Page 22 of The Holiday Fail

Somehow, I was able to fall asleep and actually get enough sleep to not be dead on my feet the next day. Andy might be off, but I had a full workday ahead of me.

The first thing I did was check on the rug that had been left outside to dry overnight. It looked as if it’d never been peed on, if I did say so myself.

Today was a sunny day, so I let it do a little more sunbathing while I finished cleaning the rest of the room. We only had four of the ten rooms booked for tonight. I used this opportunity to do a little deep cleaning on the empty ones before more guests checked in next week.

October wasn’t as busy as November and December, butwe usually booked out the week leading up to Halloween with families who felt safer in our small town for the holiday. Plus, Wintertown did a kick-ass Halloween.

The residents here never passed up an excuse to decorate, proven by all the spooky decorations that were already displayed in town. It helped that most folks here gave out candy for the excited trick-or-treaters, making our town a popular spot for Halloween.

After the morning chores were done, I grabbed a quick lunch from the kitchen. “You seem chipper today,” Pops commented when I grabbed a few sandwiches from the platter.

The only one in our family who could cook something that wasn’t half-burnt was Pops, so he was usually in charge of meals when we didn’t have a chef or, like today, when Andy was off.

And while I loved Pops, he could only cook the most basic foods, and they were nowhere on Andy’s level.

“Just having a good day,” I commented as I bit into the chicken salad sandwich. It was a little over-seasoned but still better than the alternative. “I got the rug cleaned and managed to get all the other rooms ready for our weekend check-ins.”

Pops watched me take a few more bites. “There’s something else,” he said, squinting at me like he was trying to read me. I didn’t meet his eyes. Pops had always been the more astute one out of my dads.

When I was younger, I could never hide anything from him. He’d take one look at me and know that I, in fact, was the one who stole the ice cream out of the freezer in the middle of the night.

As a kid, I thought my thievery was flawless, but Popsalwaysknew. And now he was looking at me with that same look; like he’d steal my secrets from the depths of my eyes.

I didn’t think my dads would be too happy to know I was going on a date with our new chef.

Not a date.

God, I really needed to remember that.

It didn’t even cross my mind to lie. To tell him I was excited about meeting up with Austin and Jim tonight, or that I’d met someone new and was grabbing dinner with them. Pops could smell a lie a mile away, and I didn’t really want to get into my dating life with him—or more accurately, my lack of a dating life.

“If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But if you do have happy news, I hope you’ll share it with yourbàbaand me. We love you and just want you to be happy.”

No matter how old I was, I would never stop feeling mushy when my parents showed me their care for me. I really won the parent jackpot to have two of the most amazing, kindhearted people as my dads.

I dropped my sandwich on my plate and wrapped Pops in a bear hug. He yelped at my surprise attack, laughing and patting my back—hard—at the hug.

“I love you too, Pops,” I said into his hair. He was about half a head shorter than me. The perfect height for me to rest my head on top of his in this position, though he hated it when I did that, claiming it was a crime that the men in this family towered over him.

“I know, my little boy,” he said. I pulled back and gave him a pointed look that stated the obvious fact that I wasn’t little anymore.

Pops’ gaze didn’t falter as he looked up at me, almost like he was the biggest force in the kitchen right now. He wasn’t wrong. Put me in charge of a kitchen and the only thing you’d get out of it was burnt toast. Better to leave all that to Pops.

The rest of the day flew by while I busied myself aroundthe B&B. There was always something to do, a broken light bulb needing changing or an endless stream of laundry waiting to be folded. If I didn’t force myself to stop, work would never end.

And it wasn’t just me; my dads almost never got a day off either. It didn’t help that they lived in the living space on the top floor of the B&B, so there was practically no work/life balance.

Dad liked to joke about retiring and taking Pops to travel the world, but he was too much of a workaholic to actually retire, and both Pops and I knew that.

The final task I liked to end my workday with was chatting with our guests in the general living area where people could hang out, watch TV, play board games, or just socialize.

It was also the rooms where we held our events, like our weekly movie or arts and crafts nights. Those were especially popular with the kids.

I enjoyed taking time out of my day to chat with the people staying here. They would tell me about their hometown, why they were here, and even sometimes their hopes and dreams.

Every person had their own story to share, and I loved absorbing it all. I’d always loved talking to people, and the little connections we’d formed with our guests at the B&B fueled that for me.

And, of course, this was a productive time to hear about areas we could improve in as well. Sure, the B&B was a business, but I liked to think we were creating a home away from home for these travelers. We became their extended family while they were here, and we wanted them to be as comfortable as possible.

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