Chapter 27
Lauren floated toward consciousness the next morning.
She stretched, raising her arms above her head and pointing her toes toward the foot of the bed before flexing them again.
She opened one eye and noticed brilliant white light leaking through a narrow gap in the heavy blackout curtains.
Pumpkin lay tucked against her side, snoring softly, warm and solid.
She extricated herself from the duvet and padded to the bathroom. Lauren brushed her teeth and took a quick shower, the hot water loosening the last of the travel stiffness from her shoulders. Wrapped in the plush hotel robe, she returned to the bedroom.
Pumpkin hadn’t moved.
Lauren smiled. Her clothes and makeup were in the suitcase scheduled to be delivered later that day.
She pulled on the cashmere turtleneck she’d bought at JFK and the pants she’d traveled in.
A quick swipe of lip gloss from her purse completed her ablutions.
She finger-combed her hair and twisted it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.
If her suitcase didn’t arrive today, she’d need to do some serious shopping.
She crossed to the in-room coffeemaker and brewed a cup.
Beside it, a wicker basket held a banana, a protein bar, a packet of instant oatmeal, and a small bag of trail mix.
Each was tagged with a price that would have covered a full breakfast downstairs.
She hesitated, then chose the banana and protein bar.
While the coffee brewed, she finally took in the room properly. In the corner near the coffee station sat a memory-foam dog bed, two stainless-steel bowls, and a small cellophane bag of dog treats tied with ribbon. She smiled at the thoughtfulness.
Lauren crossed the room and flung open the curtains. The space flooded with the crystalline brightness that only comes when sunshine strikes an unbroken expanse of fresh snow.
Pumpkin lifted her head and blinked in the sudden glow.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead,” Lauren said. She filled one of the hotel bowls with water and set it on the floor.
Pumpkin jumped from the bed and took a long drink, her little Christmas pajamas slightly askew.
Lauren scooped kibble into the other bowl while sipping her coffee. She studied the downtown Newport map the hotel had provided as she unwrapped her protein bar.
“I’ve got a plan,” she told her pup. She clipped Pumpkin’s leash to her collar, slipped into her new raincoat, and wound the vivid blue scarf around her neck.
“Let’s explore. There are a few small parks and squares where you can stretch your legs.
And lots of adorable shops. The weather is too beautiful to waste. ”
She glanced down at the red flannel doggie pajamas. “And we definitely need to get you something warmer. As cute as you are in those.”
Pumpkin wagged enthusiastically.
“We’re not allowed inside restaurants,” Lauren continued as she slung her crossbody bag over her shoulder and opened the door. “I’ll ask about takeout options.”
The corridor and elevator were deserted, but the first floor hummed with life. Guests checked out. Staff moved briskly. Luggage rolled across polished floors. Pumpkin, in her festive pajamas, drew smiles and soft laughter from nearly everyone they passed.
The bellman greeted them warmly. “Good morning, miss.” He bent to pat Pumpkin. “And who is this?”
Lauren introduced them and explained that they were heading out to explore. “I believe Eisenhower Park is nearby?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Less than a five-minute walk. Cross the street, walk straight to Touro Street, and you’re there.”
“And the shops? The wharf?”
“Take Thames Street south. You’ll find everything.”
“I’m hoping to buy a warm sweater for her,” Lauren said. “We’re from L.A.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure it’s much colder here. Newport is very dog-friendly. You’ll have several options.”
“Anywhere I can get lunch to go?”
“There are plenty of places. And while state law doesn’t allow dogs inside restaurants unless they’re service animals, if the restaurant isn’t busy and the dog is well behaved …” He leaned in slightly. “Managers tend to look the other way.”
“Really?” Lauren asked, delighted.
He nodded. “Arrive outside the mealtime rush and you’ll be fine. This girl looks like a model citizen.”
Pumpkin, sitting quietly at Lauren’s side, swept her tail neatly across the floor.
Lauren laughed. “I’m expecting my suitcase to be delivered by the airline today. Where will the hotel store it if I’m out?”
“I’d be happy to place it in your room,” he said.
“I’d really appreciate that.”
“If you leave your phone number, I’ll text you when it arrives.”
She gave it to him, struck again by the consideration of the staff.
“They’re predicting wind later,” he added. “It’ll feel colder once the breeze comes off the water.”
“Thank you. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
She handed him a tip and tucked her hands into her coat pockets.
Together, she and Pumpkin descended the stone steps into the bright, snow-kissed charm of downtown Newport. The air was crisp, the sky impossibly blue, and the day wide open before them.
The pair crossed Mary Street and stepped onto the narrow brick sidewalk of the residential lane opposite the hotel.
Overnight snow that had looked like powdered sugar on the uneven brick was now melting into rivulets that traced the mortar lines.
The air held the clean scent that comes after a storm.
A brass placard stood at the entrance to the street, etched with outlines of homes listed on the National Historic Register, along with descriptions of their architectural styles and a brief history.
Pumpkin waited patiently as Lauren read each one.
There were examples of Federal, Queen Anne, Georgian, and Colonial architecture.
They strolled slowly so Lauren could study each home.
She had memorized these styles in design school, sketched them in charcoal, and labeled their cornices and pediments in exams. But she had never lived where they stood shoulder to shoulder, not as museum pieces, but as someone’s everyday life.
Each home bore signs of Christmas. Evergreen wreaths fastened with satin bows hung on every door. Pine boughs and red berries filled the window boxes. Garland wrapped the lanterns. Freshly cut Christmas trees glimmered inside bay windows, their lights glowing even in daylight.
