Eleven #2
A tall, trim man in an equally long wool coat stamped leather boots that looked handmade on the mat and dropped two bags beside him. “What?”
“I’m so sorry, but the inn flooded in the storm,” London said, summoning anyone to come extract her from this situation. In her ongoing see-saw of “sell” or “don’t sell,” this interaction was weighing heavily in the “sell” category. The hospitality business took a certain kind of patience.
“Doesn’t look flooded.” Markus and his wife went to the same school of appearances.
“Yes, but it was flooded. We’ve been making repairs for a couple weeks. They’re not quite done. I’m sure you can find another place to stay in town.”
“In December?” Markus raised his once gentle voice. “We just drove in a blizzard to get here—with a three-month-old. We can’t turn around and do it again.”
He had a point. The Colchuck booked December a year in advance, and it wasn’t alone. There wouldn’t be any available rooms in town—especially after the storm—and London knew it.
“We had to come back this year,” Katherine said. “And bring Annabelle.”
She lifted the carrier slightly, and a little coo emerged.
“Technically,” she lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret. “She started here.”
London caught her drift and hoped her eyes said, don’t tell me more.
“Our Christmas trip last year,” Markus said, completely unfazed. “Room six.”
The poster bed.
London heard footsteps approaching. Maybe Harper had heard her silent signal for help.
“Hey.” Harper peeked around the corner. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, good! Someone else who works here,” Katherine said. “Can you help us check in?”
London shot Harper a look—please help and don’t make this worse.
“Oh, I’m just the help.” Harper lifted the board she’d been holding. “Trying to get this place put back together for Christmas. The old gal took quite a beating.”
“Oh.” Katherine deflated. “I thought I’d seen you here before.”
She probably had. Anyone who’d stayed at The Colchuck in the past two decades had probably seen her there.
Harper leaned toward London. “The upstairs rooms are fine. Construction’s just down here.”
London’s face smiled but the look to Harper clearly said, that’s not helping.
Beside them, the baby fussed, making a soft protesting noise that was unmistakable for disdain.
“She’s been in the car for four hours.” Katherine rocked the carrier. “We thought we’d get here sooner, but the snow made everything twice as difficult.”
London closed her eyes.
Baby.
Blizzard.
The Kline wine empire.
Harper was already holding one of the suitcases Markus had dropped. London told herself Frederick would do the same thing. In fact, he would have already moved their luggage into their preferred room, poured them an aperitif, and been holding the baby.
“Okay, room six. But there are no amenities, no breakfast, and no one knows you’re here. Promise me—no one knows you’re here. We start construction before eight a.m. and it goes through at least six p.m. So, I can’t guarantee nap times.”
Harper lifted the second suitcase and headed up the stairs.
“Oh, it’s okay, thank you so much!” Katherine gave her a one-armed hug, little Annabelle waving in the wind in her carrier.
“See, I knew it would work out,” Markus placed a hand on his wife’s back as they followed Harper upstairs. “I can’t wait for some glühwein and a bratwurst.”
# # #
The Klines’ door clicked shut upstairs, and London lingered, listening to the soft murmur of voices and tiny squeaks from baby Annabelle.
“Well, that happened,” Harper said when they reunited downstairs.
London’s hands found their familiar spot in her hair. “I can’t believe I let them stay.”
“You didn’t let them.” Harper sat on a stair tread. “You hosted them. You opened your heart to a family with a baby who’d just driven through a blizzard.”
“That, too.”
“Your dad would’ve done the same thing.” Harper pulled on her tape measure for no apparent reason. “And so would you—if you’d just let yourself.”
Outside, music floated in from Front Street. Town was preparing for the nightly tree lighting ceremony. London glanced toward the window, its youthful snowflakes reminding her she hadn’t thanked Katie or Joel.
“I really should go to the lighting tonight.” London sat next to Harper on the stairs. It was a tight squeeze, and their thighs touched. Neither moved. “I need to show my face and say a few ‘thank-yous.’”
“You do.”
“I still can’t believe they did that. For all its sameness, this town can be quite surprising.”
“You want some company? I’m pretty much done for today and I’d rather not make noise with a baby sleeping upstairs.”
“My worst fear. The baby dictating the construction schedule.”
Harper smiled. “Come on. Let’s follow Markus’s lead. Get some glühwein. Eat a sausage. Enjoy that we’re in the most charmingly festive place in the world.”
“Okay, but don’t let the guests dictate—”
“They’re not.”
“But—did you order the—”
“Countertops? Yes.”
“And the paint?”
“It’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“And—”
“Lon,” Harper said. “Breathe. We’re good.”
“Yeah?”
“Trust me. We can take a night off.”