The Christmas Concierge, page 11
The sucky portion.
And yes, by all accounts, this stranger was a bright, beautiful, good-hearted woman who had appreciated everything Alex had to offer long before he became a big-bucks big shot. But somehow that didn’t lessen the sting; it actually made it sharper.
“I know I wasn’t crazy about this idea when you first pitched it,” Alex continued. “But I’m a man of my word. You get what’s-her-name to Alemos Island by tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll go from jolly elf to Prince Charming like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m all in.”
“Thank you.” She plastered the smile back on her face. “Let’s get this cookie competition back on track, shall we?”
But before she could proceed with reestablishing rules and regulations, an announcer leaped onto the dais by the gleaming floor-to-ceiling window and bellowed, “Attention, all! I’ve just been informed that Santa has arrived.”
Every child’s head whipped around as the MC made his way through the activity booths to the Christmas tree towering by the fireplace. “He’ll be here momentarily to hand out gifts and good tidings. Gather ’round, one and all, gather ’round!”
What happened next was more of a pint-sized stampede than a “gathering ’round.” Children dropped their cookies and bolted for the tree, slipping and squealing as they ran.
Alex’s eyes widened. “I hope they gave Santa riot gear.”
Holiday sat back to watch the scene, delight bubbling up within her. This was what made her feel most alive—the unbridled enthusiasm that came from hope and togetherness and belief in magic. That’s when she noticed that one little girl had remained at the cookie station, her gaze fixed on Holiday’s footwear.
“Why are you—of course!” Holiday clapped her hand to her forehead as she remembered her promise to the ringleted rascal. “You’re waiting to try on these shoes?”
The child nodded, her expression wistful. “That’s what I want for Christmas.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day. I happen to be a professional wish granter.” Holiday slipped out of the jingling elf shoes, leaving her clad in thin gray socks. “Try these on and see how you like them.”
The girl sat down on the carpet, doffed her black patent Mary Janes, and wriggled her toes into the shoes. She stood up and took two careful steps, then announced, “They fit perfectly.”
This was clearly a lie in the literal sense, as the child’s feet were swimming in the slippers, but Holiday discerned the girl’s underlying statement. The shoes were a perfect fit, in terms of her style, her dreams, her self-image.
“Keep ’em.” Holiday grinned.
The girl’s mouth dropped open. “For real?”
“My shift’s over and I wear the finest designer high-heeled boots when I’m working at the North Pole.” She turned to Alex and informed him, “Santa set me up with a corner office with a private bathroom and uninterrupted views of the tundra.”
“Nice.” He helped himself to a sugar cookie. “Do you get good health benefits?”
“The best. Plus vision and dental and vet insurance.” She winked at the little girl. “For my pet polar bear.”
The child scoffed. “You don’t have a pet polar bear.” She paused. “Do you?”
“Santa runs a pet-friendly workplace,” Holiday assured her.
“What’s your polar bear’s name?”
“Um.” Holiday cleared her throat. “Shackleton.”
“Wrong pole,” Alex said.
“No one likes a know-it-all,” Holiday informed him loftily. “Young woman, you have a wonderful night and wear those shoes in good health.”
The girl shuffled off, practically skating in her attempt to keep her feet in the shoes and jingling all the way.
Holiday noticed Crispin watching them from a few yards away. “You were right,” she told him. “The cookies were a hit and these kids definitely needed supervision.”
“Thank you, both of you.” He appeared to be misty-eyed. “You’re very good sports.”
“Our pleasure,” Alex assured him.
“I gave away the elf shoes,” Holiday confessed. “I probably should have asked first, but she wanted them so badly—I can relate, I’m kind of a shoe enthusiast myself. I’ll pay you back or talk to the caterer, whatever you need.”
“The whole point of this party is to provide a magical, over-the-top experience.” Crispin looked delighted. “Don’t give it a second thought. And you’re free to go now, if you like. You’ve donated your one hundred and twenty minutes.”
“It’s been . . . really something,” Alex said. “But yeah, we’d better get going. It’ll be a long drive back with this weather.”
“And I have a lot to do tomorrow,” Holiday added.
“Ah yes, Christmas Eve.” Crispin brushed off his sleeve. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to spending time with your own family.”
“Yes, I am,” Holiday said firmly. “Because I’m going to make it home in time for Christmas morning.”
Alex squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll be home in plenty of time. All you have to do is make the introductions at six p.m. and hit the road. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Drive safely,” Crispin urged before he rejoined the festivities.
Holiday took a moment to savor the laughter and music and smell of fresh cookies . . . then she turned her attention to a more practical matter—her shoeless feet. “My boots are out in your truck. Would you mind running out and grabbing them for me?”
He shook his head. “As you would say, we’re on a schedule.” He turned around and crouched down. “Hop on.”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he lifted her and took off, striding through the lobby, across the portico, and down to the parking lot. He didn’t falter on the stairs or slip on the ice. He kept on, sure and steady, until he’d reached the truck, opened the passenger side door, and deposited her on the leather seat. “Full service, all the way.”
