Mistletoe Kisses, page 2
As I escaped to my room and settled on my bed with my laptop and a much-needed glass of water, I began searching for reasonable flights to places with nice winters. The Arizona desert would be perfect.
While I price-checked options around the state, my mind speculated over what Keaton would book for me. Maybe somewhere with great museums and libraries. I would love a few days of wandering around quiet places. Maybe this harebrained idea would be just what we both needed.
Chapter 1
Arlo
The past two weeks had been a whirlwind. I’d worked until the last possible moment, writing up documentation for my job and the tasks I often did for others. It felt like I’d blinked, and it was time for the trip Keaton had planned for me.
My GPS announced I’d arrived at the Dollia Springs B&B in Dahlia Springs. I didn’t understand the B&B name, but the house seemed nice. The stately Victorian home stood at the center of a cul-de-sac and was significantly larger and newer than other houses on the street. Its elaborate traditional paint job wasn’t what stood out. What caught my eye and caused my mouth to fall open was the army of festive inflatables stationed across the front yard. It looked like Clark Griswold had opened a Home Depot credit card and bought every inflatable he could find.
I couldn’t imagine how much light all the decorations and strings of colorful bulbs along the house would put off or the cost of the electric bill. Hopefully, the rooms had blackout blinds.
A driveway next to the B&B curved around to the land behind the main house and opened to a concrete pad with two parked cars. I stopped in front of a sign that read Elves Park Here and turned off the ignition. I stared at the fog hovering around the treetops as I tried to wrap my head around the fact I was in Dahlia Springs, Oregon. My stomach shifted like I was on a Tilt-A-Whirl. I had one week to fulfill my dare. A week to somehow push through the dense anxiety wrapped around me.
I should’ve guessed Keaton would take advantage of my drunken state to send me to Oregon. Sending me to Portland would’ve been easiest and most likely, but no. Keaton had made sure I’d spend the week in small-town Dahlia Springs with a dare to meet the family who had no idea I existed.
He’d offered to come with me many times as moral support since I’d discovered my father’s identity and found his family last year, but I hadn’t been ready to move the family from theoretical to real. When I’d woken this morning and eagerly opened the text with the details I needed for my trip, I hadn’t been sure if I wanted to hug or shove him. Lucky for him, he’d already left for his flight, so he hadn’t been there to find out which way I would’ve landed.
If I’d been staying in Portland, I could’ve made excuses that it was too difficult to make the hour’s drive to Dahlia Springs without a car. But he’d rented me one of those too.
A tap on the driver’s window startled me, nearly making me fill my underwear with lumps of coal. A woman in a Mrs. Claus outfit stood there smiling at me in a way that was as unnerving as it was welcoming. She appeared to be in her sixties with gray hair pulled back in a low bun and blinking Christmas light earrings.
I pulled the keys from the ignition, and she backed away when I opened the door.
“Sorry to startle you, dear. I didn’t want you to get too cold out here. I’m Deborah, but my friends call me Deb. Now that you’re a guest at my Dollia Springs Bed and Breakfast, you’re a friend.” The emphasis on “doll” unnerved me.
The air was chilly but not nearly as severe as the December freeze I’d left back in Minnesota this morning. I hadn’t seen a fleck of snow since I’d landed in Oregon a few hours ago, and the temperature was twenty degrees above freezing. Damn near balmy in comparison.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You must be Arlo?”
“I am.” I moved to the back of the sedan and popped the trunk to grab my suitcase and backpack.
“It’s not often I get a booking as a surprise for the guest. Special occasion?”
“Just getting out of town for a bit.” I fell in step with her and pulled my suitcase behind me as she took me through a back door into a mudroom filled with decorations. Santa and Mrs. Claus dolls stood on each side of the door like gargoyles, their boots resting on doilies. That wasn’t what doilies were for, was it? My grandma used to have them as decorations on certain furniture.
