Page 11 of The Christmas Eve Delivery

“I’m not giving you a discount on the room,” she said. I sensed a teasing tone in her voice.

“Not asking for one. But I’m stuck inside, and without access to the internet or anything on TV. I need something to keep me from getting bored.”

“Are you serious?” she asked. She took the breakfast offerings and displayed them next to the coffee pot.

“Completely.”

“How are you with small plumbing problems?”

“If you have the tools, I can do a few simple things.”

“Follow me,” she said with a delighted gleam in her eyes.

Lydia led me down to a hot and crowded basement. She showed me a workbench with tools that would have been old fifty years ago. At least a hammer was still the same basic tool it had been since cavemen figured how to tie a blunt rock onto the end of a stick.

She didn’t have a full list, but there were enough small fix-its to keep me busy for the rest of the morning.

Every time I saw Lydia, she had a sexy little smile on her face and a slight blush on her cheeks. She told me there was another guest in residence, but I didn’t believe her until lunchtime.

The inn’s kitchen wasn’t particularly large. And by commercial standards, it hadn’t been updated in years and would not have passed any intense inspections. There was a small table with chairs in the corner, and the refrigerator was an old avocado green monstrosity that reminded me of the refrigerator in the house I walked out of twenty years ago.

“You don’t make meals for your guests here?” I asked.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want me to make you a grilled cheese sandwich?” Lydia laughed.

Her laughter was magical.

“No, not what I meant. You don’t serve meals from here, do you?”

“This is my kitchen. It just happens to be located in the inn, if that helps. It’s barely commercially graded, and only because of its location in the building. It’s not a working kitchen, if that’s what you’re asking. We don’t offer room service or meals. Your breakfast Danish came wrapped in plastic for a reason.”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” someone called from the hallway.

Lydia crossed out of the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. “Hi, we’re down here. Come on in.”

An older, middle-aged man stopped before fully stepping inside. “I shouldn’t have to come to the kitchen to place my order.”

“Sorry about that, but with the storm I’m doing the best I can. I wanted to make sure you had something for lunch. I’m making grilled cheese. I wasn’t prepared for there to be a storm,” Lydia said.

“Grilled cheese? I’m not in kindergarten. Do you have a menu?” he asked.

Lydia shook her head. “No menu, not a restaurant. I’ve got cheese sandwiches, and soup for dinner. Unless you want more of the breakfast pastries, that’s really all I can offer.”

He huffed. “Bring it up to my room when it’s ready.”

“Hey, buddy, I don’t think you heard her. This isn’t a restaurant. If you want a sandwich, wait for her to make it, and then you can take it back to your room.”

Lydia handed the guy a plate with the first sandwich she made. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “And this is so you can get something out of the drinks machine.”

He didn’t even say thank you before leaving.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. Give him money for the drink machine,” I said.

“I know, but he wasn’t going to accept anything I could offer him to drink. This way, he leaves us alone.” She licked her lips as she looked up into my eyes.

7

LYDIA

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