”
“Of course, Mrs. Winthrop. I understand,” Candy says in a soothing, therapeutic tone. “Change is always hard. For all of us. So, it’s the marshmallows that are the main problem?”
Mrs. Winthrop takes a steadying breath as she nods. “Yes. They’re all wrong. We were expecting the tiny ones.”
“The tiny ones,” Candy echoes, her face a portrait of concern. “So, it’s the size that’s bothering you?”
“Not just the size,” Mrs. Winthrop continues.
“They’re also too soft. The little, dehydrated ones are just so much better.
They melt into the cocoa. These don’t. They hardly dissolve at all.
They just…float.” She gestures helplessly toward the breakfast area.
“It’s a completely different experience. ”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
I swear, the city people get stranger every year.
It’s funny, yes, but also a little sad. Don’t rich people have real problems? Or at least something more genuinely distressing to worry about?
Personally, I’d be more troubled by the change in the gingerbread. It just isn’t the same since Kayla insisted on piping the gingerbread men instead of drenching the entire cookie in a sinful icing shell.
I would be fighting a hard eye roll if I were in her shoes, but Candy doesn’t so much as blink.
“I see,” she says, her voice full of empathy.
“You’re correct, our supplier did alter their marshmallow offerings this year.
It seems to be a supply-chain issue affecting the entire micro-marshmallow industry.
We just can’t get the tiny ones anymore. ”
Mrs. Winthrop presses a hand to her chest. “Oh no, I was afraid it was something like that.”
“But let me shoot a message to the suppliers to see if they might have any of the old stock that they can send our way. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do to improve your experience.
” Candy taps at her keyboard before reaching for her phone.
A button punch later, she says, “Hello, Chef Marcus. I was wondering if you might be able to cut the marshmallows for the cocoa bar into smaller pieces? And potentially run them through the dehydrating machine you use for the apple slices before putting them on the buffet? Yes, so that they’ll hopefully combine with the cocoa a bit better?
” She smiles at Mrs. Winthrop as she nods.
“Of course. Yes. That’s perfect, thank you!
” She ends the call, announcing, “He’ll have the refreshed marshmallows out within the hour. ”
Mrs. Winthrop’s face lights up. “Oh, Candace, thank you so much. You really are a miracle worker. You saved our holiday! You really did.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Winthrop,” Candy says with a grin as the woman floats away, crisis averted.
The second she’s out of sight, Candy’s smile melts like a tiny marshmallow in hot chocolate. She sets her pen down, closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose.
But when she looks up, her energy is once again warm and welcoming as she motions me over. “Hello, there, gorgeous! To what do I owe the honor?”
“Goat cheese special delivery for Chef Marcus. Fresh from the Silver Bell Falls Creamery.” I heft the box of Dad’s goat cheese onto the counter, the rich, earthy smell as comforting as ever. “I was heading out to run errands, so I offered to swing by on my way into Manchester.”
Candy’s focus shifts to the box, pleasure banishing the last of the tension from her expression. “Please tell me that’s the honey lavender.”
“And the rosemary thyme,” I assure her. “All your holiday goat cheese dishes will be up and running by supper tonight.”
“Bless you, you’re an angel,” she says, pulling the box closer. “I’ll take this back to Chef in a few. I have to pop into the kitchen and apologize for the marshmallow madness anyway.”
I drop my voice to a whisper as I murmur, “Oh my God, I heard. I couldn’t believe she was serious at first!”
Candy gives the tiniest of eye rolls. “Oh, she was serious. They’re all serious. Don’t get me wrong, I love our guests, I really do. But I swear, the holidays are making people crazier than they used to.”
“Sounds like it,” I agree. “In any event, you’re still the master of hospitality.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you’re still really bad at hiding it when you’ve got a secret. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up!” I insist, too quickly.
Candy hums beneath her breath. “Nope. Something’s up.
You have that squinty, I-did-something-impulsive look in your eyes.
” She cocks her head to the side, making her ebony ponytail swish.
“You didn’t call Kevin, did you? I thought we agreed Kevin was not worth a second date, no matter how slim the pickings are around here. ”
“No,” I assure her. “I didn’t call Kevin, I…” I glance around the lobby, ensuring we’re alone before I lean in to whisper, “I’ll spill, but you have to promise not to judge me until I’ve explained the entire situation.”
“I will be judging you the entire time,” she says flatly. “We’ve been friends long enough, you should know that by now. But I’ll still always be on your side. Even if you did call Kevin.”
“Thank you. And fair.” I pull in a breath, quickly recounting everything that happened last night. From ducking out of the Reindeer 5K early to sketch in the tower room at town hall, to losing track of time and being interrupted by an unexpected cat burglar out to steal the Captain’s peg leg.
Candy’s eyes bulge. “You witnessed a robbery, and you didn’t call me the second you got home last night to tell me? And to let me know that you were okay, obviously. What did the sheriff’s department do? Are they pressing charges?”
“I haven’t called the sheriff’s department.” A thrill shivers across my skin as I share the most delicious part, “Because I knew the cat burglar well enough to feel confident handling the problem myself.”
Her brows snap together, her judgy face in full effect. “Define ‘handling it,’ Holly Jo.”
“I blackmailed him.”
“You did what?” she squeaks. “Holly, that’s illegal! Not to mention dangerous. What if he decides to take you out before you can expose his crimes?”
“He didn’t actually commit a crime,” I say.
“He put the peg leg back in the case before he left. And like I said, I know him. He’s not the kind of guy to seek vengeance.
He’s really nice.” I shrug as I add, “Well, he used to be nice. He wasn’t very nice last night.
He was pretty grumpy and cheerless, actually, but I think that’s just because he’s sad about his grandad passing and needs someone to help boost his holiday spirit. ”
Candy winces. “Oh no. Please don’t tell me you’re attempting another man rescue.
I’ve told you, honey, men are not like cats.
Once they’ve gone feral, you might as well give up hope.
They will never be successfully reintegrated into society.
The kindest thing we can do for them is bless their hearts and warn our girlfriends not to engage with them on the dating apps. ”
“This man isn’t feral,” I insist.
“He sounds feral.”
“He’s not!”
“He was breaking and entering,” Candy maintains. “To steal something gross, I might add. That peg leg has always given me the creeps.”
I nod. “I’m pretty sure Luke would agree with you on that. I think that’s why he was trying to steal it, to put all the people who think it’s creepy out of their misery.”
She frowns. “Luke who?”
“Luke Ratcliffe,” I whisper, inspiring a louder squeak from Candy.
She slaps a hand over her mouth, clearly fighting for control before she hisses, “Luke Ratcliffe?! Of the Ratcliffes? The billionaires with the giant mansion on the hill, who live to buy up historical properties and expand their evil empire?”
I roll my eyes. “Their empire isn’t evil. They charge the lowest rents in the county. And they rent to locals looking for long-term housing, not tourists shopping for Airbnbs.”