She paused before a Georgian home with symmetrical shutters and a perfectly centered door.
When these houses were built, she thought, families warmed themselves by the fire and read by candlelight.
Now, somewhere inside, someone was probably streaming a holiday movie. The juxtaposition delighted her.
Pumpkin tugged at the leash, reminding her that this was not an architectural tour.
They crossed Touro Street and entered Eisenhower Park.
The Old Colony House loomed over them on the eastern edge.
Its balanced facade, formal red brick exterior, and grand clock beneath the small rooftop tower stood serene and stately against the winter sky.
Garland wrapped the iron fence surrounding the grounds, and oversized red bows adorned the gates.
A large wooden sign near the entrance read:
Welcome to Newport — Merry Christmas
Lauren stood still, absorbing it all. Pumpkin did not. With sudden enthusiasm, she strained and pranced at the end of the leash. Then, in one nimble maneuver, she slipped free.
“Pumpkin!” Lauren spun, heart lurching. Her pup raced across the snow toward a yellow Labrador bounding in their direction like a golden freight train.
The larger dog’s owner followed, laughing.
The dogs collided in joyful chaos—rolling, tumbling, paws flinging powdery snow into the air.
“I’m so sorry!” the man called out in a distinctly New England accent. “Ollie thinks every dog in Newport is here specifically to see him.”
Lauren hurried forward, half breathless, half relieved. “It’s obvious Pumpkin agrees,” she said, laughing as the two dogs mirrored each other, with elbows low, hindquarters high, and tails wagging in unison. “The dogs here are as friendly as the people.”
“You’re not from around here?”
Lauren shook her head.
“We don’t get many visitors in winter,” the man said. “So when we do, Ollie insists on offering a proper Newport welcome.”
Behind them, a church across the street began chiming the hour. The dogs paused mid-wrestle, ears flicking at the sound, then resumed with renewed vigor.
Lauren and the man retrieved their pet’s leashes. “All right, Ollie,” he said. “Time to say goodbye to our new friends.”
Ollie licked Pumpkin’s face once for good measure before allowing himself to be led away.
Lauren grasped Pumpkin’s leash more securely this time. “Newport welcome accomplished,” she murmured.
They made their way toward Thames Street.
The shops looked like illustrations from a holiday card.
Window displays overflowed with evergreen swags and twinkling fairy lights.
Faux snow dusted mannequins dressed in wool coats and tartan scarves.
Wooden barrels outside storefronts were filled with pinecones and birch logs.
Lanterns flickered on either side of doorways.
Several shops had polished brass bowls of water outside, accompanied by signs that read:
Dogs Welcome — Especially at Christmas
Pumpkin trotted proudly past them.
Lauren paused in front of a boutique whose window featured a miniature village scene complete with tiny skaters gliding around a mirrored “pond.” She peered into the shop beyond the window display and spotted a wooden sign painted in looping script: DOGS.
“Yes! That’s what we’re looking for,” Lauren said.
They entered, a bell chiming cheerfully above the door.
The shop smelled faintly of cedar and cinnamon.
They crossed to the sign. Hand-knit dog sweaters were arranged by size on rustic wooden shelves.
Christmas stockings embroidered with paw prints hung along the wall.
A basket near the register held plush reindeer toys.
The owner, seated behind the counter with a mug of tea, looked up and smiled. “What can I help you find?”
Lauren pointed to Pumpkin and explained the need for something warmer.
“You’ve come to the right place,” the woman said, rising. “Though I must say, that Christmas flannel she’s wearing is pretty spectacular.”
Pumpkin wagged in agreement.
Lauren selected a chunky cable-knit sweater in variegated shades of pink.
“That’ll keep her toasty and protect her from the wind,” the owner assured Lauren.
Lauren selected a paw-print embellished Christmas stocking and a stuffed reindeer. “Is there somewhere nearby I can get takeout?” Lauren asked as she paid.
“Do you like clam chowder?”
“Love it.”
“Two doors down. It’s not fancy. They sell chowder and seasoning packets, and that’s all. She won’t be busy at this time of the afternoon, so I imagine she’ll invite you in out of the cold.”
As the shop owner had predicted, the chowder shop was unassuming.
The lone server welcomed Pumpkin immediately.
“Of course she can come in. We’re between crowds.
” Lauren ordered clam chowder. The server brought Pumpkin a water bowl and a homemade dog biscuit shaped like a tiny lobster.
Lauren sank into a small bistro chair and wrapped her hands around the steaming bowl of chowder.
The soup was thick, creamy, and fragrant with thyme and briny sweetness.
Beyond the glass, snow drifted lazily as the wind gathered strength. She purchased three packets of seasoning: one for her sister, one for Kathy, and one for herself.
When they stepped back outside, the bite in the air stole her breath. The sky had shifted from azure to steel gray. Wind whipped down Thames Street, rattling wreaths and lifting loose snow into swirling eddies.
Lauren buttoned her raincoat to her chin and crouched beside Pumpkin.
“I bet you’re freezing, aren’t you?” She pulled the new sweater from the boutique bag and slipped it carefully over Pumpkin’s head, layering it atop the Christmas pajamas.
“There,” she said, straightening. “Festive and practical.”
Pumpkin pranced in approval.
“It’s not far to the hotel. Let’s jog back.” They set off together, their breath puffing in white clouds, with the charm of Newport wrapping around them like a Christmas ribbon pulled snug.