“You picked a wonderful time to visit. Our annual Festival of Lights is underway, and there are lots of great events happening all month, including a few this week.” She chatted about the festival events and promised there was a schedule in my room as she led me into the house.
I was too distracted by all the dolls to pay attention to festival details. Dolls on nearly every surface. Dolls dressed in elf outfits, like reindeer, and as small children playing in the snow. There were dolls recreating scenes from popular Christmas movies like the one from A Christmas Story—a doll in a puffy coat had its tiny tongue attached to a metal pole. Each and every doll rested on a doily. Red, green, and white ones covered the wooden furniture. Even intricate ones framed on the walls.
I hated dolls ever since the nightlight in the room I used to sleep in at my grandparents’ house went out, and I’d had to watch her collection of vintage dolls stare at me in the moonlight shining through the sheer curtains. I shivered. She’d never replaced the bulb, and I was too embarrassed to mention it. I loathed humanoid dolls like others hated clowns.
“I’ll give you a tour before showing you to your room. Feel free to leave your bags here if you’d like.”
I did as she suggested and followed her through the main floor. I tried to picture the home without its festive dressing to better appreciate it. There were clusters of tables and chairs in the sizable dining room, which she said were for the daily breakfast buffet. I was grateful there wasn’t a single communal table. There was a reading nook at the base of one staircase with an oversized armchair in front of a bookcase and a rectangular window with a half-circle stained glass section at the top. I doubted I would get out much, so that might become my spot for the week. I had several fantasy novels cued on my Kindle.
I snuck a few pictures of the dolls and sent them to Keaton when she excused herself to answer the phone.
Arlo: [photos attached]
Arlo: I can’t believe you arranged for me to stay in a doll shrine for a week.
Deb returned. “Sorry about that. Telemarketers call at the most inconvenient times. Oh! Before I take you upstairs, I wanted to tell you that I moved you from a room with a queen to a room with a single. We have a couple who booked last minute, so I thought they should have the bigger bed. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just as charming, I promise. And it faces the street instead of the field, so you’ll get to enjoy the lights.” She smiled wide, looking pleased with her problem-solving skills.
Lucky me.
What was I supposed to say to that? No, put the couple in the tiny bed and give them a cot so I could starfish? Keaton had mentioned it was a queen bed, and I’d been excited because sleeping on a mattress that size would be luxurious compared to my twin at home.
“That’s fine.” I was nothing if not constantly accommodating, though it didn’t sit well with me that Keaton might’ve paid more for the queen bed. My stomach twisted at the thought of the confrontation asking her would require.
“Thank you, dear. I’ll make sure you get extra cookies at happy hour.”
I forced a smile.
“Ready to see your room?” She rubbed her hands together. If it had even a fraction of the intensity of the rest of the house, no, I wasn’t ready at all.
“Sure.” I grabbed my bags and followed her up the stairs. There had to be a coffee shop in town where I could hang out and read. Deb came off as someone who would take a solo traveler under her wing and attempt to talk to them constantly so they didn’t feel lonely. I quite enjoyed my own company.
“There are five bedrooms between the second and third floor. Your room shares a bathroom with the other bedroom on the third floor.”
Fake garlands wound around the banister of both flights of stairs with smiling cherubic doll heads on doilies attached to the garland every few feet. I kept my eyes on the stairs to avoid their soulless eyes.
“That door goes to the bathroom and here is your room.” She handed me a key on a surprisingly discreet keychain. I was surprised it wasn’t attached to a miniature doll or an elf doll head.
“Thank you for the tour.” I paused, half expecting her to follow me in and point out the intricate details of the room, like the ceiling molding, but she hung back at the doorway and reminded me about the daily happy hour for socializing and games. No, thank you. I was ready for some alone time after a long day of travel and the anxiety from being solo in a new city. Especially one where my family was likely only miles away.
