Page 27 of The Mistletoe Mystery

His hands are shaking. The roses tremble.

“Red roses,” I say. “Didn’t I see these yesterday?”

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “I brought them to Angela to hide in the storeroom of the Social, but then you caught me in flagrante, so I beelined out the back door.”

I look at Angela.

“He sure did,” she confirms. “A streak of red and white, like a candy cane on the run.”

“And then, to make matters worse,” Juan says, “Cheryl caught me upstairs going into that woman’s room.”

“Very fishy, Señor Dishy,” Cheryl says with a waggle of her finger.

“Not fishy at all,” says Mr. Snow. “I gave Juan my express permission to enter that guest’s room. He’s been baking extra Christmas cookies in the kitchen downstairs, earning a bit of extra money by offering them on consignment to hotel guests. Our guests love his baking, and it’s bringing the hotel great publicity, too.”

“Extra dough for extra dough,” says Angela. “Get it, Molly?”

“A pun,” I reply. “Understood. But why do you need extra dough?” I ask Juan.

“To buy you an engagement ring, a new one. I’ve been working as Mr. Rosso’s superintendent for the last three months. That’s why I’m racing around all the time when we’re at home, fixing things and trying to hide what I’m up to. I made Mr. Rosso promise not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Your affairs are none of my business.Mr. Rosso’s words ring in my ears, another thing I’ve gotten wrong.

“I had the ring all picked out. But I didn’t know your ring size, which is why my mom sent theatrapanovios.”

“The stain on my finger.”

“A measurement,” says Juan. “Then I dragged you to that jewelry store to see how you felt about diamonds. I wanted tobuy you a fancy new ring from that place. But when you said the bracelet on the poster was too expensive, I started to think maybe I messed up—that an expensive, new engagement ring wasn’t what you’d want at all. Recycle and reuse. Waste not, want not. That’s what you always say.”

“And that’s when Mr. Preston came up with an idea,” Angela adds.

My gran-dad steps forward. “Molly, that Claddagh ring was your gran’s,” he explains. “I once put it on her finger, but it wasn’t meant to be. I know for certain she cherished that ring and hoped with all her might that, though she never wore it on her ring finger, one day you’d wear it on yours.”

I look down at the ring nestled in satin and shining like a star in the clamshell box. Oh, how I’ve gotten everything wrong—Juan’s exhaustion, his mysterious disappearances, the women who meant nothing at all. I’ve done it again. I’ve misread all the clues.

“Juan,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I assumed the worst of you instead of the best. I made an A-S-S, not out of U but out of ME. I see it now, all that you were trying to do—for us, for me.” I look at him and see his eyes are glassy and he’s on the verge of tears. He’s been with me all along, right by my side, though I doubted him. He’s put everything into this moment, and I long to make it right. “Will you please repeat your question one more time?” I ask.

Juan nods and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Molly Gray,” he says, “Head Maid and love of my life, will you marry me?”

There is only one answer. It was there all along, and now I see it, plain as day.

“Yes,” I say. “I would be honored to be your wife.”

Juan removes the ring from its box and gives the roses to Angela to hold. He slips the ring on my finger, a perfect fit—a heart held in hands that remind me of my gran’s.

I have never been proposed to before. I don’t know what to do next, so I curtsy. Everyone laughs.

“Molly, I know rules are important,” Juan says, “and far be it from me to break one, but do you think that maybe just this once we could break our rule?” As he says this, he looks up at the archway above our heads and the mistletoe hanging there.

I look out at the staff, the maids gathered on one side, the cooks on the other, the bellhops and valets, the receptionists and waiters. Mr. Snow stands in front of them all, and Mr. Preston, the doorman (a.k.a. my gran-dad), has taken a place by his side. All of them, even Cheryl, have tears in their eyes.

I turn back to Juan Manuel. “What I think,” I say, “is that you should kiss me.”

Under the mistletoe, Juan’s lips meet mine. They are lush and warm, and as I close my eyes, all my troubles, all my strife melts away. It’s as if we’re in a snow globe, a tiny perfect world where only the two of us exist.

Juan pulls away and his eyes meet mine.

Suddenly, I understand what I failed to comprehend before. Just like that, the mystery is solved. “A bride and groom!”I exclaim. “The two figures! That’s what you saw in the snow globe.”

---