The Lodge on Holly Road. Sheila Roberts
“I’m terribly sorry,” Olivia said. “I do wish you’d come down and said something to me. I’d have been happy to talk to them.”
“Ha! Come down in my bathrobe and pajamas? I think not. And breakfast this morning.”
Olivia stiffened. “What about breakfast?”
“All those carbs.”
No one made crepes like Olivia. She served them stuffed with wild huckleberries and berry-flavored whipped cream. And she always served some sort of protein along with them. “If I remember correctly, breakfast also included sausages,” she said, some of the sweetness seeping out of her voice. “And fruit.”
“I thought it was very good,” said Mrs. Braxton, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her husband ignored her. Now he produced his printed bill. “I want a refund.” Behind him, his wife studied her feet.
Ooh, of all the cheap, contemptible... Olivia would have liked nothing better than to tell this man exactly what she thought of him.
But men like this rarely saw their shriveled souls for what they were. So, instead of saying, “You win the bad-boy lump of coal award for the day,” she said, “I’m sorry your stay wasn’t to your satisfaction. We try hard to give all our guests a pleasant experience.”
“Well, you failed with me!”
“I can refund fifty percent of your room price.” Sometimes, when guests had a complaint (and that was rare), Olivia gave them a gift certificate for a free night. Not Mr. Edward Braxton. She had no intention of encouraging him to return.
“I want a full refund,” he insisted.
This man was a bully. And there was only one way to treat bullies. “Mr. Braxton,” she said firmly, “you stayed in a lovely room with a beautiful view. We even left Sweet Dreams chocolates on your pillow.”
“My wife ate mine,” he muttered.
“And we gave you a lovely breakfast this morning, featuring my very own gourmet crepes. Which you ate. You made no complaint at breakfast, nor did you inform me of any special dietary needs when you registered. And there was a place on your registration form to do so. Now, you are a businessman, correct?”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Yes.”
“Then I ask you, would you give yourself a full refund?”
His brows formed an angry V. “Now, see here.”
“It’s Christmas, and in the spirit of the season, I’m offering you a fifty-percent discount. Would you like it?” she finished in a tone of voice that plainly said, “Take it or leave it.”
“Fine. I’ll take it.”
“An excellent decision,” she said.
“But I don’t like it,” he growled after they’d finished the appropriate paperwork.
“I’m sure you don’t,” she agreed.
“Come on, Thelma,” he snapped at his wife, and made for the front door.
“Bah, humbug,” Olivia muttered as she walked through the door marked Private into her family’s living quarters.
Right now the only family living there was Eric and her and Muffin the cat. They could easily make room for a wife. And children. Or remodel.
Three bedrooms were at the back. The rest of the family quarters was like any other small home, entered through a front door with a window of etched glass. Once inside, visitors found a great-room-style layout with a small but state-of-the-art kitchen, a dining area and a cozy living room, complete with an electric fireplace, where she could hang Christmas stockings.
Three stockings hung there now. One was marked Olivia, and her boys usually slipped in a couple of stocking-stuffer-size boxes of Sweet Dreams chocolates. The next stocking in line had Eric’s name on it. That she would fill with nuts and candy bars and his favorite hot sauces and jellies from Local Yokels, which specialized in Northwest products. The last stocking belonged to her younger son, Brandon, who was currently in Wyoming but who managed to get home for Christmas every year. Brandon was her wandering boy, trying to find himself. But his internal compass always brought him home for important holidays. His stocking would get filled with Snickers bars and Corn Nuts, his all-time favorite snack.
Normally the sight of her decorations cheered her. The ceramic nativity set on the mantel had been a gift from her mother-in-law years ago, and she cherished it. Her little tree was loaded with ornaments she’d collected over the years. And she’d hung mistletoe in the archway between the kitchen and dining room. She frowned at it. Why did she put that up every year?
Her frown deepened. All right. This was a very bad attitude she had brewing. She’d been perfectly happy until her encounter with her grumpy guest.
“Mr. Braxton, I am not going to let you ruin my day.” She picked up her knitting (a scarf she was finishing for her friend Muriel Sterling-Wittman for Christmas) and got to work. Knitting always made her feel good. She imagined herself poking Mr. Braxton in the bottom with one of her knitting needles, and that made her feel even better.
She’d barely gotten started when the doorbell rang. Oh, she knew who that was, and the mere thought of what she’d find when she opened the door was enough to drive the memory of Ebenezer Braxton from her mind. Yup, there stood Kevin from Lupine Floral, looking like a fashion model in his trendy jeans and gray wool coat. And he was wearing the red scarf she’d knit for him the Christmas before.
“I have something for my favorite innkeeper,” he sang, holding out a huge holiday floral arrangement.
“You’d better not let Ann Marie or Gerhardt Geissel hear you say that,” Olivia cautioned with a smile. Although, knowing Kevin, he said the same thing when he delivered floral arrangements to them.
He grinned and winked. “I can see you’re all ready for Christmas here at the lodge.”
“Of course we are. It’s my favorite time of year.”
“This place could be a movie set,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Olivia, you are the queen of Christmas.”
“Well, if I’m the queen, then you and Heinrich are my princes. I look forward to your lovely arrangements every year. Please tell him that.”
After a few more pleasantries, Kevin was on his way to flatter more of the residents of Icicle Falls, and Olivia took the arrangement over to the kitchen counter and removed it from its box. As she’d expected, it was a feast for the eyes with red and white roses, delicate ferns and baby’s breath. Candy canes bloomed inside the big red ribbon bow wrapped around the vase. Gorgeous.
She didn’t have to read the card to know it was from Eric but did, anyway, just so she could delight in the message. “Merry Christmas to the world’s best mom. Love, Eric.”
She pulled a tissue from her sweater pocket and dabbed at eyes that had suddenly grown misty. She had such a wonderful son. She was so lucky that he’d opted to stay in Icicle Falls and help her run the lodge. As if that wasn’t enough, every year he sent her a Christmas bouquet. He’d been doing it for fourteen years, ever since George died. At first the arrangements were small and simple, fitting a young man’s budget, but as he’d gotten older they’d gotten more elaborate. And more expensive.
The door from the reception area opened and he walked in.
“Look what came,” she greeted him.
“Well, whaddya know. I guess Santa came through again.”
“Santa Son,” she said with a smile. “They’re lovely. I wish you wouldn’t be so extravagant, though.”
“You’re worth it,” he said, stopping to kiss her on the cheek before going to the refrigerator to forage for lunch.
“There’s