She scootched back and tried to ignore how flustered she felt. “Is this your subtle way of telling me you want to drive?”
“Nope.” He walked around the truck cab, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition. “This is.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alex steered the pickup truck through the snowbanks edging the parking area and the winding gravel road leading up to the highway. “That was wild. I haven’t been to a Christmas party in years. Ever since . . .”
Holiday leaned in. “Ever since what?”
He tried to sidestep this. “And I’ve definitely never been to a Christmas party like this one.”
“How can you have not been to a holiday party in years?” She located her boots in the back seat and pulled them on. “You must have thrown lots of shindigs for your employees back in your tech bro days.”
“I wrote the checks, I didn’t actually go,” he clarified. “Tech bros tend to be antisocial.”
“Well, now you know what you’re missing.”
He stopped the truck at a red light, turned his head, and looked her in the eye. “I sure do.”
She stared back at him for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. The only sound was the hum of air through the heating vents and the soft rustle of snow falling on a wet windshield.
The light turned green. No one moved.
And then the glow of headlights appeared in the rear window and a car honked.
Holiday had no idea what to say as they sped along under the heavy, starless night sky. Her phone chimed to break the silence as a text from Janine popped up: Did you find the glass grail?
Holiday typed back: Yes. We had to spend hours cleaning out an attic straight out of Hoarders, but we struck gold at the end.
Janine responded immediately: “We”?!? Who’s “we”?
Holiday texted: I’ll tell you later.
Janine: Yeah, you will. If someone else doesn’t tell me first. Word travels fast around here.
Holiday tried to change the subject: Did you find a good gift for your mom?
Janine: Not yet. “We” didn’t happen to find any cross-stitched samplers up in that attic, did we?
Holiday: No, but if you want an antique spinning wheel straight out of Sleeping Beauty, I’ve got you covered.
She glanced up from her phone as she felt the truck slow. “What’s up?”
“I’m not sure.” Alex turned on the hazard lights and prepared to pull over to the side of the highway, where a car was parked, also flashing hazard lights.
Holiday clutched the shoulder strap of her seatbelt. “Hang on—you’re stopping?”
“Yeah.”
“What? No! This is how people get stranded by the side of the road.”
“I’m not going to just drive by. What if they need help?”
“What if they just accidentally threw an incredibly rare vinyl record on the highway and we run over it and ruin their hopes and dreams?” she blurted out.
He took a moment to process this. “What?”
“It can happen. Take it from me.”
Alex opened his mouth, presumably to pose a follow-up question, then thought better of it. “I’ll take my chances.” He eased the truck to a stop alongside the snowbank towering next to the breakdown lane and opened the driver’s-side door.
Holiday opened the passenger side door, only to realize that the snowbank was blocking her in. So she scrambled over the center console and out the driver’s-side door.
By the time she made it out of the truck cab, Alex had already struck up a conversation with the other motorist through the window of the car. Holiday held up her forearm to shield her eyes from the fat, wet snowflakes pelting down and joined him.
The motorist turned out to be a petite young woman with a sleeping infant strapped into a car seat. As Holiday came into earshot, she heard the woman explaining to Alex that, “I really appreciate your stopping, but I’m okay. I didn’t realize how much snow we’d be getting and I just pulled over to put on my tire chains.”
Alex nodded. “I’d be happy to assist.”
The woman’s expression was strained. “No, no, that’s okay, I can—” Her face relaxed as she spotted Holiday. “Oh, hi.”
“Hi!” Holiday gave her a reassuring smile, then explained to Alex, “She’s trying to figure out if you’re a serial killer.”
He accepted this with equanimity. “Fair enough.”
Holiday peeked over the driver’s shoulder at the baby, who sported a knitted cap with bear ears. “How old?”
“Eight months.” The woman rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Finally fell asleep after crying for twenty miles straight. We’re on my way to my brother’s house. I didn’t check the weather because I’m an idiot.”
“Or because you’ve been sleep-deprived for eight months and your little angel was crying in your ear for twenty miles,” Holiday suggested.
The woman smiled. “Either way, I have tire chains in the trunk, so I’m good to go.”
“Well, since we’re here, we’d love to help you with the tire chains,” Holiday said. “It’s really more a two- or three-person job anyway.”
“Really?” Relief washed over the woman’s face. “I don’t want to trouble you.”
“No trouble.” Holiday rapped the top of the car. “We do this all the time.”
The woman popped the trunk latch, revealing a tangled loop of chains and cables. Alex straightened out the lines and asked Holiday, “Have you ever put on snow chains?”
“Not once,” she replied cheerfully.
“So you don’t, in fact, ‘do this all the time’?”
“No, but I have a can-do attitude and access to the internet, so I’m sure I could figure it out if needed. Plus, I’m guessing that you actually do do this all the time.”
“It’s been years,” he admitted. “Four-wheel drive is a thing.”
“Well, if we get cracking and cooperate, I’m sure we can this squared away before that baby in the bear hat wakes up.” Holiday brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Where do we start?”
Working together, they managed to center the tire chains behind each rear wheel, connect the appropriate chains and cables, and tighten the loops within fifteen minutes.
