Chapter 7
room with a broom
Holly
The drive to Winterwood had been surprisingly pleasant and almost restful.
Because it was technically a work trip, Holly didn’t feel the usual guilt that crept in whenever she wasn’t being productive.
She’d munched on road-trip snacks, listened to an audiobook about leadership psychology, and watched the landscape transform from city skylines to wide open highways, then to the winding, snow-dusted roads of Vermont.
Now it was dark, and as she turned onto the long, lantern-lined drive, she found herself driving straight into a Christmas card.
The Winterwood Inn glowed against the night, its white clapboard siding shining beneath strings of golden lights.
Two towering Christmas trees flanked the front steps, each wrapped in garland and silver ribbon.
Evergreen boughs framed the veranda railings, and the path from the parking area was lit by small glass lanterns sunk into snowbanks.
Grandfather would love it here, she thought, and made a mental note to send him a photo. He’d probably add it to his “must-visit” list of festive destinations.
Holly parked her car, grabbed her purse, and headed up the steps. The door opened easily, and the scent of pine and wood polish greeted her while the wide-plank floorboards creaked underfoot.
At the reception desk, a blond woman stepped out from the adjoining office, a clipboard in hand. Her smile was as warm as the candle-style sconces glowing along the walls.
“You must be Holly Kringle,” she said. “Welcome to the Winterwood Inn. I’m Liv Nilsen. I hope the drive treated you kindly.”
“It did, thank you.” Holly managed a small smile, though fatigue was catching up with her. A bed, or perhaps a bath in a soaker tub, sounded perfect.
“Well, we’ve got you in Room Four, the Juniper Room.
” Liv slid a brass key across the counter.
“Up the stairs, first door on your left. Breakfast starts at six, but if you’re an early riser, we always have coffee and pastries out here in the lobby.
There’s also the Maple Mug Coffee House down the street. Opens at seven.”
“Perfect,” Holly said, taking the key.
“The dining room’s still open for another fifteen minutes if you’d like a proper meal,” Liv added. “Or the Sugarhouse Brewery is right across the street. They serve good food and great beer.”
Holly opened her mouth to decline just as the dining-room doors swung open, releasing the mouth-watering aroma of something rich and savory. Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.
Liv grinned. “That settles it. Come have a quick dinner with me on the house. Consider it a welcome to Winterwood.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“You absolutely could,” Liv said cheerfully, already leading the way. “It’s Christmas, after all. Let me play hostess properly.”
Holly hesitated, then sighed. “All right. Thank you.”
“This should get me onto Santa’s nice list,” Liv teased as they stepped into the dining room.
Holly’s mouth dropped open. Surely the woman was joking.
Liv’s expression softened. “Sorry. I imagine you hear that sort of thing all the time.”
“It’s fine,” Holly said quickly, following her to a corner table near the fire.
The room was a study in warmth: honey-colored wainscoting, a stone fireplace flickering in the corner, stockings hung neatly along the mantel.
The wallpaper above the paneling was patterned with faint gold pine boughs, catching the firelight just enough to shimmer.
Garland twined along the ceiling beams, and each table held a candle ringed with small poinsettias.
The chair creaked companionably as she sat.
“I’ll tell the kitchen we’re here,” Liv said, disappearing through a swinging door. She returned a moment later with menus. “I already know what I’m having—the maple-braised beef stew. It’s been simmering since breakfast.”
“So that’s what smells so good,” Holly said, letting out a long breath as her shoulders eased. The place was so cozy, even she couldn't help but relax.
“Yup. Tempted me all day. The Vermont cheddar mac and cheese is also excellent. If you’re vegan, there’s a roasted squash risotto.”
“You had me at stew,” Holly said.
Liv laughed, a bright sound that filled the space.
When the waitress left with their orders, Liv chatted easily, asking about the trip, where Holly was from, if she needed anything for her stay. Holly kept her answers brief, polite, and vague. The fewer details, the better.
“So,” Liv said, “you’re here to look at the Hale land, right?”
Holly nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you have plans for the land?”
We want to build a secret Santa village fueled by a magical power vein beneath the forest.
“Nothing concrete,” she said. “We see it as an investment.”
Liv nodded, apparently satisfied. “That land’s beautiful. A lot of us grew up hiking there. Miss Hale never minded. Feels strange, thinking of it changing hands.”
Before Holly could respond, the waitress returned, setting steaming bowls of stew in front of them, along with a plate of warm, crusty bread.
The smell of rich beef, roasted vegetables, and the faint sweetness of maple was intoxicating. Holly took a bite and almost groaned. The beef melted on her tongue, and the carrots and parsnips were soft and sweet.
“I think I’m in love,” she said before she could stop herself.
Liv laughed. “That’s why it’s my favorite.”
They were finishing the last of the bread when the dining room doors opened again.
Two boys burst in, both flushed from the cold.
A tall man followed at a calmer pace, shaking snow from his jacket.
