Seemingly oblivious to my surly tone, she shrugged. “Like I said, nothing a little road salt couldn’t fix, or a bag of sand. It’s good business practice to keep your roads clear of ice. But that answers my next question. This must be the Bradley Inn. I have a reservation.”
Her smile was as blinding as the sun on freshly fallen snow, and I almost shaded my eyes to dim the effect. Lips the color of warm cranberries drew my interest, and the way the cold tinted her cheeks made something stir inside my chest.
I scowled.Nope.This pixie sprite of holiday nonsense and best business practices was NOT staying here.
“Sorry. We're completely booked. You’ll have to try the hotel in town.”
The wind swirled the ends of her hair as she peered at the inn behind me. She gestured toward a wooden sign hanging on a chain. “The sign over there says vacancy, and the woman I spoke to on the phone last night told me I'd have the place to myself. She said I was the first guest in weeks. With no other reservations in sight.”
My eyes narrowed into slits.Grandma Jean strikes again.I was taking her off phone duty.
Between gritted teeth, I said, “My mistake. Welcome to our Inn. I'll let my grandmother know you're here so she can show you to your room.”
Her brow rose as she studied the object gripped tightly in my hand. “Do you always greet your guests wielding a saw? With the tree farm and the gingerbread house backdrop, you’re kind of giving off serial killer Santa vibes.”
“Make sure to leave that in your review,” I deadpanned, pointing the saw blade toward the inn, punctuating her point. “After you.”
“Delia. My name's Delia Frost. It's nice to meet you…” She paused, waiting for me to introduce myself.
“Jack,” I replied gruffly, reaching for her suitcase. “Jack, the Kringle Killer. Let's go. I have trees to slay.”
A musical laugh burst from her throat as she fell into step beside me. She nudged me in the arm. “Santa sleigh pun intended, am I right?”
The corner of my mouth twitched, and I bit down hard on my cheek. What was I doing? The woman barely reached my shoulders like some kind of woodland elf, and she smelled like vanilla icing. She was trouble draped in tinsel, and I was finding her another place to stay as soon as possible.
I'd make up a story. Burst plumbing. A heater on the fritz. If I had to cut the power at the breaker panel, I would. With a flip of a switch, she’d leave, and I wouldn’t have to bother hanging holiday lights around the inn. Dark and alone, just the way I liked it. Win-win.
When we reached the front door, it swung open on a rusty hinge, and my grandmother threw out her arms. We might not have had any recent guests, but this welcome was overkill.
“You made it!” she cheered like they were long-lost friends. “Right on time. Please, call me Grandma Jean, everyone does. I have your room all ready. It’s the best one we have, with a beautiful view of the tree farm.”
“Grandma, you didn’t tell me we booked a guest. How long is she staying?”
“Till Christmas!” Delia piped in, following my grandmother into the common room. “Grandma Jean, this place is lovely.”
My brow creased. Were we seeing the same room? The hearth was filled with soot, sitting beneath a mantel bare of decorations. A lone pine tree sat in the corner, slightly bent—unsurprising since it came from out back—and lacking ornaments. This room was devoid of joy on purpose.
“Ah, it could use a little cheer. I keep begging my grandson to pull down the decorations from the attic. But he’s so busy. Running a farm like this is exhausting, and we’ve had trouble finding help this year.”
“Well, your grandson definitely knows how to brandish a saw. It wasn't menacing at all,” Delia said with a suppressed grin. “But don’t do anything extra on my account. You won’t even know I’m here.”
I clenched my jaw.Unlikely. But it won’t matter, you’re not staying.
Grandma Jean clapped her hands together. “Let me show you upstairs and get you settled. Here's your key.” She handed Delia a long brass key with a red tassel hanging from the end.
I watched Delia head for the stairs, realizing I still had her suitcase. I was not a bellboy, but then again, she'd probably topple down the staircase in those heels if she tried to bring it up to her room.
With a heavy sigh and an internal pep talk that I would be loading said suitcase into the back of a taxi in no time, I delivered the luggage to her door.
Delia popped her head out of the room as my grandmother droned on about the tricky hot water in the bathroom and the perks of fresh cookies in the afternoon.News to me, I’ve never seen any cookies.
She grabbed her suitcase and sent me a wink. “Catch ya later, killer. Don't forget that road salt.”
The door closed in my face, and I blinked at her dismissal. Three weeks till Christmas.
Three. Long. Weeks.
There was no way I was sharing this house with that woman. Meals were out of the question.
