Holiday gripped the steering wheel with both hands and let out a scream worthy of The Exorcist. When she was out of breath, she bowed her head, touched her brow to the steering wheel, gathered her strength, and screamed again.
Behind her, headlights approached, then faded away as the other car turned around and headed back toward town.
After allowing herself a few more minutes of existential freak-out, Holiday gathered up the tattered remnants of her dignity and admitted defeat. She drove back to the Pine Cone and Tassel at five miles per hour, her tires crunching against the layers of ice on the road. She hoped Janine had already arrived to serve as chaperone. She also hoped that Janine had an extra bed or a sofa to crash on, or she’d be sleeping in her car tonight. Thank goodness she’d just procured the warmest down jacket in all the land.
And now it was time for her least favorite Christmas tradition: She was going to have to call her sister and her parents and notify them that she’d flaked on them at the last possible moment. Again.
Janine’s car wasn’t in the bistro’s parking lot. Holiday assumed that meant that the side streets were impassable or that her new friend was consumed with her own seasonal drama to the point that she couldn’t deal with anyone else’s right now. Fair enough.
Holiday slogged her way through a knee-high snow drift and reentered the bar. Francie and Alex, seated at the bar and communing over the charcuterie plate, both straightened up, surprised.
“You’re back?” Francie said. “What happened?”
“They closed the bridge,” Alex predicted.
Holiday nodded. “I’m here for the night. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.” Sobbing and swearing in my mind. “Otherwise, keep enjoying yourselves and try to forget that I’m here.”
Francie slid off her barstool. “About that . . . may I have a quick word with you?”
Holiday glanced at Alex, whose expression was impassive. “Um, sure, come on back.”
Francie ducked around the corner and beckoned Holiday into the drafty alcove by the stovetop. “Listen, this has been lovely, and I truly appreciate all your efforts, but I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Already?”
Francie nodded, wrinkling her nose a bit.
Holiday glanced at the clock above the sink. “But you’ve only been on your date for twenty-seven minutes!”
“I know, I know. I’m impossible.” Francie’s eyes widened as a thought occurred. “Please don’t tell my grandmother.”
“I would never.”
“I know she’s paying for all this, and I so appreciate the thought.”
“She paid me to set up the date,” Holiday clarified. “There’s no mandatory time minimum. Everyone’s contractual obligations are now fulfilled.”
“You’re the best.” Francie grabbed a glass mug from the shelf and ladled up another cup of mulled wine. “Here’s to the only upside of being caught on an island in the middle of a blizzard—I’ll obviously be walking back to the inn, so might as well drink up, eh?”
“’Tis the season.”
“Come on.” Francie grabbed a second mug. “Have a drink with me.”
“I shouldn’t,” Holiday protested. “You’re technically my client.”
“Not anymore. I just fired you.”
Those words had never sounded so sweet. “You’ve got a point there.”
“Excellent.” Francie dipped the ladle back into the pot.
“If you don’t mind my asking, though . . . what happened?” Holiday had to know. “Why are you cutting this short?”
“Look. Alex seems great.” Francie took a big gulp of wine. “He’s charming, he’s witty, et cetera, et cetera. And, I mean, can that man fill out a cashmere sweater or what?”
They both laughed.
“He’s exactly what I wanted the whole time I was growing up.” Francie nibbled her lower lip. “But now that I’ve finally grown up, I guess I don’t want that anymore.”
Holiday took a seat on the stool next to the stove and listened.
“My mother and my grandmother brought me up to be a lady. Sit up straight, use the proper fork, cross your legs at the ankle rather than the knees.” Francie boosted herself up to sit on the chipped laminate countertop. “I myself find it all to be a little extra.”
Holiday felt compelled to say, “I don’t think Alex has any expectations about fork usage or leg crossing.” Before she could stop herself, she added, “He gave me a piggyback through a blizzard last night because I gave my elf shoes to a preschooler.”
Francie was so caught up in her own conflicts that she didn’t even respond to this. “Alex isn’t the issue. I am. I’m ready to conclude the pearl-wearing, ankle-crossing chapter of my life. I’ve already married and divorced one sweater-wearing Ivy League millionaire. I don’t need another.”
Holiday had to chuckle. “You’ve married one sweater-wearing, Ivy League millionaire, you’ve married ’em all.”