He was an inch or two over six feet, with blond hair poking out from under his beanie and glacier-blue eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets.
Holly blinked. Where had that come from?
“Mom, we’re back from hockey,” the younger boy announced.
“I can see that,” Liv said, smiling. “I’m just finishing here. Homework, then bed. And thank Uncle Ivar.”
The boys chorused their thanks and bounded away.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Liv said, turning back to Holly. “That was my crew. We live behind the inn in a small house, so we’re close, but not too close.” She grinned. “Otherwise they’d eat through my profits.”
Liv turned to the man still standing nearby. “Join us. This is Ivar, my brother. He’s a park ranger. I believe I mentioned on the phone that he might be a good guide while you’re exploring the Hale property.”
Holly tried not to stare at those icy blue eyes, so she focused on the rest of him instead. With worn jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and a brown barn jacket, he practically defined Vermont.
And yet, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else at the moment.
“I don’t want to impose on anyone,” she said quickly.
“Nonsense,” Liv said. “Ivar knows the forest better than anyone.”
“Nice to meet you, Holly.” Ivar’s voice was low and steady. “What exactly does your family want it for?”
“An investment,” she said.
“In a forest?” His brow furrowed. “You’re not planning to log or build?”
“Not log, but maybe someday—”
“Sorry,” Liv cut in. “He’s protective of the land. It’s been a big topic in town.”
“I understand,” Holly said. “We’re simply exploring some options right now.”
“I’m free tomorrow, if you are,” Ivar said, only a hint of resignation slipping through as he glanced at his sister. “We can start early.”
It didn’t sound quite like an offer. Holly had the distinct impression he’d rather face a blizzard than play tour guide, but starting tomorrow instead of wasting the day finding someone else was fine with her.
“Okay,” she agreed. “That would be great.”
“Great,” he echoed. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He turned to go, but Liv’s hand shot out to stop him. “Can you grab Holly’s luggage from her car? I noticed she didn’t have any when she checked in.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Holly said.
“Nonsense,” Liv replied. “It’s cold out. Let him.”
Reluctantly, Holly handed over her key. “It’s the black Prius.”
Ivar nodded, gave his sister a look that translated to you owe me, and disappeared through the door.
Holly stood, smiling. “Thank you again for dinner. I’m going to sleep like a log.”
“My pleasure,” Liv said, following her into the lobby. “Welcome to Winterwood, Holly. I have a feeling you’re going to like it here.”
Moments later, Ivar returned. A suitcase in each hand, and something tucked under an arm. He placed the suitcases on the floor, then reached for the remaining item. It was long and oddly wrapped. The end of a wooden handle peeked through the fabric.
Holly’s watch began to beep.
“I’ll take that,” she said, reaching for the broomstick. Their fingers brushed as she took it, and in that brief moment of contact, the broom seemed to vibrate ever so slightly between them. A subtle tremor traveled up her arm like a current.
A warmth spread through her fingers where their hands had touched, despite the chill clinging to his skin from the outdoors. Ivar’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, his expression shifted from guarded to startled.
Had he felt it too? The strange pulse of... something... that had passed between them?
She pulled the broom away, pulse racing, watch beeping.
Ivar cleared his throat. “You’re traveling with a broom?”
Holly swallowed, trying to ignore the lingering warmth in her fingertips. “It’s for sweeping up bad first impressions.”
***
When Holly opened the door to her room, she could have been stepping into her grandfather’s house.
A four-poster bed stood draped in a patchwork quilt of deep reds and forest greens.
A small stone fireplace waited with kindling stacked beside it, and on the mantel sat a mug, a packet of peppermint cocoa mix, and a sprig of holly.
It was cozy.
Too cozy, maybe.
Holly set her purse on the dresser and turned her attention to the broom, leaning it against the wall, and staring at it as if it might start explaining itself.
“What are you doing here?” she asked under her breath. “I left you in the closet.”
The broom, unsurprisingly, said nothing.
She crossed her arms. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t pack you.”
The broom remained stoic, wooden, unbothered. “Rita would say this is a metaphor,” she muttered. “Reconnecting with my past, or something hokey like that.”
The corner of the bed sank as she perched on the edge, staring at the broom.
It was then she recalled the rest of the scene from her farewell banquet in Italy.
La Befana had approached her and held out the broom.
When Holly grasped the handle, La Befana laid her hands over hers, moving closer, her voice low.
“Our brooms are carved from the Tree of the Ancients. Passed from mother to daughter, never beyond the family line. But this one… it wants you. Don’t ask why.
Not yet. When the time comes, it will guide you to the truth your heart has forgotten. ”
Holly dismissed the memory with a shake of her head. The broom was a means of transportation. A way to get the job done.
And yet, the broom was in the room with her. She was talking to it, and even stranger, the broom wanted to be there.
Holly huffed out a laugh and stood, unzipping her suitcase. “Fine. Whatever. But if you open the mini-bar, you’re kindling.”