Once she made her way back downstairs, I closed the door behind me and took in the scene before me. My attention ping-ponged around the compact space, eventually landing on dolls. A dozen or so of them stared at me with their empty eyes. All dressed as angels or in winter attire. I yanked the poinsettia-patterned crocheted blanket off the foot of the bed and draped it over them. I could see a few eyes through gaps in the yarn, so I folded the blanket in half to cover the spaces.
I dropped onto the patch of flannel comforter where the blanket had been and pulled my phone from my pocket to call Keaton.
“What did I ever do to you?” I asked when the call connected, then fell back onto the bed.
Keaton laughed. “Hello to you too. Are you saying that in reference to you sentencing me to a week of snowpocalypse?”
“Serves you right for sending me into dollmageddon.” I’d been kicking myself the entire drive from the Portland airport to Dahlia Springs after Keaton’s text came through when I landed. When I’d booked him a trip to Arizona, I’d intended for him to spend a week escaping from snow. I hadn’t realized that the great deal I’d scored on a flight and Airbnb was in the middle of the snowy part of Arizona. I’d had no idea there was a snowy part of that state! He hadn’t packed for snow. My stomach twisted all over again.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Keaton’s voice softened. “I didn’t realize there was a theme to the B&B. It was the only place in town I could find, and I didn’t do much poking around beyond that.”
Typical Keaton. Though I couldn’t say I’d done much better. I’d made one heck of an assumption about Arizona’s weather without due diligence.
“It’s got ‘doll’ in the name.” I chuckled.
“Okay, yeah, I get your point.” He laughed too. “We really put each other in it, didn’t we?”
I sighed. “Yeah, we did. Not ideal circumstances, but here we are.”
“Have you made a game plan for how you’re going to meet your family?”
It was a fair question since I usually had a plan for everything. “Not yet.”
“You’ll be okay, Arlo. I’m confident they’ll be thrilled to meet you.” His tone was encouraging.
We’d talked about the prospect of my meeting my late father’s family dozens of times—a dad I hadn’t known the identity of until last year—but the talking didn’t make the doing of meeting them any easier.
“Thanks.”
“Well, I’m glad you made it there safely. Keep me posted this week. I want full updates on what’s going on out there in Oregon. Up there in Oregon?”
“And I want updates and how it’s going creating your beauty profiles.”
Keaton sighed. “Sure. I’ll let you know how that goes.”
I didn’t understand why Keaton was so hesitant to go all in on it because he would be incredible at it. In most things, if Keaton wanted to do it, he did. I could only hope that daring him to finally make it happen during his vacation would be enough to push him to take action. Though he was probably hoping the same from me, and I wasn’t sure I could. If I couldn’t, how could I expect him to?
“Text me later. Love you, A.”
“Love you too, Keat.”
I dropped my phone on the bed and stared at the frosted glass light fixture hanging from the ceiling. What am I going to do all week? No job. I didn’t know anyone in town. I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Keaton was enough of that for both of us.
I noticed a binder on the dresser. I got up and grabbed it, then returned to the bed. It was full of brochures for local activities and printed pages listing restaurants, things to do, helpful tips, and a schedule for the town festival.
I hoped something would catch my eye because sitting in this room for a week sounded like torture. A section about a local restaurant called the Inkwell Bistro, a local restaurant run by some award-winning chef, jumped out.
A knock at the door startled me. I got up to answer it and found Deb there.
She’d added a blinking lightbulb necklace in the brief time since I’d seen her. “Just popping by to let you know a few of the guests wandered in for happy hour already, so we’re going to get started early. Care to join us for some eggnog and cookies? I’ve got a great game planned.”
Small talk with a bunch of strangers with an audience of dolls watching us play games sounded hellish after an intense day of flying. I appreciated her trying to include me, but I would tank the cheerful atmosphere as the weird guy sitting quietly in the corner. Or, worse, they would try to “pull me out of my shell,” which often backfired and made me retreat more. I had a lifetime of those experiences to know exactly what to expect. I would save us all from it.