“Voila!” Holiday stood up and admired their handiwork. “That looks great! And we hardly even cursed.”
“I didn’t curse at all,” Alex corrected her.
“Right, so if you average it out, we only cursed a little bit.”
Holiday knelt down to reexamine the cable connections while Alex instructed the driver to ease the car into gear and pull forward a few feet. Suddenly, the car’s front wheels spun, spraying snow, icy gravel, and sand into Holiday’s face.
“Sorry!” the driver cried. “Sorry. I think the bumper is stuck on something.”
“No worries.” Holiday wiped a coating of ice and dirt from her face. She could feel a frigid trickle of melting snow seeping down her back. While Alex checked the bumper situation and urged the motorist to try again with a lighter touch on the gas pedal, Holiday realized that she was going to be soaking from the inside out.
“Thank you both so much.” The driver looked to be near tears as she started to roll her window back up in preparation for getting back on the road.
“Our pleasure,” Alex assured her. “And remember, keep it under twenty-five miles per hour, stay off bare asphalt, and try not to stop too abruptly.”
“Got it.” Amid a chorus of cries amid all three of them to stay safe and take care, the driver and her still-snoozing baby headed down the highway.
*
“I rescind my earlier comments about ruining people’s hopes and dreams,” Holiday said as Alex started up the truck. The snowfall was so dense and accumulating so quickly that they had to crawl along the road with their hazard lights on. “That was really kind of you to stop and help. It warms my heart.”
“Are you sure? Because you seem like you’re freezing to me.”
“Don’t look at me . . . keep your eyes on the road!”
“I don’t have to look,” he shot back. “I can hear your teeth chattering.”
Holiday harrumphed at this exaggeration, but she couldn’t deny that the faceful of snow had melted into a full-body ice bath, which had seeped into the lining of her coat. Her arms and torso were encased in cold, sodden fabric speckled with sand and salt crystals.
“I’m not cold,” she insisted.
“Uh-huh.” He turned up the heat.
Approximately two miles later, he pulled the truck over. At first, Holiday assumed that the road conditions had finally become impassable, but Alex shrugged out of his jacket, passed it to her, and resumed driving.
“What are you doing? I can’t take this from you.” She pushed the coat back toward him, but he was having none of it.
“Put it on,” he commanded. “Or we’ll have to stop at the ER when you get hypothermia.”
“You just worry about your own self, buddy.”
“Sorry, that’s not my way.” He smiled. “Plus, if you’re out of commission with hypothermia, who will drag the dream-date scenario over the finish line?”
“Paul?”
He shuddered at the thought. “Paul’s idea of a dream date is ice fishing at four in the morning and frying the catch up for breakfast. I doubt that’s what your client has in mind.”
She sighed and relented, knowing even as she slipped out of her waterlogged jacket and into the dry coat prewarmed with his body heat that he was right. Her responsibility was to deliver him up with a big, red, metaphorical bow to someone else who could never put snow chains on tires with him the way she could.
It was not her responsibility to duck her head and inhale the fresh, woodsy smell that lingered on the collar of his jacket. But she did it anyway.
Finally, as they crossed the state line between New Hampshire and Maine, the snowfall abated. Holiday felt her whole body relax. She hadn’t been aware of how much tension she’d been holding.
“Oh good.” Alex sounded relieved too. “The longer it’s clear, the better chance that the bridge to the island will be open by the time we get there.”
“How often do they close the bridge?” Holiday asked.
“As often as they need to. It depends on the weather conditions.”
“What would happen if we got there and the bridge was closed?” she persisted.
“We’d be stuck on the mainland until it reopened.”
“So we could theoretically be stuck sleeping in the car?”
“We’d get hotel rooms. It’s Maine, not Siberia.”
But luckily, the clear weather held and the bridge remained open. By the time Alex dropped her off at her car, which Paul had moved to the parking lot as instructed, Holiday felt ready to sleep for twelve hours straight. She’d have to settle for six, but she was confident she could pack some serious REM into that time frame.
“Okay, well . . . I guess this is good night.” She stepped out of the truck into the chill wind, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Oh, here, let me give back your coat.”
He waved this off. “Keep it. It’s freezing.”
“Exactly. Aren’t you cold?”
He smiled. “I’m a New Englander. This is practically flip-flop weather to me. Speaking of which, can you come over to my place tomorrow?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly suffused with self-consciousness. “Sure. Do you want to—”
“I need you to pick an outfit for my big date tomorrow.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course. What time?”
He frowned. “You know, now that I think about it, everything I own is five years old and starting to get little holes.” He brightened. “I do have a tuxedo, but that’s probably overkill.”
Holiday laughed. “Alex. Look around you.” She threw her arms open to encompass the Wily Whale, the rocky coastline, the shoulder-high snowbanks encircling the plowed parking lot. “Does this look like tuxedo country to you?”
“Only for penguins. But I’m pretty sure this is the wrong pole for them too.”
“What you need is nicely fitted premium denim and a pullover.”
He furrowed his brow. “That’s like pants and a shirt, I’m assuming?”