Francie had the decency to blush at this. “I know how ridiculous this sounds. How spoiled and entitled.”
“Holiday?” Alex’s voice drifted in from the barroom. “You guys okay back there?”
“Yeah, we’re just having some wine,” she called back. “Apparently, the party has moved to the kitchen.”
Francie continued her reverie, undeterred. “But this time around, I’m looking for someone rougher around the edges. Someone rugged and adventurous.” She closed her eyes, no doubt conjuring up her vision of the perfect man. “I don’t want someone who can fly me around the world first-class, I want someone who can teach me how to fly.”
“You want flying lessons?” Alex appeared in the doorway.
Francie’s eyes flew open, and she regarded him with renewed interest. “Yes, one thousand times, yes. Don’t tell me you’re a flight instructor on top of all your other accomplishments?”
“I am not.” Alex scrolled through his phone. “But I know a guy.” He showed her a photo of Paul in the seaplane.
“Well, hello.” Francie seized the phone and scrutinized the picture. “He looks kind of familiar.”
“He’s my brother,” Alex said. “He went to high school with us too.”
“Really? How did I not notice him?” Francie zoomed in to get a better look at Paul’s face. “He’s handsome. But not too handsome. He looks a bit rough around the edges.”
Alex laughed. “That’s an understatement.”
“Does he live nearby?” Francie asked.
“A few blocks that way.” Alex pointed toward the shoreline. He glanced first at Francie, then at Holiday. “Are we still on a date?”
“Nah, that wrapped up a few minutes ago,” Holiday informed him.
“It’s not you, it’s me.” Francie winked. “Truly and honestly.”
“You did your part and then some,” Holiday added. “Nobody’s blaming you.”
“And there’s no need to pretend you’re disappointed.” Francie raised one perfectly sculpted brow. “I know you didn’t feel any chemistry, either.”
Alex looked as though he was torn between being elated and insulted. “So all you want from me is my brother’s number?”
“An introduction would be very much appreciated.” Francie stood up and strolled back into the barroom to get her coat. “I’ve booked my room through New Year’s Day. What can I say? I was feeling optimistic.”
“I’ll text everyone in the next day or two and we can get a proper date on the calendar,” Holiday volunteered.
“You’re off duty, remember?” Francie said. “Alex and I can manage this all by ourselves. Your assistance is no longer required.”
Holiday recognized the truth of this on an intellectual level, but she also knew that as soon as she stopped being the concierge, she would have to start texting her family members to let them know she wouldn’t be home by morning. She’d have to look at Alex and see the man who wanted to make her wishes come true instead of the man she’d sidelined for someone else. She’d have to stop dealing with everyone else’s problems and start dealing with her own. No, thank you.
“Do you need a place to stay tonight?” Alex asked Holiday. “If you need a spare bedroom—”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.” She started cleaning up the kitchen.
“I’m going to need the specifics,” he pressed. “You checked out of the inn this morning, right? So, where are you going to be tonight?”
“I’ll figure something out.” She walked away from him and back into the barroom.
He stayed right on her heels. “You’re welcome to stay at my place.”
She steadied herself with one hand on the doorframe. Did he mean . . .
“I can bunk at Paul’s or my mom’s,” he added. “I’m going to be on Zoom half the night. I can do that anywhere.”
He did not.
“Thank you,” she muttered. “That’s very kind. But I’ll figure something out.”
“You can stay with me,” Francie offered. “The innkeeper mentioned I’ve got an extra sofa in my guest room. You’re more than welcome.” She gave a quick nod to denote that the matter was settled. “I am not going to leave my Wish Granter stranded on Christmas Eve. This is part of my new, free-spirited lifestyle. Reservations not required.”
Holiday felt her resolve disintegrating. “I am really tired.” And discouraged. And in need of some time and space to figure out what to do about Alex. At this point, her confusion and fatigue were fueling a downward spiral.
“Come along, then.” Francie rewrapped her scarf with precision. “We’ll get some extra blankets and pillows.”
Holiday fell into step behind her, only to be intercepted by Alex, who placed both of his hands on Holiday’s forearms. He looked at her. She looked at him.
“Sorry about the sweater,” she murmured. “Paul told me about the Christmas Eve wardrobe breakup.”
At this, Alex’s whole body tensed. “I’m going to kill him.”
“He was trying to help.”
