Page 5 of Dancing in Lake Mistletoe

She stands in the basement, talking my ear off and filling me in on all the goings-on in town while I work.

Once I have her all sorted out, I move on to the town square. This time of year, I’m constantly at town hall, where the big light displays are stored. They go up around mid-November, but I start checking them in October. Each display has to be tested, repaired, and reassembled. Imagine dozens of enormous snowflakes, ten-foot-tall candy canes, and a massive central tree, all covered in lights. If one bulb goes out on a strand, the whole thing might not work. I learned that the hard way a few years ago when half the display went dark the night before the lighting ceremony. Since then, I’ve been extra cautious.

Today, I’m climbing a ladder to check the wiring on the wreath that hangs over the entrance gate. It’s huge—probably ten feet across—and it’s rigged to the lampposts on either side of the street. I need to ensure the power connections are solid and that there’s no short circuit waiting to ruin our visitors’ Instagram-worthy holiday photos. As I’m tightening a loose connection, I hear a familiar voice boom across the street.

It’s just my dad’s friend Earl, calling from his old farm truck, loaded down with bales of hay to fill the trailers for the fall festival’s hayrides. He waves up at me, and I wave back.

By noon, I’ve got a dozen other calls lined up. One of the shops on Main Street is having trouble with its window display. It’s a winter wonderland scene, complete with animated reindeer and blinking lights. Animatronics require a different level of electrical engineering altogether. They’re powered by a series of motors and timed circuits, and if one of those malfunctions, the scene can look downright creepy. I spend an hour replacing the motor on Rudolph’s front leg so it doesn’t jerk like it’s possessed each time it moves.

Then, there’s the Christmas tree in the town square. That tree is the centerpiece of Lake Mistletoe. It’s a real tree, brought in every year from the woods outside town, standing about thirty feet tall. We wrap it in thousands of lights, all connected to a single switch inside town hall. If you think plugging in your tree at home is a hassle, try getting the wiring straight on one that size. One bad connection, and you’re in the dark. To top it off, the mayor wants the tree to rotate this year. I haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to make that happen yet.

People don’t think about how much work goes into keeping a town like this running. I’m not just an electrician; I’m the guy who makes sure Christmas doesn’t disappear because the lights go out. Without me, Lake Mistletoe would still have the snow and the trees, but it wouldn’t have that ethereal glow that makes people feel like they’ve stepped into a holiday dream.

I finally get a moment to grab a bite at the coffee shop. It’s a small place with twinkling lights strung across the windows and the smell of cinnamon in the air. Ms. Beaty hands me a coffee and a slice of her famous apple streusel pie, and we chat about the pumpkin carving contest being held this weekend.

“Are you and Josie entering?” she asks.

“Yep, Dad already took her to the patch in Hailey, and they came back with a forty-pound pumpkin. It’s sitting in the back of my truck now.”

“My goodness, that’ll take a while to carve,” she says.

“Josie drew a scene fromIt’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brownwith silhouettes of Lucy and Linus and Snoopy in the moon.”

It’s ambitious, and it’ll probably end up a giant mess, but we’ll have a lot of fun attempting it.

“You’ll have my vote,” she says—something I’m sure she tells everyone.

I finish up my pie and head out to pick up my girl.

Mindi

Ifollow a wonderful aroma down the stairs and to the front of the inn, where Annette is behind the desk, checking in a gentleman and two small boys.

“Here’s your key. You’re all set in your usual room—301.”

“Thank you, Annette,” he says as she hands a key ring to him and scoots a glass jar, filled with candy corn and orange foil-wrapped chocolates, toward the end of the desk. The boys each reach inside and pull out a handful of treats before following him up the stairs.

“Good morning, Mindi,” she greets when she catches sight of me.

“Good morning,” I return.

“You’re up bright and early. Do you need a ride to the resort?” she asks.

I shake my head.

Ellen, a core dancer in the cast, is supposed to be arriving in a couple of days. She and I both attended the School of American Ballet—or SAB—in New York City. After, I joined the American Ballet Theatre—or ABT—in New York, and she joined Ballet Idaho, a smaller company based in Boise. She’s driving in, and I’ll be commuting to and from rehearsals and performances with her.

“No. Rehearsals don’t start until next week. I was just following the smell of bacon,” I say.

“Oh, well, just take the hallway down to the second door on the right, and you’ll find breakfast set up in the dining room,” she says.

“Thank you.”

I follow her directions and find Willa and Keller seated at a large table. Trixie is across from them with Beckham in her arms, a bottle in his mouth.

“Good morning,” I say as I make my way inside and take one of the empty chairs beside Trixie.

“Hi, Mindi. Did you get settled in okay?” Willa asks as she slides a coffee carafe over to me.

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