*“My goodness, you look like you’re in love!” Michelina, the innkeeper, greeted Holiday with an arched eyebrow and a freshly baked gingersnap.
“I . . . what?” Holiday tried to figure out what gave her away.
“The roses in your cheeks! The sparkle in your eyes. You’re positively glowing.”
“Oh, I’m just cold,” Holiday assured her. “And, you know, salt air is good for the complexion.”
“Something here certainly agrees with you.” Michelina picked up the paperback mystery on the lobby desk and prepared to resume reading. “Oh, and I have you down for a nine a.m. checkout tomorrow. Does that still fit with your plans?”
Holiday cleared her throat. “Well, if everything goes—”
“I hope it does, because we’ll need your room. We’re booked solid for Christmas Eve. Lots of out-of-town visitors this year. I guess the secret’s out and Alemos is going to be the next Martha’s Vineyard.”
Holiday tried to chuckle along with Michelina. “Nine a.m. checkout is fine.”
“Perfect. Thank you so much for staying with us, dear. Sleep tight. Oh, and good news—they came and fixed the Wi-Fi today.”
“Better late than never.” Holiday forced herself to see the silver lining. She still had one more call to make before she collapsed into bed—and at least now she wouldn’t have to chat with her sister while shivering out in the snow.
*
“You lie,” Nora accused, her voice soaring upward with indignation. “You’re lying to me, you’re lying to our parents, but worst of all . . . you’re lying to yourself.”
Holiday sat on the pale-pink duvet and let herself slump back into the softness. “I’m not lying. How dare you?”
“I dare because you’ve lied every year for the last five years.”
“Now that is an exaggeration.”
“That’s just what a liar would say,” Nora shot back.
“Stop with all the name-calling and make sure that my stocking is hung by the chimney with care.” Holiday sighed. “I’m not going to disappoint you guys this year. I swear on all that is pink.”
“What now?”
“I’m back in the ‘Blush and Bashful’ boudoir.” Holiday knew that her sister would pick up on the Steel Magnolias reference, and Nora did not disappoint.
“Pink is mah signature color,” Nora drawled.
“I’ll be done with my business on Alemos Island by five thirty tomorrow evening. Six at the very latest. I’ll be jet-lagged and haggard, but I’ll be home as promised.”
“What if it keeps snowing?” Nora said.
“It’s already snowed for two days. There’s no way it can keep snowing. Everything in this world is finite, including precipitation.”
“Okay, but what if?”
Holiday sighed again and stared up at the cracks running across the ceiling. “I’ll be out of here by six fifteen. And bonus, I now know how to put snow chains on my tires.”
Nora paused. “You sure are doing a lot of sighing.”
“I’m tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And cold.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that’s it.”
“Again, I must point out that you are a liar,” Nora said. “I know something’s up.”
“Well.” Holiday wanted to continue, but she couldn’t figure out where to start, where to finish, or anything in between. “It’s complicated.”
“Really.” Nora sounded intrigued. “You usually have an answer for everything. Do you need some sisterly advice?”
“I mean, probably. But it’s late, I’m exhausted, and I’d rather break it all down in person over a few chocolate Santas in front of the fireplace in Mom and Dad’s living room. Where I will be in approximately twenty-four hours.”
“Oh, I can’t stay mad at you, you little prevaricator.”
“Same to you and more of it.”
Excitement crept into Nora’s voice. “This is going to be great. I bought some ironic flannel jammies for you. Just in case.”
“You’re the best.”
“You got that straight. All right, you’re on. We’re eating candy and spilling tea tomorrow night.”
“Believe in miracles,” Holiday told her sister. And then she fell asleep, still draped atop the quilt with the phone in her hand and Alex’s jacket keeping her warm.
*
Holiday awoke with a gasp at the sound of three sharp raps at the door.
“Miss Smith? Dear? Are you in there?”
She scrambled off the bed, blinking in the pale morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. She’d never gotten around to pulling down the shades. Or putting on pajamas. Or showering.
“Yes, I’m here,” she croaked, her voice still hoarse from all the hollering she’d done to make herself heard at last night’s gala.
“Oh, good.” Michelina’s laugh sounded a bit forced. “I was starting to worry you’d had a mishap. Slipped in the bathroom, that sort of thing.”
Holiday struggled out of the jacket and tried to smooth her hair. “What?”
“It’s nine thirty, dear. Checkout time has come and gone.”
Holiday winced. She should have been up hours ago, making calls and arranging dream dates and double-checking Francie’s itinerary. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be out of here in a second. Just let me take a quick shower and brush my teeth.”
She heard rustling and murmuring on the other side of the door. Upon poking her head out into the hallway, she came face-to-face with Michelina, who was dressed in a sparkly green sweater and enough gold jewelry to sink a Spanish galleon.
“We really need the room, dear.” Michelina looked disappointed in her wayward guest. “Housekeeping is waiting, and . . .” She trailed off as she took in Holiday’s smudged mascara, tousled hair, and sleep-creased cheeks. “On second thought, a few more minutes won’t make much difference. Why don’t you tidy up a bit and meet me downstairs when you’re ready?”
