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At least I have that to look forward to.
I heave myself into the truck. The engine kicks to life, and heat starts pouring out of the vents. “So, I hear you took over the inn after your Dad died and um…” I stop my sentence. He didn’t much like it when the stranger alluded to his career-ending injury, so I’m not bringing that up again.
“I did,” he says, voice sharp.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a job.”
I roll my eyes. So, I take that as a no? Or as a cue for me to stop talking? I was never very good at socializing, that’s for sure.
While he stews next to me, driving the beast of a vehicle through the snow-covered streets expertly, I stare out the window. Eventually, the cityscape fades to a highway. When my uncle turns off the exit, I start to perk up. Eventually, I see the city sign. I recognize it in one of the pictures Grandma Junie sent. Winterhaven. The inches of snow clinging to the sign only makes it a more perfect scene, like the town is living up to its name.
As he drives down the narrow streets, I light up at all of the Christmas decor. Not one business isn’t covered in green garland and red bows. Everything matches perfectly, and it looks like everyone inside each building should be wearing aprons and baking Christmas cookies and caroling to their heart’s content. “Wow,” I say in wonder. “It’s exactly like Grandma said.”
“June wrote to you about Winterhaven?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of,” I say, peering over at him. His gaze is fixed on the road, but deep lines have set into his forehead. “Not a lot, actually. Well, I think she sent tons of things, but I didn’t read them all,” I say, nervous to admit. It was really bad at our house for a while, and it’s all directly related to this man’s father. I don’t know how to navigate this part of our history coupled with the more recent, moretragicone as well.
“She loved it here,” he says fondly, and I just get the briefest glimpse of the man from the pub last night. Charming and handsome. Happy, even.
The aromas of the truck smell the same too.
The way he took charge…
The dirty things that came out of his mouth.Give it to me. It’s all mine.
The memories won’t stop coming now. I squirm in my seat.
I’m relieved when he turns into a driveway. The inn comes into view, and I gasp. Not in sheer delight. In shock.
The inn looks nothing like Winterhaven. It doesn’t even look anything like the pictures Grandma June used to send.
There are no Christmas decorations to be seen. The paint is peeling. The only thing seasonal about the building is the snow clinging to the ground and gathering on windowsills.
Before I can ask him what the fuck happened to the place, a woman comes running out of the front door, hands waving.
“Mr. Michaels, Mr. Michaels.”
My uncle jumps out of the car, and I try not to eavesdrop as I hear her tell him that her husband has fallen in the snow and broken his leg, and she has to leave immediately.
He assures her with soft words, then sees her off with a smile as a plain-looking sedan pulls into the driveway and whisks her off as fast as the icy roads can take her.
I just sit there in the truck, not sure what to do. He spins, and I can tell already that he’s morphed back into the grumpy asshole from the airport. “Fucking wonderful,” he murmurs.
“What is it?”
He slams his door before reaching into the truck bed for my luggage and yanking it out. “She’s my last remaining employee!" he barks, then trudges through the snow to what should be a walkway, but it’s not shoveled. He throws the front door open and then does a double take when he realizes I’m not right next to him. “Are you coming or not?” he yells, glaring into the truck.
I breathe in deep, willing it out slowly. This fucking man… I guess everyone gets the nice guy routine unless you’re me.
No wonder why he doesn’t have any help.
Should I start counting down the hours now? Or wait?
six
Snow falls outside.I tap the glass of my bedroom window that faces toward the front drive, watching each unique flake flutter through the air and land below in a glistening kaleidoscope. It’s all so beautiful.