“Kill him.” Alex’s eyes went huge as another thought occurred. “What else did he tell you?”
Holiday turned away to blow out the cranberry-scented candles. “Um . . . not much.”
“Listen.” He lowered his voice so Francie couldn’t hear. “We need to talk. But I really do need to get on some calls tonight. I’m sorry, but I—”
“No need to apologize.” This time, she reached out for him. “If anyone understands the need to work on Christmas Eve, it’s me.”
“I am sorry that you’re missing Christmas morning with your family because of me,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m missing it because of me. I knew the risks of this deal going in.”
“Holiday.” He reached up and brushed a stray curl back from her forehead. “Can’t you let this one thing be personal?”
She leaned into his touch for a moment. “Fine. I blame you, one hundred percent.”
“Thank you.” Alex stepped away and raised his voice. “You’re invited to my place for breakfast in the morning. Both of you.”
“I can’t.” Holiday shook her head amid an odd blend of anticipation and disappointment. “I’m going to have to get on the road as soon as it stops snowing.” She checked the projected overnight weather. “Which should be around four a.m.”
“Stop talking nonsense.” Francie put her hands on her hips. “No one is leaving this island at four a.m.”
“The earliest the bridge will be open is seven,” Alex said. Perhaps sensing that Holiday was a lost cause, he appealed to Francie. “Paul will be at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Then so will we,” Francie replied. “What time would you like us to come by? And what can we bring?”
“Eight o’clock. And nothing.”
Holiday shot Alex a warning look. “And you better not kill Paul before Francie has a chance to meet him.”
“I’ll hold off until eight-fifteen,” he agreed. “After that, I make no promises.”
“Fair enough.” With every strand of twinkle lights Holiday unplugged, her eyes felt heavier. She wanted to drag herself back to the pink palace, sleep for fourteen hours, and wake up with her world back to normal. Except Alex. She still wanted Alex there. But she’d be better equipped to figure out all her feelings and what to do about them after she slept for fourteen hours. “Excuse me for a moment; I have to make a phone call.” She ducked back into the kitchen and dialed her sister’s number. No answer. Then she dialed her parents. Straight to voice mail. So she had to settle for sending them all a text:
Stuck in Maine due to storm of the century. I’ll get on the road as soon as I can tomorrow. I love you guys and I am so so so so SO sorry to miss Christmas morning with you. Nora, get my jammies ready, and we’ll wear them tomorrow night.
She hit “send” and stared at the darkening screen, hoping that someone would respond immediately, telling her it was fine and all was forgiven. But there was no reply. They were probably gathered in the living room together, playing a game or watching a movie, not staring obsessively at their phones.
When she reentered the bar, Alex was on his phone. He turned away and lowered his voice when he saw her. She locked the bar’s front door and shooed him out the back.
“Go home,” she told him. “Do your business deal thing. We’re all good here.”
He covered his mouthpiece. “Do you need a ride to the inn?”
“No, it’s like three doors down.” She physically pushed him out the door. “Thanks for everything. Bye.”
The last thing she glimpsed in his expression as he retreated to the parking lot was . . . relief?
“All right, spill it.” Francie pounced as soon as Holiday returned to the barroom. “What’s going on between you and Alex?”
Holiday’s mystified expression was genuine this time. “I wish I knew.”
“Oh, come on. You can tell me. We’re going to be roomies!”
“He’s working on some sort of business deal,” Holiday said. “At this hour on Christmas Eve. That’s all I know.”
“But the way you two were looking at each other.” Francie paused. “Or rather, not looking at each other. It’s like you’re the girl he had a crush on in high school and never worked up the nerve to approach. And I would know.”
Holiday couldn’t shake that final image of his face. How happy he’d been to leave. How quickly he’d strode to his truck without a backward glance. But that was on her. He’d done everything she’d asked of him, plus more. So when she’d told him to back off and he did . . . well, wasn’t that exactly what she’d said she’d wanted?
“I just need to get off this island and back to real life.” Holiday wiped down the bar one more time. “And you really don’t have to put me up on your sofa. I have a friend I can call—”
“Don’t you worry. There’s plenty of room at the inn.” Francie prepared to open the back door and step into the snowbanks. “Ready to participate in the amateur Ice Capades?”
Holiday checked her phone one more time. Still no messages from her family. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”