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“How was your flight?” Aunt Trixie asks as the sliding glass doors open and a blast of icy air hits my face.
“It was good. I got a little work done, so I can put the laptop away and enjoy the next few weeks.”
“Wonderful.”
We cross the busy pickup lanes at Boise Airport to the parking deck and stop at a red Chevrolet Tahoe. Uncle Bob loads my bag into the cargo area, and I climb into the backseat and buckle up.
“The drive in takes about two and a half hours. Are you hungry? We could stop at the Black Bear Diner in Twin Falls for lunch. They have the best pot roast, aside from your aunt Trixie’s,” Uncle Bob asks.
“Two and a half hours? You guys made a five-hour round trip to pick me up from the airport? That’s crazy. I could have flown into Hailey.”
Uncle Bob snorts. “Those plane tickets are a fortune this time of year. Taking advantage of all the vacationers at Sun Valley. It’s highway robbery.”
“You should have at least let me rent a car and saved yourselves the trip.”
Aunt Trixie turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “Oh, we didn’t mind. We enjoy road-tripping together. Besides, Bob loves any excuse to stop at Black Bear for pot roast. Don’t let him fool you. He likes it better than mine,” she says before playfully swatting at his shoulder.
A deep, rumbling chuckle fills the cab, and I smile at the two of them. They are adorable and the only couple I know who have won at the game of love. My parents divorced when I was in middle school. My mother never remarried. My father did. Twice, and wife number three doesn’t look to be hanging around much longer.
Every rule has to have an exception, I guess.
Aunt Trixie turns the radio to a station playing Christmas music, and I settle in and enjoy the drive through the beautiful snow-covered roads that weave in and out of the mountains.
It’s such a welcome contrast to the Las Vegas desert.
We stop for lunch, and as promised, the pot roast ismelt in your mouthdelicious.
By the time we are pulling into the gates of Lake Mistletoe, the sun has set, and horizon is sprinkled with bright stars. It’s another sight I rarely get to enjoy. The lights and sounds of the Strip usually drown out the beauty of the night sky, and I have to venture toward Red Rocks for stargazing, which, in all honesty, I don’t make time to do nearly often enough.
Work. That’s what I live for, and I’m very good at what I do. The company I work for has been voted the best event planning service in Las Vegas for four years running. I’m not saying that I’m the reason for the success, but I did start working for them four years ago.
I began as an assistant coordinator and worked my way up to one of the most requested wedding planners in the city, and boy, does Las Vegas host an insane amount of weddings each year. It’s the number one destination wedding location in the United States with an average of one hundred twenty thousand ceremonies per year. That’s more than twenty-three hundred weddings per week.
I’m a pro at managing grumpy grooms, high emotions, meddling family members, day-of-ceremony chaos, and any unforeseen problems that might occur for the frazzled bride-to-be, and I have been working my tail off, trying to climb my way to the top.
Needless to say, your girl is exhausted.
So, for the first time since I started this gig, I’m taking a much-needed break. December is the slowest month for nuptials, and after what was a record-breaking year for spring and summer weddings, I cleared my calendar, much to my boss’s dismay, and packed my bags to spend the holidays with my family. I haven’t done this in years.
My cousin Norah and her husband, Sammy’s, November wedding was my last one of the year. She wanted a true Vegas experience, complete with an Elvis impersonator serenading the couple as they embarked on their first dance. So, I booked a beautiful, rustic ceremony for them at The Glass Garden. It’s gorgeous and, most importantly, a climate-controlled outdoor venue right on the Las Vegas Strip with a glass ceiling, so the night sky can twinkle down on the couple and their guests.
It wasn’t my usual luxe, over-the-top event, but it was romantic and intimate, and the reception was so much fun.
The entire family flew in for the wedding and then spent a week celebrating in Vegas. I hooked them all up with the best tickets in town and showed them the highlights of Sin City. In return, my cousin Keller’s girlfriend, Willa, offered me a complimentary four-week stay at the inn she owns in Lake Mistletoe as a thank-you.
Aunt Trixie has worked at the Gingerbread Inn—once owned by her best friend, Wilhemina, before her granddaughter, Willa, inherited it last year—since we were children. She used to send my mother and me pictures and postcards, and I always wanted to visit, but we never did.
So, I’m taking Willa up on her offer, and here I am, finally ready to get my holly and jolly on in Lake Mistletoe.
“Thank you for letting me stay through the holidays,” I tell Willa as she hands me the keys.
“We’re happy to have you. Besides, I was so impressed with the job you did on Norah’s wedding that I intend to pick your brain for ideas for the Gingerbread Inn’s new event venue while you’re here, so it was kind of a selfish offer.”
I wrap my fingers around the brass key ring and smile. “New event venue? How exciting.”
“Yeah, I have this grand vision of hosting weddings, holiday balls, corporate galas, and even sweet-sixteen parties and proms in Grammy’s garden. After seeing the chapel where Norah and Sammy saidI do, I was inspired to create the same type of space here,” she gushes.
“Well, I’m at your disposal. Pick away.”