“Thank you.” Holiday rubbed her bleary eyes. “Thank you. I’m sorry.” Given the innkeeper’s expression, she felt compelled to add, “I know how this looks, but I swear I’m not hungover.”
Michelina pressed her hand to her chest. “Gracious, dear heart, I don’t judge.”
“No, of course not, I just . . .” Her shoulders sagged as all the stress and excitement of the last few days swirled up. “I’m trying to do too much in too little time.”
“Yuletide malaise.” Michelina nodded wisely. “Very common this time of year—especially with women. I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee.”
Holiday threw her arms around the other woman. “Thank you.”
“You take your time getting ready.” Michelina readjusted her dangly earrings. “And as for the malaise, I know a fail-safe cure.”
Blow off all my obligations and throw myself at the guy I’m supposed to be prepping for a brokenhearted humanitarian? Holiday crossed her fingers.
“A massage at the Alemos Spa.” Michelina beamed. “Tell them I sent you and they’ll squeeze you in today, I’m sure of it.”
“That’s so kind of you, but I can’t. I have to go arrange for a candlelit cocktail hour at the wine bar and then pick out some men’s clothing.”
Michelina didn’t miss a beat. “Well, try to enjoy yourself. All this rushing around will be done by tomorrow.”
“I know.” Holiday forced herself to say the next words aloud, reasoning that if she repeated a wish enough times, it would come true. “I’m going to my parents’ house tonight. I’ll spend Christmas morning with my family.”
“Wonderful.” Michelina peeked over Holiday’s shoulder, presumably to assess the length of time the housekeeping team would need to restore the pink palace to check-in condition. “Luckily, I don’t expect the new guest until later today. Her name is Francie, I think. Isn’t that lovely? Francie was my grandmother’s name.”
*
“I can’t believe the nerve of this hussy.” Janine shook her fist as she opened the trunk of Holiday’s car so that Holiday could stow her luggage. “First she took your man, now she’s taking your hotel room.”
Holiday rolled her eyes. “To be fair—”
“Fair, schmair.” Janine huffed, blowing little puffs of white into the crisp December air. “She’s a poacher of the highest order.”
Holiday slammed the trunk closed. “She also took Michelina’s grandmother’s name, if we’re keeping score.”
“Figures.” Janine pivoted and led the way to her Jeep so that they could drive to the wine bar and start date-planning in earnest.
“But to be fair,” Holiday repeated, “I was checking out today anyway. Also, Alex is not my man.”
“Only because Fancy Pants McFouffyFace is swooping in after you laid all the groundwork. Doesn’t this lady have any shame?”
Holiday had to laugh at Janine’s indignation on her behalf. “It wasn’t even her idea. Maybe she’s just trying to be a good sport and make her grandma happy.”
“You’re a lot nicer than I am.” Janine tugged her woolen beanie over her ears. “If I were in your shoes, I would go all out sabotaging this date. Like old school, no holds barred, Parent Trap–style.”
“That’s the opposite of my job,” Holiday pointed out.
“Fine, be that way. Do your job. Follow the rules. But when that poacher smooches Alex under the mistletoe, how are you going to feel?”
Holiday winced at the thought. “Like crap. But my feelings don’t matter.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I came to Maine with one goal: to get Alex Sappier under that mistletoe with Fancy Pants McFouffyFace. And you know what? He agreed. That’s a minor miracle in and of itself.”
“Wrong—it’s a major miracle.”
She straightened her posture. “Alex is willing to uphold his part of the bargain, and I have to uphold mine. That’s how wish-granting works.”
“But you and Alex have chemistry!” Janine threw up her hands. “You know it, I know it, everybody at the Wily Whale knows it.”
“You’re just saying that because you want me to move up here and hang out in the library archives with you, tracking down randoms with ill-gotten DNA.”
“I mean, obviously. But there’s a spark between you two. Don’t deny it.”
Holiday literally bit her tongue.
“Your face says it all,” Janine said. “And PS, you’re wearing his jacket.”
Holiday started to take off the jacket, got a tiny taste of the windchill on her bare neck, and pulled it back on. “None of this matters.” She jumped up and down, trying to shake off all these inconvenient emotions. “I have less than eight hours to plan the most romantic Christmas Eve in all of recorded history. Which is what I was supposed to be doing yesterday and the day before, but instead I’ve been all over New England swabbing barely legal strangers’ cheeks and treasure hunting in attics.”
Janine clasped her hands next to her cheek. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”
Holiday pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees and headed the other way. “Byeee.”
“Oh, come on.” Janine caught her elbow. “I’m just giving you a hard time because I’m so completely single. You know I’ll help you. But first, coffee.”
The mere mention of coffee made Holiday think of Alex. “I don’t have time for coffee.”
“Make time. You need to eat a good breakfast with a lot of protein to get you through today.”