“Thank you for letting me know. I’ve already got plans to head out for an early dinner, but I hope you all have a great time.” It wasn’t technically a lie, and if I went out to eat instead of ordering delivery, Keaton couldn’t accuse me of staying in all week. Inkwell Bistro, here I come.
Chapter 2
Lucas
“Can I get another IPA?” A curly-haired regular with a big smile pushed her empty glass toward the edge of the table when I approached to check in.
“Of course,” I said with a matching smile. “Can I get anyone else a refill?” After getting their order, I crossed the restaurant to the bar.
It wasn’t too busy yet, which was typical for an early Monday evening at Inkwell Bistro. Busy meant more tips—which was great—but I enjoyed the slower shifts because I got to spend more time chatting with people. The social part of my job was the main reason I loved being a server. Getting to enjoy delicious food on my lunch breaks didn’t hurt either. What wasn’t to love about my line of work? At least once I’d discovered the value of investing in a good pair of shoes.
I hummed along to the Christmas tune playing on the restaurant’s sound system while I poured beers from the Tap That Brewery in town. When your boss’s boyfriend was the brewer at Tap That, you always had a steady supply of the best beer in the region. My boss, Caleb, had begun decorating the restaurant and switched to festive music right after Thanksgiving.
After pouring the beers, I carried them back to table two while singing along to a Christmas classic.
“This song is one of my favorites,” the smiley regular said when I returned with the beers.
A guy at the table wearing an Oregon State Beavers baseball cap studied me from under the bill. “Wasn’t that you at the festival years ago who—”
The woman smacked his shoulder. “Shh.” She shot me an apologetic look.
Tis the season for that to come up again. Like clockwork, when the Christmas lights came out, so did the remarks and jokes. Will I ever live this down? I wished I could exist during this time of year without living under the shadow of my most embarrassing moments.
“Anything else I can get you all for now?”
“We’re good. Thanks so much.” I couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes.
I bit back a sigh. At least the pity might lead to a bigger tip.
With that group sorted, I swung by the booth where my brother, Warren, and his boyfriend, Reed, had come by for an early dinner before a festival meeting. The lovesick couple made gooey eyes at each other across the table. As soon as Warren noticed me approaching, his expression grew concerned. He must’ve overheard. At least Reed didn’t give me the same look. Maybe Warren had saved him from the gory details. It would be nice if one person in this town didn’t know all about it.
“You guys need anything?”
“We’re good. Thanks.” Reed smiled, but it fell away when Warren stole a fry from his plate. “You’re seriously going to eat all your fries and then go after mine? Brutal.”
Warren laughed, then stole another one before turning to me. “You okay?”
“Happy as a clam. Interested in some marionberry cobbler? Caleb is fiddling with his recipe.”
Warren licked his lips. “Yes, please. With vanilla ice cream?”
“Obviously. We’re not heathens at Inkwell Bistro.” I winked at him.
“Did you get the Etsy link I sent you with possible dog sweaters for Aunt Katherine?” Warren asked Reed as I turned to walk away.
Reed cursed. “I’m so sorry, babe. I meant to look at them earlier but got distracted with festival stuff.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Warren cup Reed’s cheek and say something that made Reed smile before he leaned across the table to give Reed a quick kiss.
It twisted something in me. I loved seeing my brother happy because no one deserved to be appreciated more than him. As the oldest of our four siblings, Warren always watched out for the rest of us. Our whole family was close, and we had amazing parents, but Warren made sure we knew he was always there. We were less than a year apart—basically twins like our younger siblings—and he was my best friend.
We Masons were the offbeat yet hilarious Adult Swim version of the Leave it to Beaver family. I lived a good life. I was happy, surrounded by incredible family and friends, and, surprisingly, enjoyed living in the small town where I’d been raised. I hadn’t spent much time focused on finding someone and settling down like Warren. I had years ahead of me to worry about that, but witnessing my brother building a life with his soul mate over the past year had planted a seed that had begun to take root.
