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“Are you guys cozy?” I ask as I join them.
“Yes, it’s been a busy week. Most of the holiday guests have arrived. The trees were delivered today, so we can finish decorating this weekend, and Alice and I will begin planning and baking for the holiday market. It’s nice to sit and enjoy some downtime before the rush begins,” Trixie replies.
“How about you, Bran? How are you feeling? Did the doctor say how long it would take for your eye to heal?” Trixie asks.
“I’m fine. A little sore, but nothing I can’t handle. He thinks I’ll be right as rain by the end of next week. Which means I’ll be sporting this patch in the live nativity this weekend.”
“That should be fun,” Willa says.
I shrug. “I’ll just tell all the visitors who pass by that one of the wise men clocked Joseph in the eye.”
“Brannigan Prince, you will not say that,” Trixie gasps.
“You’re in the nativity?”
I look over to see a horrified expression on Hannah’s face.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be playing the handsome lead, Joseph, husband of Mary.”
She places her face in her hands and grumbles, “Great. I’ll be known around town as the woman who almost killed our Lord and Savior’s earthly father.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I whisper.
A truck pulls up to the garage, and Sammy and Norah emerge. Behind them comes Donna’s SUV, filled with her, Barry, and their children.
“Hi, everyone. Are we eating out here? It’s freezing,” Sammy asks.
Trixie stands and envelops her grandkids in tight hugs.
“No, Hal and Alice will be serving the inn’s guests dinner in the dining room, so we’ll eat at the table and island in the kitchen. Come along, children. Let’s get your coats off and your hands washed,” she says.
They follow her inside, and Norah plops down in a chair next to Willa.
“I’m exhausted and starving,” she bellows.
“And whiny,” Willa says as she wraps an arm around her shoulders.
I look over at Hannah, whose gaze is fixed on the flickering flames.
“And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself here in Lake Mistletoe?”
Her eyes come to mine. Big, beautiful brown eyes, framed by long, curly lashes.
“I am. It’s exquisite,” she murmurs before focusing back on the fire.
“You should take her to see your place one day,” Norah suggests, and then she looks at Hannah. “You’d love it. It’s a tree house.”
Her gaze flitters back to me. “You do not live in a tree house,” she gasps.
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t,” she repeats.
I furrow my brow. “And why would I lie about where I live?”
“I don’t know why, but you can’t live in a tree house.”
“Why not?” I ask.
