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“I’m Willa, by the way. I own the inn,” she introduces.
“Hi, Willa. I’m Isaac. I’m here to photograph the town forEpic Odysseys, and my daughter and I will be your guests for a few days.”
She smiles. “Yes, the mayor told me to expect you. We’re very excited to have our hometown featured in your magazine,” she says as I lift the box again and follow her to the door.
I open it and wait for her to make it inside.
“Daddy, Daddy! They have hot cocoa and cookies in there,” Cobie exclaims, as she comes running toward us.
“Slow down. Don’t run,” I call as she barrels into my legs.
“Do you want to have cocoa with me?” she asks as she looks up at me.
“I do. But I’m helping Miss Willa at the moment, and then I need to get our things from the car and take them to our room.”
Her eyes slide to my right, where Willa is standing with her hand resting on her swollen belly.
“Is there a baby in your tummy?” Cobie asks.
“Yes, ma’am. A big baby boy, and I bet he’d love some cocoa and cookies,” Willa answers.
Cobie steps back and looks at me. Then, she points down the hallway. “The cookies are that way. Meet us when you’re done,” she instructs.
“You got it, boss,” I quip as I set the box on the reception desk.
She takes Willa’s hand, and the two of them head to the treats.
I return outside to fetch our bags and carry them to our room.
It’s a good size with two queen beds. There is a small sitting area to the left with a gliding rocker and a side table with a lamp in front of an Amish electric fireplace. There is a nightstand between the beds that holds a nostalgic ceramic Christmas tree with colorful bulbs. Two bottles of water and an ice bucket are sitting beside the television, which is perched upon a beautifully carved live-edge console. There’s a sliding barn door that leads to a private bathroom.
I set my suitcase on the bed closest to the door and Cobie’s pink suitcase on the other. I purchased it for her for her third birthday. It matches the one I bought for Lonnie with a plan to take them both on many great adventures.
Here we are, five years later, and it’s the first time she’s had the chance to use it.
“Wow, this is quite a spread,” I say as we take a seat for dinner.
“Alice and Hal are the best. You won’t find a finer meal in all of Lake Mistletoe.” Harold Peterson, a frequent guest of the inn, whom I met earlier today, gives his opinion.
“Oh, Harold, thank you,” Alice bellows.
Alice, the inn’s cook, and her husband, Hal, wave off the compliment.
“It’s the truth. My family and I have been coming here for over twenty years, and Alice’s apple dumplings are one of the reasons why.”
His grandsons, Brad and Jason, eagerly agree.
As we eat, all the patrons around the table reminisce about the years they’ve spent celebrating Christmas with Willa’s grandparents, the former owners of the inn. Each one talking of the staff as if they were members of their family.
It’s odd. How can people who are employed by a place you rent become so important to you? I’ve traveled to many destinations and stayed in some impressive places, but I don’t think I could recall the name of a single front-desk clerk or cook at an establishment without looking back at my paperwork.
“So, Isaac, are you going to be here to enjoy the Christmas Market?” Trixie—the inn’s manager and mother of Willa’s husband, Keller—asks.
“Oh, that would make for excellent photos for the article,” Willa interjects.
“What’s the Christmas Market?” Cobie asks.
“Every year, we have a tree-lighting festival with a holiday market. It’s a lot of fun. There are games and sleigh rides around the lake, an ice-skating rink, and even a Christmas boat parade with prizes. Keller and Bob go all out with their decorations every year,” Trixie explains.
