Page 86 of Christmas in Paradise

“I really did try to find somewhere else.” I open my door and slide out. “There aren’t many that allow pets, but I couldn’t leave Rad with Mom.”

When I open the back door to get our bags, I swear I hear her mumble something about squirrels not being the thing she’s worried about. It’s the mistletoe.

A wave of excitement washes over me. There’s no real worry in her eyes, but they shine with anticipation. I don’t actually believe in the kiss-inducing properties of mistletoe, but I do believe in the power of temptation. And right now, I don’t think Hope or I have the power to resist any excuse to kiss.

I grab our bags and Uncle Rad as quickly as possible, so Hope doesn’t see the fire warming my face. Hope gets sleeping Charly out of her seat. Snow blankets the sidewalk to the front door, and in the dim light I can see mistletoe hanging in every entryway to the inn. Not only that, but the eaves over the front porch are carved with mistletoe.

Things don’t get better when we enter.

Mistletoe Inn is an old Victorian mansion converted into a bed-and-breakfast. Like most old homes built before “open-floor plan” was a thing, it’s divided into several small rooms, each one with its own doorway. And a lot of doorways means a lot of mistletoe.

To our left, there’s a cozy parlor with bookshelves, a warm fire, and wingback chairs. And mistletoe. Above the doorway and hanging from the tall fireplace mantel.

To our right is a dining room with round wooden tables covered with lace tablecloths and circled by matching wood chairs. Mistletoe hangs from the doorway and the light fixtures in the room, and it’s in the decorations on the table.

In a nook under the staircase, our host waits behind her stand to greet us. Mistletoe hanging over her head.

“Hello!” She says brightly. “You must be the Sparks. We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Oh no,” Hope says quickly. “We’re not together… I mean we are—we came here together—but we’re just friends. I’m not a Sparks.”

She shifts Charly’s weight in her arms, and she snuggles her face deeper into Hope’s neck. “We’re staying in separate rooms,” she adds with a loud exhale.

Margene—that’s the name on her nametag—looks down at her paper roster, scanning it with her pencil in hand and shaking her head. “I’m afraid not. We only have one room for you. The other was cancelled.”

“No, that’s not right.” I step forward and lean over the stand to see her book. “I reserved two rooms for tonight. The first room you gave me wasn’t dog friendly, so you switched me to the one that is. It should be right there in your book. Or computer. Do you have one of those?” I look around, like a computer might appear out of thin air.

Margene purses her bright pink lips and pulls the roster closer to her, so I can’t see it. “I’m sorry, but that’s just not the case. The notes here say you reserved one room for two people, one child, and one dog. Not two rooms.”

“We need two rooms,” Hope and I say together.

“Then you’ll have to find them somewhere else if you can. We don’t have an extra room here.” Margene sticks her pencil behind her ear and with one red-painted fingertip, she scratches a spot above her pencil without breaking eye contact with me.

I open my mouth to argue, but Hope stops me. “Seb, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out. I need to get Charly settled for the night.”

At her name, Charly blinks her eyes open and takes a staggered breath like she might cry.

I nod and take the key Margene hands me, then follow her directions to the room, three doors down, to the right, near the back exit where the dog yard is. We pass at least half a dozen sprigs of mistletoe on our way.

“They are very committed to their mistletoe theme,” Hope says as I unlock the door.

“Yes, they are. I thought it was just for hanging in doorways, but they’ve found a way to hang it everywhere. You have to admire that level of commitment.” I open the door and let Hope go in before me.

She stops just inside. “I mean… I just… Yes. The level of commitment is admirable. And completely manic.”

I swipe at the mistletoe above my head, then take in the whole room.

It doesn’t take long—it’s not big. In fact, most of the space is taken up with the four-poster bed. Mistletoe is tied to each of the four posts and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of them.

“Is that a mistletoe quilt?” I ask.

“It is.” Hope nods. “And that’s mistletoe on the fireplace mantle and above the window seat.” Her voice is tired, and she grunts softly when she hefts Charly higher on her waist.

“Put her in the bed.” I squeeze behind her and drop the bags and Uncle Rad’s crate in the one space available, the window seat.

Hope carries Charly to the bed, and I rush to pull down the quilt, dragging Uncle Rad with me. Hope tucks Charly in, gently removing her moose rack hat and turning off the blinking lights.

Charly curls up in a ball on her side and sticks her thumb in her mouth. Hope kisses her cheek, then steps back, almost into Uncle Rad who’s sitting behind her. I grab her waist to stop her, then let my hands linger at her hips.

---