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Inside The Gingerbread Inn, we are met with the aroma of apple cider and freshly baked cookies.
A woman wearing a red sweater, Santa hat, and warm smile greets us, “Good afternoon. Welcome to The Gingerbread Inn.”
“Hi, I’m Cobie, and this is my daddy,” Cobie offers.
“It’s nice to meet you, Cobie and Cobie’s daddy. I’m Annette.”
“Do you have cookies?” Cobie asks.
Annette grins and looks over the desk and down at my curious girl and whispers, “I’m pretty sure Miss Trixie just pulled a fresh batch from the oven. If you want to check out the room down the hall, the one with the big fireplace, I bet they’re still warm.”
Cobie leaves me standing at the front desk as she takes off to explore every nook and cranny of the inn with wide-eyed wonder.
I watch as she skips her way down a hallway and peeks around the corner. A squeal of glee fills the air. I chuckle.
She’s growing up so fast, and moments like this are precious.
“I think she found the cookies,” Annette says.
“I believe she has.”
“Okay, Cobie’s dad, how can I help you?”
“We have a reservation under Isaac Ralston,” I reply.
She taps at her keyboard. “Yes, we have you in a double room for five nights. Is that correct?”
I nod.
She hands me a brass key on a fuzzy reindeer key chain. I twirl it around on my finger.
How long has it been since I was given an actual key for a room?
Most hotels or vacation rentals use key cards, mobile keys, or keyless touch-pad entry these days. The brass key adds to the charm of this live gingerbread house.
“You guys are in room 210. It’s on the second floor. Just turn right at the top of the stairs. Dinner is served in the dining room at six, and you’re in luck because our cook, Alice, is preparing her famous chicken ’n’ dumplings tonight.”
“That sounds amazing. I’m going to run out and grab our bags,” I say.
Annette smiles. “No problem. I’ll keep an eye on Cobie.”
“Thank you.”
I take another glance down the hallway before I head back out into the cold to fetch our luggage and my camera bag from the back of the SUV.
As I approach the vehicle, I hear a shout.
“Whoa!”
My head snaps to the snow-covered stairs at my left that lead above the garage, and I see a very pregnant woman struggling with a large plastic box.
Concerned, I quickly make my way over to help, carefully navigating the icy path to lend her a hand.
“Let me get that for you,” I say as I take the load from her arms.
“Oh, thank you. I didn’t realize it was so heavy. Keller would kill me if I slipped,” she says.
I carry the box down to the landing, set it on the ground, and go back and extend my hand to help her down.
