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Isaac glances at his daughter. “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Cobie for the girls to look after,” he says.
“Oh, please, you’ll just be in our way,” Norah says.
“Yeah, Daddy,” Cobie agrees, throwing her hands in the air in mock frustration.
“Okay, fine. I’m all yours, Keller.”
Keller slaps him on the back. “Thanks. Pop has come up with a complicated design this year, and we can use all the help we can get.”
Keller pays Norah for the poinsettias Willa ordered for the inn, and Isaac helps him carry them across the street to his truck while Cobie and I run a package that was delivered this afternoon up to my apartment, which is above the flower shop.
Norah rented it to me when I returned from school. She and her husband, Sammy, built a house next to her and Keller’s sister Donna last year.
Once Isaac returns, the three of us say our good-byes to Norah and continue our walk through town.
“See you guys tonight,” Norah calls as she waves us off.
Cobie walks ahead of us as she enjoys the candy cane.
“So, what do you think so far?” I ask.
“I can see the appeal of Lake Mistletoe. I love the mixture of old and new architecture and how everyone decorates to their niche.”
“You noticed that, did you?”
“Yeah. My favorite is the tree in Keller and Bran’s shop with the power tool ornaments and chain links hanging from the branches.”
“Fun, right? I don’t mean to brag, but Norah and I made the tape measure garland for them,” I tell him.
“Nice touch,” he praises.
“Bran might be the artist in the family, but I can occasionally make cool things too. In fact, the space up ahead to the right is where I plan to create the coolest thing in town,” I inform him.
As we approach, he reads the signage attached to the front of the stone building.
Future site of The Lake Mistletoe Heritage and History Museum.
He raises a brow. “A museum?”
“Yep. It’s my passion project. I’ve dreamed of opening a museum in Lake Mistletoe for years, showcasing the rich history and artistry of our town. A place where people can come together to learn, appreciate, and celebrate our heritage with interactive exhibits and galleries dedicated to local artists. I can see children laughing and learning, families bonding over shared history. A place that brings our community together.”
“Looks like it’s about to come to fruition,” he says.
“Maybe. There are a lot of things that have to fall into place for it to happen. We have the location. We’ve applied for a state funding grant, and I’ve also solicited private funding. In fact, this year’s Holly Ball is sponsoring our efforts.”
“What’s the Holly Ball?” he asks.
“It’s an annual ball that the town throws the day before Christmas Eve. All the grown-ups get to dress up and dance the night away. There’s food and cocktails and door prizes. All the ticket sales go to the Lake Mistletoe conservation fund, which helps maintain the lake, pedestrian bridge, and the walking trail. But this year, a portion of the ticket sales and the proceeds from a silent auction are being set aside for the museum project.”
He nods. “This town really comes together, doesn’t it?”
“We do. When something is important to one of us, it somehow becomes important to us all,” I agree.
“I like that. You don’t get that type of camaraderie in big cities. Some philanthropists lend their names to certain charities and the like, and there is a fundraiser every other day, but it becomes more of a social status thing than anything else.”
“Hmm, I guess as long as the ones in need get the funds, that’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?” I ask.
“I suppose,” he mutters.