Holiday wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, you sound like my mom.”
Janine’s smile turned smug. “Would your mom take you to breakfast at a bar?”
*
“This place is perfect,” Holiday admitted as she sipped her caffè Americano and gazed around the wine bar. “It smells great too.” She had overlooked the Pine Cone and Tassel during her first few trips down Alemos Island’s main street because the building was set back from the sidewalk and surrounded by evergreens and high hedges. The cozy little bistro was housed in a converted log cabin, and the low ceilings, blazing fireplace, and dark wood draped with twinkle lights made for an intimate ambiance.
“Thanks, I make my own candles. This is my seasonal cranberry-fir blend.” The owner, a short, wiry redhead sporting a series of tattoos up and down both arms, started swiping at the countertop with a clean dish towel.
“It’s lovely.” Holiday closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Smells like Christmas, but subtle.”
“Bon appetit.” The bar owner presented Holiday and Janine with two bagel sandwiches laden with egg, cheese, avocado, and tomato. “Would you care for some hot sauce?”
“Always.” Janine reached for the bottle of Captain Mowatt’s. She offered it to Holiday. “You should try this—it’s local.”
Holiday was too busy looking around the bar to take a bite. “Do you have a full kitchen in the back?”
“No, just a few toaster ovens. We mostly do appetizers and charcuterie boards, but every once in a while, we’ll indulge customers with grilled cheese.”
This cottage was so woodsy and crammed with Christmas charm that it would make Martha Stewart writhe with envy. “Are you guys usually busy on Christmas Eve?”
The owner shook her head. “Nope, because I kick everyone out and close up by three p.m.”
Holiday nodded as her plan came together. “Is there any chance that I could rent the place out tonight?”
“No can do. I don’t work on Christmas Eve night, and I won’t ask my staff to, either.”
“I completely respect that,” Holiday assured her. “I’m not asking for waitstaff or food prep. I just want to rent out the physical space and buy a bottle of your finest champagne.”
The owner laughed. “We’re not upscale. Our finest champagne is Blanc de Blanc in a can with a sippy straw.”
“Sounds delicious,” Janine exclaimed through a mouth full of bagel.
“It does, actually, but I’m setting a very specific scene.” Holiday turned all the way around on her spindly wooden bar stool. “It involves fine French bubbly and crystal flutes. Mistletoe and twinkle lights. Cranberry-fir candles and poinsettias.”
“Listen, I’ll let you rent the space if Janine will vouch for you,” the owner relented.
“I vouch,” Janine said.
“But you’re on your own for the fancy Champagne and crystal flutes. I don’t know where you’d find that stuff around here on such short notice.”
“Don’t say that,” Janine warned. “She’ll take it as a challenge.”
“What about mulled wine?” the owner suggested. “I have a really good recipe using grenache. It smells delicious and tastes even better. Super-Christmassy. It’s better when it’s been simmering for a few hours, so I could start it this morning and keep it warm all afternoon.”
Holiday closed her eyes and pictured it—evergreen boughs amid the rustic wooden rafters, stars sparkling outside the picture window overlooking the snow, glass-walled mugs filled with spiced wine to warm your hands . . .
“What?” Janine demanded.
Holiday’s eyes flew open. “Huh?”
“You sighed,” Janine informed her. “Are you happy or sad?”
Both. “It’s all coming together,” Holiday said. “This is going to be so romantic. Like Northern Exposure meets Casablanca.”
“Hang on—didn’t the couple go their separate ways at the end of Casablanca?”
“Hmm” was Holiday’s only reply.
“Eat your bagel,” the owner commanded. Holiday complied and felt better almost immediately in both body and soul.
“Wow, you were right,” she said to Janine. “I really needed some protein.”
“Told ya.”
Holiday pulled out her credit card and prepared to do some serious damage to Mrs. Penewate’s petty cash fund. “I need to be in here by three thirty to start decorating. Name your price.”
The owner glanced at Janine and threw out an absurdly low rental fee.
Holiday shook her head. “Name a higher price.”
“Eh, it’s Christmas Eve. Price gouging is grinchy.”
“You’ve created something really special here. You deserve to be compensated for it.” Holiday wrote a dollar amount on a napkin and slid it across the bar. “How about that?”
The owner’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of business did you say you were in?”
“I’m a professional wish granter.”
The other woman blinked as Holiday handed over her credit card. “I’ll say.”
“And I promise I won’t trash the place.”
“Go right ahead. For this amount of money, I can hire a cleanup crew.”
“Fantastic! Then it’s settled.” Holiday folded the napkin on her lap and placed it on the varnished wooden bar top. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“The wine will be mulling,” the owner promised. “What are you planning anyway? A marriage proposal?”
“Blind date.” Holiday swallowed back the bitter taste in the back of her throat. “For two very deserving people.”
“Might as well plan the proposal while you’re at it. Between the mulled wine and the mistletoe, these people are done for. They’ll probably elope by the end of the night.”